eek.

Let's talk about being scared of stuff.

I'm scared of a lot of things! Here's my list: 

1. Dams
2. Ghosts
3. Mean ghosts
4. forests at night (they're haunted)
5. floating. . . things (like ghosts) 
6. nice ghosts
7. spiders.
8. the demon (ghost) from paranormal activity. 
9. math
10. my ex wife. (HAH! Just kidding. I'm scared of her GHOST.) 
11. Those red things from "The Village".

Okay so it's mostly ghosts. Shut up. 

Indifference is the only form of bravery I embody. I'm a coward, I'm a wimp. It's only when I don't care about something is when I manage to face it; not out of strength or willpower, it's an astonishing level of dispassion for the situation.

And you know what? It takes a lot to get to that point. It takes a lot of examination and a lot of evaluation to hate something, be terrified of it, make myself sick of it by thinking of it so much, and then literally, completely, not caring. 

I am untouchable because I am impartial. I am okaacy with these facts as they stand. 

I also stand firm in the fact that I'm okay with "ignorance is bliss". When I was like. 8 or something, I watched this thing on TV about aliens with my Mom. I DIDN'T SLEEP FOR A WEEK. I was convinced aliens were going to come snatch me out of nowhere because I watched a thing about rednecks in Texas seeing UFO's. Same thing happened with a documentary on Hell (and various religions "take" on the concept) and- this one is my favorite- the BERMUDA TRIANGLE. I thought it was going to come get me. 

Let me repeat that: I THOUGHT THE BERMUDA TRIANGLE WAS GOING TO KILL ME. I HAVE LIVED IN IDAHO MY WHOLE LIFE. 

So fear is weird. How do you get over your fears? I feel like mine is a daily struggle; I'm scared of people and talking to them and getting out of bed, going to school/work is really hard because of it sometimes. Whats your magic formula? Has anything stopped you from doing anything before? 

Uhhh I'm still not good at ending these. GOOD NIGHT I LOVE YOU. 

Be not afraid to write: better book titles.

Be not afraid to write: better book titles.: this is funny. because it's true.

PICTURE TIME.

Since I have little to nothing of anything of actual interest to post ("SCHOOL WORK SICK SCHOOL WORK WHOOPS I'M SICK AGAIN" -the last month) we're going to play a game called 'sinclair posts shit from photobooth and talks about it'.

I end up doing a lot of my ex-comp homework the morning before class. Which sometimes bleeds into math class, which equates to having my laptop out in math. Since we're in HXCORE REMEDIAL MATH this is usually Chella and I's faces throughout the course of the course. 

Last Thursday we went to Messenger and I drank more than I usually drink which didn't end so well. I think. I don't remember, honestly. But here's me drinking what looks like tinkle, but is actually apple cider which is delightful. That's all.

Over the weekend I took McKienze and her friend Kelsey to Boise. I was sitting at Java, trying to write a short story and not focus on some really upsetting stuff I'd heard a couple hours earlier. Taking dramatic pictures of yourself and anti-anxiety medication in a coffee shop is surely the best direction to take here. I had a good time with them, though. They're funny lil dudes. Didn't get much of the terrible short story I'm working on done, though. 

Got a copy of 'A Visit From The Goon Squad' in the mail since I figured it would be worth owning a copy of. Surprise surprise, it's signed by the author! Thanks, Goodwill San Fran! 

As I mentioned, sicky sick. This has been my battle station for the last 48 hours. Lots of Netflix and cat cuddles.

Also puppy cuddles. But she's knocked out right now. This entire post was an excuse to show you guys awesome pictures of my awesome dog. Look at that adorable piece of shit. She's almost cute when she's not chewing on my arms/terrorizing my cats.

AGAIN THIS ISN'T MY BLOG FOR CLASS. DON'T BE SHAMBOOZLED. THAT'S OVER @ heytheresinclair.tumblr.com. Not that I've posted anything of substance over there, either.

President Carter, P-p-president, Carter.

Hey guys I'm lazy and this is actually for my class blog but I'm putting it over here because I'm lazy as hell.

Hey guys! Looks like we have a holiday on our hands! 

Well we did, anyway. Exciting, no? I feel like people don't give enough credit to Presidents Day because not enough people care about American History because not enough people are Huge Fucking Nerds like me. Which is clearly a problem. 

So I made a list! 

I bring you: 

SINCLAIR'S TOP THREE PRESIDENTS. 

3. Jimmy Carter. 

What isn't to love about this dude. He's a huge humanitarian and a generally Good Guy (and, I frequently get told this is why he was a 'meh' president) and look! He's riding a bike! He's the only president to date that's won the Nobel Peace Prize after his presidency, he used to be a fucking peanut farmer, and Lil Wayne wrote a song about him*. So in his words "Ain't no mother fucker harder than Carter". 

*I don't think 'President Carter' was actually about Jimmy Carter but I really like that song so uh. 

2. Lincoln. 

I know I know, what a boring fucking number 2. I could go off but what it comes down to is this guy saved our fucking country from itself. Not a whole lot of folk survive civil war and we did, thanks to this guy. Also, a few reliable sources think that he might have had aspergers syndrome! HOW FUCKING COOL IS THAT. 

1. TEDDY. FUCKING. ROOSEVELT. 

You are the only republican I will ever love, Teddy. You are crazy and passionate and kind of a resilient douchebag. You got shot in the middle of a speech, finished it, and then went to the hospital. Ugh. Also you made meat safe and not as gross. 

RUNNER(S) UP: 

Taft. 

You fat fuck. 

Clinton. 

I would hang out with him. I don't even care. 

Ex-Commies.

Hey Ex-Compples class folk; this isn't my class blog. But I'm following some of you with this, my "personal" free time blog.

My class blog is here: heytheresinclair.tumblr.com.

That's allllll.

One Year Ago.

You know what I did today?

I woke up. I slept in until 8. I watched Jon Stewart re-runs online. I got up, went to school, did a bunch of homework, struggled with elementary math, drew and passed notes in English, swore at three hours of french homework before two hours of French class. I hung out with McKienze, and we were both laughing until we were literally in tears about Pikachu drowning in mayonaise and Lenord Nimoy yelling "THE INTERNET".  I came home and played with my dog.

It wasn't a bad day. It wasn't great. It was fairly normal.

Why am I talking about this generally unremarkable day?

Because a year ago, I was in shock. I don't think I'd even cried yet. My cat peed in the middle of my bed so I couldn't even grieve the loss properly; I laid on the couch in the fetal position and watched horror movies most the day, my head throbbing. I called in sick to work. I did laundry and crawled into bed. I tried to go to bed early. I woke up at 3am and heard myself laugh for the first time in 3 days and it was a hollow, barking noise I didn't register. It literally didn't make sense.

The following months took varying twists and turns because of one year ago today. My anxiety attacks had never been worse. I had complete strangers hug me. I'm pretty sure my managers at work gave me a Starbucks giftcard under the guise of doing a good job with spring cleaning when really it was a "sorry you got cheated on" card. I lost 30 pounds because I didn't really eat solid food for a month. I lost another 20 soon after.


You lover is an actress, did you really think she'd stay? 

I can safely say that being cheated on was the worst thing that has ever happened to me. In the realest and saddest terms I can admit this can be traced; I have a father that disowned me and a mother that attempted suicide twice, leaving me emotionally. I have a vivid fear of people leaving me, and this was pretty much the piece de la resistance as far as demonstrating how blatant and apparent that fear actually was.

We still talk, frequently. Daily. It's kind of strained sometimes; the subtext is always there, somewhere. We'll mention it now and then, and it admirably usually ends in yelling and one of us (me) crying. I get the strangest looks when I say this, but we're still friends. We're still best friends. It's hard, but it's worth it.

I don't say this to anyone who's reading this (maybe I am) but I admit this somewhere into the air, into the earth and the electromagnetic waves that are floating in between us, to the blood in our bodies and the pulses that drive them; don't give up. You can sure as hell not try for a while, you can sink back down to that animalistic, basic 'survival' mode for however long you can allow yourself, but don't give up. It doesn't matter why. I would hope it isn't out of spite (though it might be at first, I know mine was), but find a reason, any reason and fucking stay with it until you can theoretically get back on your feet and feel like a real human being again. Until you can do things and feel things and all the songs on the radio aren't talkng directly to you. Wherever you are, whatever you're hurting for, don't give up.

I remember I actually bought a copy of 'Kid A' and 'OK Computer' by Radiohead so, as I put it blatantly 'So I can be sad on the go [in the car]'. I listened to them a lot. I was waiting for someone in the car one day, flipping through the liner notes, and underneath all the legal jargon, in tiny, itty bitty letters were: "We hope you are doing okay". I mean, if Radiohead was wishing me the best, I couldn't give up.

I don't say this enough to anyone, I feel, but I love you. If you read this or I've read something of yours, whether you know I exist or don't, if I see you at school or at work, I love you. You keep me going. You are my comrades in arms, fellow human beings.

Thank you, friends. Thank you for months of pats on the back and sympathetic looks and letting me literally cry on your shoulders. Thank you for suffering with me. Thank you for at least nodding in understanding if you had nothing else to say. Thank you for listening. Thank you for keeping me alive the past year. 


Things can literally only get better.

Lots of love, forever and always, no matter who you are,
-Sinclair.

But our lips, but our lips.

You held each other by well-groomed hands, mumbling prayers to a neglected Jesus. The Maître-Des quiver as they watch you shiver as the mask and the mouth knit into each other. Our laughter was deafening but our lips, but our lips, but our lips were trembling.


Putting flowers on The Blood Brothers' grave, so to speak. What an awesome fucking group. I wish I had gotten into them a bit more than 5 months before their breaking up, but here we are. As I rotate through their discography again, I find "Six Nightmares Of The Pinball Masquerade" is my favorite song this time around. 


If I ever find a band that composes lyrics like morbid post modern poetry, if ever find a band that balances two vocalists perfectly, if I ever find a band that balances quivering guitars and tantrum fit drums and a sobbing keyboard, if I ever find a band half as great as The Blood Brothers, you bet your ass I'll love them with everything I have left.