something ironic.
My bed is extremely uncomfortable, but so are all the other options. I decided I want to write a novel, but I have doubts already. I must be very self-righteous if I think I am literally-inclined enough - or even competent enough - to write a novel. Secondly, I don't want it to turn out as an angsty, teen-aged, self-indulged book based on my own life and nothing more, but that's probably what it's going to end up as, considering I don't have the creativity to write about anything beyond my limited daily occurences, and my daily occurences are so limited (that it might end up as a five-hundred paged book about how my dad always leaves the T.V. on when he goes to bed, and when you try to turn it off he wakes up from the lack of sound, but the sound keeps me awake only adding to my isomnia and run-on sentences). It's like my life is a run-on sentence. Everything just keeps going, only with minor pauses (commas) and in the end it doesn't make sense and you look back on it like "Wow, I could have really used a period there." But by then it's too late, because you didn't want to waste the two minutes to proof-read it so you just called it finished, and wondered why you got such a poor mark. Maybe I'll just write for myself, to see if I even have the mental capacity to write anything remotely brilliant. It's not like I have any hopes of being published. Okay, that's a lie - I can always HOPE, but realistically, no one's ever going to publish a seventy year-old maybe retarded, definitely insane borderline-personlatiy girl with a superiority complex and nothing under her belt except pants. I suppose I want to achieve somethign that is almost unattainable to the less-than-brilliant, non-child prodigies like me. I don't have it in me though. I don't mean that in a pessimistic way - I mean that I don't have the ability, let alone the desire, to plan this out. I've never planned out anything in my life, now I have to worry about how my conflict will be resolved by the antagonist in the climax of my story? I don't read a lot of non-fiction for a reason. It's mostly unrelatable to me. I like rawness, I like unaltered stories of actual encounters with actual people. I want a Seinfeld book, really. That's real. Too bad real isn't entertaining anymore. I don't think anyone wants to read about my eternal struggle with the broken toilet paper holder anyway.