Because I live.
Updating this thing is odd, at times. There's so much to say, and yet sometimes it's straining to say it -- recently, somehow, I feel ashamed of my own self. Although that's probably not quite the word that I'm looking for, but more in that, I really don't want to sit and explain myself all of the time -- whenever I state my thoughts without going into a hideous amount of backstory, conclusions could be drawn of things that I really shouldn't be ashamed of but could be in the wrong context.
If it makes any sense at all, and does perfectly in my head. I feel that it's all a product of aging, yet I was certain that the further up the numbers I went, the more I'd shed my pride. That was a stupider assumption than most. I've become ridiculously prideful over the years and as that pride grows within me, my increasing silence alongside it. I used to be very outspoken.
I've been writing a lot, but the past few days has been rather wane. I've begun to feel a little lonesome with it, as its all proverbial tree-in-forest with no one to hear it fall sorts of brain-vomit that feels more like a quiet withering than a crash. Even if someone were there, there isn't a sound, and a slow process that escapes notice. It's strange. I feel like I can't share anything as it falls along the lines of two things: firstly, no one cares (there are an awful lot of trees here). And secondly, no one understands. And not in the deep, meaningful sense... I mean that sometimes my thoughts run too complex and with too many digressions to be entertaining/worthwhile (some trees have way too many branches to climb them all). But I want to. Sometimes I feel like I'm not doing anything for myself at all, but someone I don't know, that I could know, or possibly know. Not a cry for help and/or attention, so to speak, but its been a long time since I've connected with anyone in more than shallow levels. Many people in my life have understood and known completely where I've come from, and shared in the same experiences [of being a retarded writer], but where we've gone has been a different picture altogether.
Like I said, it's been lonesome.
And yet not.
Sometimes I feel like I'm constantly scrambling to retain a bit of faith.
I wonder if that isn't a side-effect of age, as well.
... I need to start dinner. Grocery shopping follows. I'm kind of in a bind here between being very hungry and eating now, going to the store and barely buying anything (consequently having me make another trip the day after tomorrow), or going shopping while hungry and buying a whole lot more than I'll need. I think pretty much everyone would know what I'm talking about.
If it makes any sense at all, and does perfectly in my head. I feel that it's all a product of aging, yet I was certain that the further up the numbers I went, the more I'd shed my pride. That was a stupider assumption than most. I've become ridiculously prideful over the years and as that pride grows within me, my increasing silence alongside it. I used to be very outspoken.
I've been writing a lot, but the past few days has been rather wane. I've begun to feel a little lonesome with it, as its all proverbial tree-in-forest with no one to hear it fall sorts of brain-vomit that feels more like a quiet withering than a crash. Even if someone were there, there isn't a sound, and a slow process that escapes notice. It's strange. I feel like I can't share anything as it falls along the lines of two things: firstly, no one cares (there are an awful lot of trees here). And secondly, no one understands. And not in the deep, meaningful sense... I mean that sometimes my thoughts run too complex and with too many digressions to be entertaining/worthwhile (some trees have way too many branches to climb them all). But I want to. Sometimes I feel like I'm not doing anything for myself at all, but someone I don't know, that I could know, or possibly know. Not a cry for help and/or attention, so to speak, but its been a long time since I've connected with anyone in more than shallow levels. Many people in my life have understood and known completely where I've come from, and shared in the same experiences [of being a retarded writer], but where we've gone has been a different picture altogether.
Like I said, it's been lonesome.
And yet not.
Sometimes I feel like I'm constantly scrambling to retain a bit of faith.
I wonder if that isn't a side-effect of age, as well.
... I need to start dinner. Grocery shopping follows. I'm kind of in a bind here between being very hungry and eating now, going to the store and barely buying anything (consequently having me make another trip the day after tomorrow), or going shopping while hungry and buying a whole lot more than I'll need. I think pretty much everyone would know what I'm talking about.