Original article posted by ravenpaine:
Entry 60 – June 16, 2004
I was going to write something pithy. And you were going to let me, because the man who is armed is allowed to make pithy comments. But, unfortunately for you and the members of our television audience I have nothing of importance to say.
I have not been doing much in the past 16 days that would actually warrant a conversation. I could sum it all up in, “I was going to do something, but then I kinda played games all day and I didn’t eat much and I slept too much and I’m broke and I need a job but find it hard to move and my brain is dying because it is spending 80% of its run time yelling at me for not doing anything and I really just want someone to save me from all of this by caring for me enough for me to care for them and knock it.”
Which is not much of a summary, not with that puncuation.
Thre is a list of things that I have been meaning to get done that is growing exponentioally. I dream of wearing a T-shirt that has but the simple word “inert” in it in unserifed simple block letters. It would be red and the text would be black and everyone who saw it would wonder if I had misspelled something else. But I will have said what I intended to say.
The justifications I make for my inaction are mediocre through and through. This is because it does not take much justification to simply do nothing, it sort of just happens and you go with it. Hence the shirt.
Random and horrible sadnesses will attack me throughout the day. I will tear up suddenly and need a smiling face to tell me they care. I have faced this feeling many a time, enough times that I tend to ignore it altogether. I actually don’t care if some part of me is trying to cry for help or not. All I really care about is… nothing. Hence the shirt.
I have had the unfortunate luck to find ways to occupy my time with things that hardly matter but take enough concentration to keep me from contemplating my problem.
Until tonight. Tonight I intentionally turned off my games and walked into the night two hours early. I thought about some things. I came to vague conclusions fueled by melancholy and rage in some proportion.
I’ll be fine. I’m honestly not all that bad off in the first place, but I assume that I could be better. This is where the problems truly begin. My passion for life, my need to achieve things behond my current scope and abilities has simply faded away. I can put just as much effort into any project or hobby I have and feel just as rewarded. My life is a process under which I find things that make me happy and I do them.
I loathe happiness. I loathe the complacency that it spawns within me. I loathe every fiber of me that cares one whit about the things of this world. My goals are elsewhere.
I can sense that I have reached the point in this writing where everything that I think would be important to type is simply going to come out as so much hyperbolic blubbery gibbersh. I’ll spare you all that tonight. Tomorrow all bets will be off on such things.
Until such time as I find the energy and such to speak to you all…
Bonne nuit, bonne nuit to you all.