droning into the invisible microphone
I first begin this entry by stating I am aware I am writing
to myself. With 35 messages left by visitors, a numerous
amount, no one has left a message in quite a while. So,
let me first begin this entry by giving myself a little
Brett, wake the hell up. No one reads this and no one
cares about your life.
"but...but...sometimes I just need to release..."
Shut up, Brett. Okay, first of all, your emotions that
bother you are productions of your overactive imagination.
The girls you once dated and still think of no longer think
of you. The friends you once spent time with, conversing
and treading the profundities of life, are out making their
mark in the world while you rot away in your home town.
"but...I'm trying to move to Costa Ri---"
Shut up, Brett. Once you get down there it is going to be
a version of your own Paradise Lost. You are going to
realize you have responsibilities, and a whole new life.
The complaints you have now will be replaced by new ones,
worries of whether you will find a wife as you progress
into your mid twenties, only driven more insane by your
incessant and pointless delusions. No one wants to carry that
burden, of supporting your child like mind inside a man's body.
"Well, maybe I can die."
Thank you, Brett. Finally you're getting somewhere. I'll
let you go on your way now.