It seems like since I started writing here (I don't know, November?) I've lost some big portion of the creative (and usually incendiary) edge I have.
I have an archive (I don't know how many items it takes, really, to have it constitute an archive) of shit that I wrote as Facebook notes. Please note Fuckbook, that I am not promoting your empire in any way. Your application is a nightmare.
Anyways, I figure I'll make something of a purge entry to get the fingers moving on the keyboard, to get the brain accustomed to forming free-flowing sentences again. If I have to pause, I can guarantee the publish button isn't worth pressing. But, here I've gone 6 (ish) months without a really interesting drop of creative writing (that I've put on the internet anyways, dozens of drafts archived on my shitty and rapidly diminishing hard drive space.)
I'm running out of youth, it would seem. Really, as you might have noticed from previous posts, I've attempted to self-medicate my (well, bipolar disorder)... self with alcohol ... and perhaps less obviously, caffeine. Constantly riding the crest and fall of these great waves of moods. I guess, what I really need is to go see a doctor. I can't go on like this forever, it's exhausting. Alright, enough of this fucking (woe is me) bullshit.
My writing is not the only thing that suffers. Relationships are dead, too. My work is hurt. Well, no. Work is the only place that's basically unaffected. Although, I don't feel the same joy and earnestness with everyone.
Seriously, though? I have just enough to game to continue spree-fucking but not enough to keep one? Well, fuck, maybe I'm not ready to keep one. But shouldn't I be? Don't fucking tell me age has nothing to do with it. This 30 thing is fast approaching, and I'm not sure I just don't have an ingrained, fundamental hatred of every other human being. Crowds, smiles, tinkling laughter. Oh fuck, oh fuck you.
I guess shitty writing is better than doing mountains of cocaine, or the white pony, or fucking your sister and laughing about it. Seriously, one more time: fuck you.
Ah, I feel exorcised. I'll back to punish the internet more later. Thanks. You're like a journal, since nobody really reads this shit anyways. Hahaha. Fuck you.