Yeah, On and On About Nothing Particular

Curiously enough, looking back over the past couple of years with my writing habits I think I'm approaching the end of what I like to think of as my "post nanowrimo burn out" but it's not just being burned out with writing...it's with life and
living here.

I started this blog a couple of months after returning home from college and I didn't necessarily mean for it to chronicle my flirtations with insanity but in ways it has...it's like reading the journal of some sort of mad man...or really just a confused kid dealing with depression.

That's all I feel like.

This kid.

This kid with dirt on his face and untie shoelaces, lost and looking for his mother. Or maybe just his father.

I don't know.

I really don't know very well.

It may be me coming off of the pain medication from yesterday or just the nightly meds for my stomach but I just feel so...outside of myself. Beside myself and beyond myself.

It's this weird feeling I get. These weird convulsed thoughts that just seem to pulsate as they rattle through my often hazy labyrinth of a mind.
Maybe I'll just get used to the meds or maybe I'll change with them.

Or something.

I'm not making much sense in my heard much less out on here.

Current headlines?

I'm updating my viral protection for my pc and laptop.

Yes.

Exciting I know.

Almost as exciting as the presidential election was, except this will actually effect me if I get a virus on my pc and laptop.

I'm also having more trouble than usual as far as spelling is concerned. Boy am I grateful for the spell check function on Mozilla but this is just sad. I couldn't even spell concerned correctly just a minute ago.

There it goes again.

Maybe the medicine is just making me slower, just making me feel higher and less human. It sure does make all of life have this impossible dream like surrealism where I am not even sure if I am awake or dreaming.

More than boredom interlaced with tedium and insanity it is just this mediocre false sense of security that I do not even pretend to understand.

I don't feel alive or real, it is almost like life has been reduced to this two dimensional card board paste black and white clock in and clock out being jerked around by the neck surrealistic reality television show lie.

I need air.

I need to breath.

I've forgotten the taste of sweet oxygen while being trapped in this shell, this lie I fell in love with and openly embraced so I wouldn't have to bother thinking of what being free really meant.

If this really is the first day of the rest of my life then I don't even know if it is really worth living.

Is it really worth enduring this mad and senseless scramble for pleasure when the only reward is a cheap high followed by having the world crash down on my shoulders?

I've got nothing to offer this moment, nothing to offer but mere criticism about the tedium and pain.

Seeing people pass like puppets in front of a spotlight, chanting terribly worded mantras about pop culture and cash for less.

I do not want to face the world, I never meant to throw myself out into things like I have, all I want to do is try and crawl back into bed and pray for a quick death, you know cheap freedom from my mind and physical ailments that serve to only remind me how cheap life is.

Introspective looks only serve to remind me I'm a shadow of an image that looks in a mirror terrified of being and more important, please remmeber this, terrified of even feeling a thing.

Feeling creating being, if not, it just at least points out that you do indeed exsist and have a great responsibility tasked upon you. That responsibility of life, living life with all of its shame and beauty.

It is looking to find purpose in a vast article of rambling nothingness, I'm rather sure it is there and I believe rather strongly in purpose...but God it hates, God does it hurt so much to be born and then be reborn in this pain. Being a living shadow seeking redemption and hoping for the remarkable to save me just before my final pained breath of air.