I’ll blog until I bleed.
YEAH. Well. I wish I had an adequate response to any of this. This...this...blueness...But I have it. I’m infested with it. It’s taking over everything I do. I hate it. I don’t know how to fight it. I don’t even know what it is. I don’t even know what I’m talking about.
BUT I do know this:
I’m sick of a lot of stuff.
I’m sick of the weather (and that’s not going to change.)
I’m sick of school (but I don’t know what to do about that.)
I’m sick of work (but I need to do it.)
I’m sick of fighting with my girlfriend (but I think that’s blown over, after a particularly large rumble.)
I’m sick of my roommates (I want to make them die.)
I’m sick of not having keys (and I think it’s dynamite time.)
I'm sick of me, I'm sick of you (in a generic sense, no offense to anyone in particular.)
I’m sick of feeling this way, but at the same time, not really knowing if I’m happy or not, cause maybe I am and maybe I’m just overreacting.
But maybe I’m not. Cause there’s no way to tell. There aren’t any answers. And I just keep on hoping that I’ll know if it was right when I get there. Where? I don’t know. Looking for answers makes more questions without answers. Maybe I don't even really care.
I am a waste, and all is wasted upon me. Am I even here at all?
Maybe we should just make more songs that make people punch each other.
YEAH. Well. I wish I had an adequate response to any of this. This...this...blueness...But I have it. I’m infested with it. It’s taking over everything I do. I hate it. I don’t know how to fight it. I don’t even know what it is. I don’t even know what I’m talking about.
BUT I do know this:
I’m sick of a lot of stuff.
I’m sick of the weather (and that’s not going to change.)
I’m sick of school (but I don’t know what to do about that.)
I’m sick of work (but I need to do it.)
I’m sick of fighting with my girlfriend (but I think that’s blown over, after a particularly large rumble.)
I’m sick of my roommates (I want to make them die.)
I’m sick of not having keys (and I think it’s dynamite time.)
I'm sick of me, I'm sick of you (in a generic sense, no offense to anyone in particular.)
I’m sick of feeling this way, but at the same time, not really knowing if I’m happy or not, cause maybe I am and maybe I’m just overreacting.
But maybe I’m not. Cause there’s no way to tell. There aren’t any answers. And I just keep on hoping that I’ll know if it was right when I get there. Where? I don’t know. Looking for answers makes more questions without answers. Maybe I don't even really care.
I am a waste, and all is wasted upon me. Am I even here at all?
Maybe we should just make more songs that make people punch each other.
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