Knifedge

Wonderland
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2002-07-12 06:26:51 (UTC)

Emotional Insomnia

well, here we go. what a perfect way to start a public
online diary avaliable to pretty much everyone on earth.
sitting at a terminal, eyes bloodshot, head splitting and,
for some reason, incredibly depressed. say what you will,
aspirin is absolutely worthless. i took two of the damn
things an hour ago and my head still feels like its just
been used as the ball in a Chinese ping pong match.
nothing to do but go to bed, which i should be doing. i
have work tomorrow, so i should be asleep. but im not, im
starting a public diary. go fucking figure.
its times like these when life feels absolutely worthless.
im young. im healthy. i should be doing something
meaningful. instead, the highlight of my evening was a two
hour wrestling program on upn. have three movies sitting
on my vcr, one of which i will not get the chance to watch
unless i do so tonight or early tomorrow. and yet, i find
myself unable to sit in front of the tv for another
minute. i can sit in front of a computer, though, thats no
problem.
id feel better about sitting in front of a computer if i
were actually doing anything worthwhile. ive been surfing
the net for the past hour, checking my email (of which
there is none) and looking to see if any sites have been
updated so that they can tell me what i already know about
any number of subjects, wrestling foremost among them. i
should be doing work. im a writer. a fiction writer. i
write fantasy, knights with swords and vicious elves and
fire-breathing dragons. i also write some science fiction
and even some contemporary fiction. i have five different
stories competing for my attention and i cant work on any
of them for lack of inspiration. im also reading seven
different series of books (fantasy and science fiction, all
of them). i have one not three feet away, sitting there,
having been opened barely into the third chapter, but im
here doing this.
i suppose doing this is important in its own way. this
kind of this is like opening up, but not to anyone who will
really ask questions. its harder to let your thoughts out
to family or friends or co-workers or anyone, because you
know how they will react, and so you have to consider what
to tell them and what not to tell them, and then you have
to think about how to phrase it to them, and it makes it
all the harder because theyre staring at you and asking
pointless questions, so instead of opening up to them you
end up changing the subject completely just so theyll stop
fucking pestering you.
i write music, too. i play guitar. i have a few songs,
but they take me even longer to write than fiction. i have
a pseudo-band in which no member has any motivation
whatsoever, so thats going nowhere. i dont have much
motivation myself; i suppose thats why im writing this
journal instead of doing more important things.
i dont really have much else to say right now. i kinda got
myself into a worse mood than when i started, so i think im
going to get out of it and get some sleep.
take the red pill
Knifedge


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