(no subject)
Hm, sometimes I wonder why?
My life is still as fruitful as that of four years ago, and I wasn't a happy chappy then either.
I remember doing some tests with my psychologist recently to see whether I was 'psychotic' or a health risk or something, and the results came back that I was 'relatively normal', not a health risk, no suicidal watch blah blah and so forth. Comforting.
All of ten seconds ago I had another one of my flashes of brilliance. Being dead.
They don't come often, but I have had those thoughts for years. This latest one made me think about it for long enough that I am writing here. To talk myself away from the notion? To consider it? *shrugs*
The being dead part would be grand, the making my way to being dead part is not something I consider fun. So where does that leave me? Rock and a hard place I guess.
Hate my life (still). My body and health is a crumbling waste, some of it my fault. I am still single after four years, not without wont of trying not to be. Finding someone of the opposite sex that wants to sit down and chill out with me for a chat without even knowing my name is harder to find than John Howard's height!
I have a platter of great friends. Most of them live overseas, so that sucks (for me). Have Hinge here, but I hardly see him now. He's a great networker, has some great company (notably ebony_ivory) but also has a lot of eager people to please and look after.
I live in Melbourne. I have two friends here I have known for ten years. One other friend I have known for less than one, however I consider her to be a close friend. Unfortunately, I would like to be her lover, but there are too many needles in the doll to make it human, so friend wins. Story of my life.
That pretty much ends my friends base. I have University friends. I have friends living in Tasmania. The former are not friends that I consider friends. Colleagues, not friends. The latter, well there are a handful of close people I know there however they end up falling into the same group as being 'overseas'. I cannot use transport to see them, hug them, and spill my guts to them on any given day. I need that sometimes. A lot of times.
I thank you for your comments, attempts at cheering me up, and remarks of confidence you're automatically going to make upon reading this but...
Stop a moment and think about what you really want to say, if anything at all.
Apparently the grass is green and the girls are pretty. I never really liked the Red Hot Chili Peppers.
A whole lotta fun for the worms.
Mulch.
My life is still as fruitful as that of four years ago, and I wasn't a happy chappy then either.
I remember doing some tests with my psychologist recently to see whether I was 'psychotic' or a health risk or something, and the results came back that I was 'relatively normal', not a health risk, no suicidal watch blah blah and so forth. Comforting.
All of ten seconds ago I had another one of my flashes of brilliance. Being dead.
They don't come often, but I have had those thoughts for years. This latest one made me think about it for long enough that I am writing here. To talk myself away from the notion? To consider it? *shrugs*
The being dead part would be grand, the making my way to being dead part is not something I consider fun. So where does that leave me? Rock and a hard place I guess.
Hate my life (still). My body and health is a crumbling waste, some of it my fault. I am still single after four years, not without wont of trying not to be. Finding someone of the opposite sex that wants to sit down and chill out with me for a chat without even knowing my name is harder to find than John Howard's height!
I have a platter of great friends. Most of them live overseas, so that sucks (for me). Have Hinge here, but I hardly see him now. He's a great networker, has some great company (notably ebony_ivory) but also has a lot of eager people to please and look after.
I live in Melbourne. I have two friends here I have known for ten years. One other friend I have known for less than one, however I consider her to be a close friend. Unfortunately, I would like to be her lover, but there are too many needles in the doll to make it human, so friend wins. Story of my life.
That pretty much ends my friends base. I have University friends. I have friends living in Tasmania. The former are not friends that I consider friends. Colleagues, not friends. The latter, well there are a handful of close people I know there however they end up falling into the same group as being 'overseas'. I cannot use transport to see them, hug them, and spill my guts to them on any given day. I need that sometimes. A lot of times.
I thank you for your comments, attempts at cheering me up, and remarks of confidence you're automatically going to make upon reading this but...
Stop a moment and think about what you really want to say, if anything at all.
Apparently the grass is green and the girls are pretty. I never really liked the Red Hot Chili Peppers.
A whole lotta fun for the worms.
Mulch.