So, I’m really bored. Some people waste their life’s with drugs, with gambling, with pornography. I’m wasting with “going to work”. Yeah, this again. I can’t help but to talk about what bothers me so much. And I know what you’re thinking “why you just don’t quit your job?”. Well, I’ll tell you why… CAUSE I NEED MONEY! Yeah, money, the reason why people kill each other everyday. I don’t have no one to pay for my things no more. Anyway, I’m 20 years old, I have to take care of myself somehow. It’s just a shame it can’t be dun the way I want it to. Now, it’s not simply my job, the same way years ago, wasn’t simply my school. It’s me. I have a problem with… how the fuck can I call it? Hmmm “normal life”? Whatever, I have a problem with it since the very first day they got me to maternal school. I’m not even joking, ask my mother about it, and you’ll see. So, now I have to spend my days, my youth, in an office, with a telephone ringing on my ears, with huge texts, agreements, contracts that I have to translate to Portuguese… about all this fucking boring stuff… that I can barely understand and I don’t even want to. It just sucks. Then I think about Bam Margera. Let’s just hear his story now… He was this cute, beastie boy, who loved to skate and bully his own friends, and he turned that into his career, his money (lot of it), and here he is… Bam Margera, the crazy skater from MTV, who lives the best life in the world as far as I know. He wouldn’t stand it a minute in this room I’m right now. Well… let’s just get to the point: I wanna start a band. I’ve written more songs than… I don’t know… someone who wrote a lot of songs, by now. And I don’t give a fuck if my voice isn’t so perfect, ‘cause Madonna already show us that means shit. Some people born to live like robots, others came to this world to… ROCK! I’m in the second group you see. I’m like a puzzle's piece out of its place. And this, my friends, it’s more frustrating than it might seem. I can't tolerate frustrations very well.
And I’m getting really tired of this.
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