Here I sit, looking at the blank space that I could fill with something worthwhile for society, something that could be a poem or story that could inspire thought, hope, or the feeling of closeness to those in the extended family of humanity.

Instead, all I think when I look upon such things, all I think when I look back at the ease with which I returned to a full-time and a half job, the simple way I was doing my job well without having to try very hard, and the way the relationships I have, the existing ones I try to build upon, and the ones I try to initiate as I meet new people. It was all so easy. So fucking easy. What happened?

From the top of the successful, yet mundane, climb I went through at full speed, now I can't think of anything that actually brings me any happiness or peace. I look at a job my coworkers and I finish, and see only problems for the future. I meet people I would give anything to know more about, and lose any interest once I put thought into the results of introducing them to where and with who I live (Meaning a parent who is more of a lackluster college roommate than an inspiring authority figure, not someone who has been the saving grace of my life these past months), I see only the way any sane person would react. Art, writing, living itself is a chore I take up daily just to distract myself, now. The shit-eating-grin way in which I talk to people, and easily converse at a million miles an hour is the only way I can keep from doing something stupid, something stupid just so I could have the authorities lock me up before I really cause someone problems.

I can't put my finger on it. The closer I come to knowing the source of it, the further I want to get away, pack my stuff and go somewhere where nobody knows me, where I don't have a mountain of responsibilities I can barely afford, where the things I take joy in don't come at an overbalanced price to my wallet, sanity, or peace of mind. I always like being able to take pride in my work, always like being able to look back on an experience and think that it was worth it. But I can't do it now. I can't even look at something nice, do something friendly, or make something useful without feeling hollow and unfulfilled. I joke and BS my way through the day, because without that, without forcing myself to find everything funny and somehow 'awesome', I'd just consider everything BS, and have nothing to look forward to. And I honestly don't know anymore, as of writing this, what there is, anyway. How long will I have to live at the bottom of the ghetto without and friends around me, working under the full sun in the summer in the dirt, and watching others progress around me and past before I can have something concretely >good< mistakenly find its way to me?

shit. Sounds like nothing but self-aggrandizing crap spewed from the mouth of a narcissist, but honestly its mine, my shit, and I'm wondering what to do about it. Seriously, a fucking sunset is bringing me nearly to tears. I need it to stop, and soon. This can't keep being a cycle I have to repeat for the rest of my life, because I won't bring anyone else into it as the mess it currently is, and I won't have the energy to force myself through it forever. All my past experience with the 'net, this won't even do anything, i don't care. I'm just spewing, anyway. Like always.