I Dream of Home
I don't think I've ever known where that is. When I was a child, I suppose I knew. But I don't remember enough to be sure of that. My memory is short, or rather more nonexistent than that. For at least the last decade, it's hard to think of a place I couldn't wait to get back to. There were once people, but never places. Moving is always a philosophically challenging act for me. Seeing how big your life is in boxes. For me at least, that is true. Not that I care for the physical things, it's just that they are all I have.
I keep wondering what life has left to offer me. I don't have any answers. It's even worse now than it used to be. About a year ago now someone asked me if I believed in heaven and I truthfully said that I did not know. I still don't. I don't know anything.
A coworker was telling me about breaking up with her boyfriend and I was trying to comfort her. She wasn't distraught or anything but two weeks after four years is still quite fresh. But I realized I didn't know what to tell her. It sucks and then it sucks less was about all the waxing philosophic I could manage. She asked what happened to me and I honestly didn't know what to say because I don't really even know.
I suppose maybe I should have tried harder to figure that out. I just assumed it was my fault, and I suppose it probably was. I don't think about it anymore, and the thing itself doesn't bother me, but the lack of knowledge does when I can't answer a direct question. But the reality is it doesn't matter. I can't say if I've changed or not, but I don't think that really matters either. Because I don't try anymore. I don't want anything anymore. I can't imagine myself getting married or having kids anymore. I can't imagine myself even having a girlfriend anymore. I can't imagine myself at 26, let alone 40 or at old age.
In talking to women and the few pointless encounters I've had, I've realized that there are none like me, and that they bore me quickly. Typical annoys me. I hate pretty women because they try to get by based on that. And they're all beautiful just the way they are anyway, unique in a way that's hard to describe. I always feel...subhuman maybe isn't the right word, but it is the first that comes to mind.
Maybe it's just harder to make a home with one person. Hard to make memories and hard to keep them. There doesn't seem to be much value to anything I've ever done, so I dismiss it to the void.
I keep wondering what life has left to offer me. I don't have any answers. It's even worse now than it used to be. About a year ago now someone asked me if I believed in heaven and I truthfully said that I did not know. I still don't. I don't know anything.
A coworker was telling me about breaking up with her boyfriend and I was trying to comfort her. She wasn't distraught or anything but two weeks after four years is still quite fresh. But I realized I didn't know what to tell her. It sucks and then it sucks less was about all the waxing philosophic I could manage. She asked what happened to me and I honestly didn't know what to say because I don't really even know.
I suppose maybe I should have tried harder to figure that out. I just assumed it was my fault, and I suppose it probably was. I don't think about it anymore, and the thing itself doesn't bother me, but the lack of knowledge does when I can't answer a direct question. But the reality is it doesn't matter. I can't say if I've changed or not, but I don't think that really matters either. Because I don't try anymore. I don't want anything anymore. I can't imagine myself getting married or having kids anymore. I can't imagine myself even having a girlfriend anymore. I can't imagine myself at 26, let alone 40 or at old age.
In talking to women and the few pointless encounters I've had, I've realized that there are none like me, and that they bore me quickly. Typical annoys me. I hate pretty women because they try to get by based on that. And they're all beautiful just the way they are anyway, unique in a way that's hard to describe. I always feel...subhuman maybe isn't the right word, but it is the first that comes to mind.
Maybe it's just harder to make a home with one person. Hard to make memories and hard to keep them. There doesn't seem to be much value to anything I've ever done, so I dismiss it to the void.