my little thoughts. and why would they EVER be little?

Yadda… Fuck it… you know how lately there has defenately been a lack of entertaining crap from me? Well, my minds been frying from all the overdrive I’ve been pushing through and to tell you the truth, I’m just burnt out. Not even that, I’m practically a cinder from all the stuff that’s been floating through my head. I’m worried about many things. Things that I shouldn’t even be worrying about and yet I do. It just goes to show that no matter what happens in life, we can always be assured that somehow, things will always become a burden. I don’t know why exactly.

Maybe it’s because I put too much pressure on myself to perform to the best of my ability, and yet somehow always end up draggin myself down the same dusty road time and time again like something new will happen. I’m not complaining by any means, I’m simply stating what’s on my mind. A tactic, I’ve noticed that ticks people off. I don’t know why it does this, its just either a gift or a curse that I have. I lose friends as quickly as I gain them, and in the short or longer time I know them, and they know me, the greater the distance becomes for some reason.

I have a great friend in Blake. He’s my main man, a little off at times, but all the same. A great friend.

Although I shouldn’t worry about anything, it kinda fucks my mind about right there that ignoring certain issues has become quite the achievement for me. Yes, I mispelled that word, and have at best, spent the better part of five minutes frustrated over the little things. I’ve recently signed up for a dating site with an actual subscription, just to test the waters. But even then, I’m as agile with charm as a fish going down a greasy razor filled hill. Not the greatest anology, but it sums up my main thing I’m trying to get at here.

I don’t know how to flirt. I’m lousy at it, and yet for the same reasons I doubt myself, I go for it with a flare unlike that of the wrestlers namesake. I just don’t really have it, or maybe I do? lmao, but rather then get down on myself and weigh all the possible angles from which I can at any point in time screw something promising up, I find that no matter what the result, the outcomes still the same. It’s almost as if I’m swimming against the current, and the more I try, and greater force is pressed up against me. But I find that taking a dive from time to time, though relieving myself from the daily frustration of it all, has a downside. What that downside is though, I don’t know.

Well, all that aside, I’m fairly happy with how interesting… that’s word I’m using… things have become. Should the need arise for me to rise from my stupid hidey hole, and actually make something of myself (Already have, just venting.) I wouldn’t really know where to begin. It almost feels like the weight I carry from no other reason than just to see how far I can go before falling over and laughing at stupidity of it all. Because it really is simply a useless byproduct of human ingenius. To some extent of course.

 I can’t feel bad for myself. I’m not going to. As much as it stings and burns, and God knows what else, I’m going to have to tough it out. because like it or not, the question of my sanity remaining from persuing yet another course of action that may, or may not, make any progress is simply the conglomeration of many years of trial and error.

Should it really matter in any case?
Does the treasure befit the dungeon of which we have to crawl into? Stupid analogy, but it works all the same. The healed and hidden scars don’t make things any easier. I can’t stop thinking of her. that damned woman.. or women, depending on my view of things. Nor of that room with those people staring at me, expecting some sort of actual treasure from me. God I hate those memories of that place, those people, their damned googly eyes that stare blankly into the abyss and wonder if there’s warmth in it.

God it frustrates me to no end that I actually had to endure them. Their damned rumors.  It’s in the past, and regardless if I want the memory of it all or not… it’s there to stay. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore, I need to slap myself a few times and get passed this anger I have. And I feel so useless to do anything about it, but I use it none the less.

Doesn’t seem funny to you the reader? That you read these words, and pause to the fact that maybe the world would be better off with one less person in it? That no matter the challenges we face, we all end up being forgotten at one point or another when enough people have passed?

Only the greats get remembered for the rest of time. The rest of us seem to just fall down the cracks and stay muddled in with other people. but i get let this get me down. I have to make people happy, make them laugh, do the dance they want me to do, shut up and fall in line.

How can we be so free, and at the same time feel like were nothing more then puppets on slowly unraveling string?

Man oh man… the things I write huh?

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