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19 july 2000
----- Today's game is over; the season will never end. Leftover pepperoni pizza is heating in the oven, and I'm questioning my existence. Sometimes I think the happiest people in the world are the ones that never sit back, think about their lives, and wonder "Why?" Should I feel cursed by introspection? Frankly, I just feel plain-old burnt out. Kinda like a candle that's run out of wax. The skanky ashes of a once-glowing wick. When I find myself so exhausted from playing life, where can I find the energy to live? Maybe I'm just weird, or crazy, fucked up in the head, so to speak. Even so, I feel compelled to live with that ... I can't change myself; I can only grow. Grow to where, though? That which I have, I don't want, and that which I can't have, I pray for. I lust after the untenable, and yet I do nothing to find a grip on it. So content, floating through the world, stopping only to bitch and moan about the state of my self. Is there really a reason for me to be alive? I guess that's the question I'm living to answer. And I'll keep on living until I have that answer. For I know the answer exists. As sure as I know my feet smell really bad right now, I know the answer exists. It just seems so ... fucking ... far ... away. Another game tomorrow. My patience is wearing thin.
In the forum: 19 july 1999: : didn't write 17 july 1998: slim : Having a penis really sucks sometime. OK, maybe "sucks" was the wrong word. Let's just say that the day my mind and my dick become friends, well, all will be well, birds will chirp, and angels will sing.
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