Live and Let Die

Alright, alright. So I was doing my usual nightly routine and started to think about what I wanted to post in here tonight and I couldn't make up my mind on what I should do. I figured a little scatter-brained blogging never hurt anyone, so here goes...

I'm over-analytical. There you have it. Clear as day, simple in black and white lettering. I analyze everything. It's a little ridiculous how much I think about things every day. I wish sometimes that my mind would just rest. Relax. I almost wish that there was a Valium pill I could take just for my mind (not my brain, that would be bad, but my mind). Just to sort of let it chill out for a couple hours, give it a vacation. I pick apart so many experiences I've had and all my thinking isn't always bad, it's just constant. I'm not sure if there is a way to stop myself from analyzing things. I am sure though that this on/off switch takes some time to develop. I heard the song, "live and let live" by Paul McCartney on the radio tonight and I couldn't help but think, "What an incredibly simple and amazing concept." What if I could just...live and let live. "But if this ever-changing world in which we live in, makes you break down and cry, say live and let die." Cool, McCartney---I'll try that. But seriously, I'm going to try that. Right now, I don't have much to lose as far as the choices I make. I mean, yes...I have an entire college education I could throw away if I screw up bad enough, or a family to royally piss off if I get pregnant or something. But generally, I could make a fast and loose decision and it wouldn't effect anyone but myself. So why not? I used to do those types of things all the damn time and it usually ended up biting me in the ass. But I was living for myself, and that was awesome. I envy that about who I used to be. I guess what I'm trying to say is, there's nothing wrong with regressing into an alternate version of yourself for awhile as long as it's a good thing.

Apart from being overly analytical, as I so clearly demonstrated in the above paragraph, I'm terrified of routine. Tomorrow I start my first official work week back at the restaurant and I'm dreading it. Not because I don't particularly enjoy my job, I do (most of the time). But because that means long hours, little free time, and a world consumed by beer. It's the same thing: get up, eat, go to work, come home, shower, eat, sleep, repeat. By the end of last summer I was crawling out of my skin from the mundane schedule I'd fallen into. It's no so bad, I guess. I should be grateful I have a job and I can make money. It's just frustrating to think that I have play by someone else rules starting tomorrow. We'll see how it goes. Until then, I'm going to keep my chin up and keep on keepin' on.