insomnia interlude

It's not stress keeping me up, it's... the knowledge of loose ends. Things unstarted, things unfinished. Mostly social things.

No matter the success of things in the past, I'm still apprehensive and insecure of things yet to come.

things things things.

I'm angry at my birthday this year. I don't care about getting older. It's a date, it's an event, it's conspicuous on my calendar, and I'm trying to avoid eye contact.

I wish this post was on real paper so I could crumple it up and throw it away, but these kinds of thoughts always seem to sit glaring at me unless I somehow jettison them into the aether, send them off in search of life, on some mission they may never return from. I don't care if they return, I just like knowing there was some purpose in them.

Who f'ing cares, am I right?

I wish I knew how to stop feeling/being so selfish. I feel like I live in a vacuum, isolated from most real-people contact. The hermit part doesn't bother me, except when I see my life in the light of being sooo self-interested. As though the only passion I have is for understanding myself. What good does that do me in the real world? Ah, but I'm not living in the real world. I live in the middle of nowhere, and I'm too poor to go places and see people, because so often socialization means breaking bread together at some kind of food-related establishment. And the barriers to being not-poor and not-isolated aren't simple to remove as I'm not the only person involved in that process.

I don't know if I want change or reassurance that I'm doing okay.

But who f'ing cares.