Doubt

Post-Bornday Post. I needed a week to let the shit marinate.

First, I wanna thank whoever wished me a Happy Bornday and/or showed their face last week to celebrate with me. As those who attended could probably testify (PREACH, yessum!) that I was twisted. I mean champagne in one hand and Hennessy in the other. Awful. I blacked out, threw up, drank some more then -- it gets blurry after that.

I've heard some interesting stories -- weird conversations, funny stories, fat girls (FAT BITCHES NEED LUV TOO CRAIG!) Apparently theres a story involving me - a champagne bottle - and girls who somehow ended up with champagne ON them. Now I'm no misogynist, but -- poppin' champagne on girls: sweet.

I have a tendency to stumble off alone at times like these. A need to step back and reassess why -- through the whooping and hollering -- this doesn't feel right. Like I'm going too fast, faster than I really want to go in life.

I mean, these dreams I have are fast. Historic and shallow and discerning all at the same time. They're big...bigger than me and my shoulders can handle. And my bornday had me questioning myself.

'Is this what I want?' I asked myself, caught in the highway of my own vulnerability.

My response: "Yeah, dumb nigga."

Never doubt yourself. There's enough people out here to do that for you.