Index - Profile - Archives - Notes - DiaryLand - Random ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Everyday is Sunday morning. Earlier, in a telephone conversation with [Prolific], I mentioned that it feels a lot like the world is falling apart. Only the problem is, I can't tell if it really has become worse, or if it only seems like it's worse because I just started paying attention. I once prided myself on never watching the news, or reading a news paper. Well. Not so much prided myself, but I know myself pretty well, and I knew what watching the news, or even being aware of what was going on around me could do. It could put me in the exact same spot I'm in now, except that I'm far worse off today than say, a month ago. I don't do well knowing problems exist and not being able to fix them. I don't like that even though millions of people have expressed concern of a possible war, our government has ignored them, as though they are ignorant and not worth mentioning. I don't like feeling like an ant, stuck amongst all the other ants, just trying to score a buck, eat a chocolate chip cookie, have an orgasm, and smoke a butt**. . . . I don't like feeling this endless frustration I currently feel. I can't write, I can't paint, I can't find a job, I can't pay for my own cigarettes, I can't feed my cat, I can't buy my own food, I can't pay for gas to get me to the ocean, and I'm sure once I saw the beach, I'd feel better. Every activity I once had to relieve and release has been shut off to me, and what I'm left with is a giant pile of seething frustration. I want a chance at something great, and I feel like every ounce of effort I put into anything will only just double my frustration. Because it's just compounding itself. Each day that goes by, I can't make my words into the picture I want you to see. I know it's only fists clenched at the sky, to a God that seems to grow further and further away. It keeps mounting, and growing. I've been working at this for years, and while there's always been a saftey net, I can never get a break. This sounds like a selfish plea, and maybe it is, but I can't keep going like this and I can't fucking stop, either. Forever in this Catch-22, of not gaining and not stopping to take a breath. If I stop, I'll just have to die, and if I continue, it feels like the race is going to kill me. So I have to wonder if I just keep making the wrong choices. Because this situation goes against my faith, and agaist my beliefs that everything always works out. Nothing is working out. It's not dire. I'm not in danger. But this life is killing me slowly with boredom. And, I need interaction with people my own age before loneliness consumes me. I need to be self sufficient, before I forget how. Most importantly, I need to make I miss you mean exactly how I feel, because those words cannot possibly express what I live through every day since you've been gone. **Yeah, I stole that from Denis Leary. 10:01 p.m. - 2003-02-22 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
||||||