irony of my discontent
I seem to be distant and hate so much stuff. I don't like people because they are so self centered and superficial. They lead meaningless lives and don't do anything great except wake up in the morning, eat, shit, and back to sleep. Everything in between is dull and nothing interests me. I hate it so much. I hate it so much because I want to be happy like them. I want to be close, I want to be superficial and pretend I haven't lived the way I have or seen the things I have seen. I want to wake up in love, just living life and being happy. Going through the dull motions, paying the bills, washing the car, buying a dog, a house, settling down having kids. I'm damaged. Damaged goods. I'm the egg with a crack and I just can't see or feel like everyone else does. It saddens and embitters me. The hole in my soul I try to fill up with alcohol and dreams. I write here everything. Some of it is over the top and exaggerated, but that is me. It would probably be less interesting if I was my laid back monotone self. So when I write I scream. It's the only place really to do it so that no one thinks your crazy, maybe you think I'm crazy anyway. Why do I care. Why do you care. What else should I be? All apologies.