It’s March and I don’t even care. All I care about is that Spring is closer than ever. I have never looked forward to the summer as I have now. Of all my years living in new england, I can honestly say that I have never hated winter as much as I have this season. I am sick of winter. I loathe winter, and I loathe the cold. I don’t want to see snow ever again in my entire life. I want to live somewhere warm, or somewhere that does not get an extreme weather change. I am over this place. This is why next year I am either moving to CA or FL, depending on what happens with my life and certain developments that are going to occur through the rest of 2014. 

Enough of that. I’m still not sure why I’m writing this tonight. I forgot how important it is to write. I know that I am a good writer, and when I write about something that is passionate to me, it can make an exquisite read. But what has happened to those days? What happened to the days where I would write formal entires, detailing my every feeling and thought about situations pertaining to those moments that are now in the past? The main reason is that I’m tired. I’m tired of writing the same complaints that I have about society and the world over and over again. I got tired of it, so I stopped. Every month there was something that happened with someone or an event that made me angry…and I just got tired of writing the same shit all the time. It would always consist of my disappointment with people, the way the world is, and what society itself has become. I’ve said what I wanted to say so many times, that I don’t think that there is anything left for me to say. This scares me. It scares me because if I stop writing, I will be wasting an important ability that I developed over the years. But who writes anymore these days? Do people have time to write? I don’t ask that in a cynical way…rather, I truly do wonder if there are still writers out there who have time to blog or write on paper. With the way the world is, I’m not sure that people are writing as they were before. Technology has replaced a lot of activities that people did in the past. When there was no electricity, people wrote…and many great, classic works of literature came from this. But now, people are in a rush to go no where, consuming anything and everything. Society is descending into a state of lunacy and stupidity thanks to technology. Well, I should say that society HAS descended into such a state. We are already there. We are already able to see the bottom of the barrel of scum that humanity itself has thrown itself into. Those of us who do not want to end up at the bottom try our best to run our own marathons, and not at the pace that society dictates. Even so, it is extremely difficult to get away from these “standards.” People are still going to ask me about my life; they are still going to ask me where I work, what I am doing, if I have a significant other, and what my future plans are. I’m shielding myself from everything. I’m an anti social who wishes not to know anything about anybody else because I am so discontent with my fucking life that I cringe at the mere mention of happiness from others. I already know this is awful, I don’t need anyone to tell me otherwise. This is what my life has become, and it’s sad. Some days I want to kill myself; I think about suicide. I wouldn’t say that I think about it a lot, but it’s something that often crosses my life. I still don’t know why I am alive. I don’t see my life going anywhere, so this is why I’m curious as to why I am still here. I feel like nothing has TRULY changed since 2008. It has always been the same routine, with the only variants being the people and places I have dealt with. But there is nothing extraordinary about my life, nor this place. I know I have to leave. But will I take all my personal problems with me? Or will a new start truly help me resolved them? I won’t know it if I don’t try. Yet, I’m still not sure why someone like me is even living at this moment. With the way the world is, with the way society is going, and with the way that my personal life is going, I don’t see any reasons for me to be alive. I don’t see the point in continuing this. It’s madness, it’s all madness. It’s all a twisted and sick joke and then you die. Nothing makes sense to me anymore, and I know that I can’t question or even attempt to try and make sense of anything in life, because it doesn’t make sense. People kill for no reason, and if that isn’t an indication that nobody should ever try to make sense of things, then I’m not sure what is. I have probably said that before; an indication that indeed, I have said it all before and have now turned into a broken record. I’ve exhausted my words and my thoughts, because ever since 2008, my feelings and disgruntled views about people and the world have been the same, and they are only reinforced by negative experiences that I continue to have. So what is left of me? A zombie. An empty can. There is nobody home; I have been dead for years. I died when I realized the cruelty, selfishness, madness, and incoherence of people. I died when I realized that there is no happily ever after. I died when I realized that no matter how much we worry, no matter how much we succeed, and no matter how many problems we solve, death awaits us in the end. I died when those I called friends disillusioned me. I died when I realized how disappointing life is. 

“Most people die at 25 and aren’t buried until they’re 75.” -B. Franklin