If you are looking for entertainment, love, happiness or joy, I strongly suggest you stop reading right now, because it may not be a pretty entry. In fact, I'm about to lay it all on the table and though it may look as a serious package, most is just air. I'm all facade and little bricks.
Midnight Blues, yet it is way past midnight. I can't even get that right, can I?
I'm 33 years old, and I'm seriously wondering what I've got to show for it. I've got a place of my own - well, the bank owns it unless I pay them back every cent I borrowed years ago - I've got a fulltime job that I usually like, but that's about it.
I'm scared to fall in love, yet long for it. I've got no social skills whatsoever - hell, if it were possible to have negative social skills, I'd rank first in my class - and I do things that make no sense in the great "meaning of life", should such a thing exist. Some things don't even make sense the second after.
I go to the movies on my own, I eat dinner alone, I get laid alone - let's call it what it is : masturbation - I get up alone and go to bed alone. Instead of living a life I blog about a fictional one that lasts 24 hours that make up a day, the days that make up a week, month, year and a lifetime. And in the end... I stand before the great nothingness, empty handed. And alone.
Hobbies? None, but computers. Work defines me as a person, defines my life. I don't meet strangers and if I do I say nothing to them. If I do talk, it'll be about business or work, or it is related to it. It's not a social conversation at all.
I'm overweight, have no stamina and am not inclined to do something about it. I feel good with who I am, yet hate myself at the same time. I set high standards for everyone around me, but fail myself time after time. When I start a task, I rarely finish it. I get distracted easily and have the attention span of a goldfish in troubled water. I like disco music more than can be good, my mind dances yet my body doesn't move. If it does, it bursts out in spams of some kind, not looking like anything but spasms.
I yell along with songs such as "Thriller" by Michael Jackson or "Funky Town" by Lipps Inc. but only when alone. Which is quite often. I wouldn't dare it call singing, let that be clear.
Goals in life, I have no more. I live day by day, and time passes. Money ain't a problem, but the dreams are gone. I'm overly realistic, yet dare imagine things unreachable. I do such things to make sure there is no chance I ever get there and then end up hurt because the dream was false to begin with. I could go on and on for a while, but I think this is it for now.
I'm not gonna allow comments on this entry, because what I write here is the truth laid bare, and no matter what someone else thinks or writes can change that. People may want to cheer me up, or share their own sad story, but for once, this is all about me. Not about you, your life, your problems or your story. Did you really think I'd care? I've got problems enough as it is, I don't need yours.
To be continued, maybe.