gone fishin' for sympathies.

I've been listening to The Good Life again.
People who don't know me don't know what that implies. Even those who do know me don't know what that means. I don't know what it means.

I don't know what what means?

Nothing.

What does it mean that I don't have any friends, can't get a job, have no money, have no direction, have no creativity, have no life/future/ambition/empathy/passion/ideas/talent(useful or real, but not both)/energy/determination/life?

Somedays I feel good about myself. Other days I just can't see why I should.

For years I've been playing this game with myself. I imagine that there was a time in my life when I had a spark of genius, an enviable intellect, an intelligence that was all mine and was something to be proud of, and that I have lost it. Year after year I believe that I used to be smarter the year before, and that now I'm no longer capable. This is of course never true; but that's what it feels like now, and what if it's true this time? What if now when I play this game it's real, and I really am less intelligent than I used to be? Or worse yet, what if I never was smart, what if I was always merely capable of affecting intelligence to a degree sufficient enough to fool some people into believing in something that didn't exist. Heads of church and state do it all the time, and they're generally no more intelligent than the average Joe.

This is terrible, I know, and pathetic and manipulative of those whom, for some reason beyond my ability to understand, still love me enough to read this fucking thing. I'm sorry, I can't help it. I'm awfully lonesome here in my blue room with my gray computer and my brown whiskey.

I guess I shouldn't be going on and on like this, as one day it's possible that I really won't have any friends, and boy won't I then be sorry. I'll eat my words like a roast beef sandwich. Err, sorry, a Tofurky™ brand mock roast beef sandwich. And they'll be delicious. With some tomatoes and a little vegenaise, it'll be so good.

Fuck it.

That's another thing. I no longer know how I feel about profanity.

I don't know where I was going with that last line.

It's funny, these days I spend my time absorbed in political or philosophical thought. Not like in a pretentious, "smart" sort of way. Far be such behaviour from me. No, the way I think about politics and philosophy is much more plebian, it's like full-contact academia. It usually envolves me smashing books together.

I had a white russian earlier, and I've decided that I don't like them.

K, I've either worked through all of the things I wanted to say, or I've got far too many things to say to even feign the motivation to try to catalogue them now, here.

I'm going to make something involving coconut rum, celestial seasonings chai and silk soy creamer (french vanilla), and hope my mom doesn't wake up while I do it. This place is hell. I'm fifteen years old.