It's sort of like a constantly filling glass, with a crack just big enough in it to keep it from overflowing the top. There isn't a whole lot of stability right now. It's sort of been free reign. It's weird. What I've had to do is force myself into places where I can pretend my presence means something, even though it really probably doesn't. Just about the most reassuring thing I have is my cat, constantly snuggled up against me. He won't let me be alone.
I'm just filling up my time with whatever I can. Like putting random stickers on a page just so it isn't empty. The stickers don't mean a whole lot but they become what I know, they become a space filler and for that I'm grateful. As much as I appreciate them, I'll be surprised if anything substantial comes out of any of this. But who's to put a box around "substantial"? Current worth is substance enough even if it's not very deep or lasting. I was gonna say life-changing, but it sort of is, because without what I have, my friends and those little things I can do here and there, my life would be very different. So they are life-changing, even if I've felt deeper connections. I won't turn away help.
It doesn't really matter what I put here, because I don't think anyone reads it. The slight risk that someone might makes it more interesting and daring for me. I'm not writing for attention; there are more effective ways of getting that. I'm writing because I want a place to put my thoughts. So it doesn't matter how insignificant the cool breeze from outside is, or the ever-so-slight burning at the back of my throat. This is for me. If you want to get something out of it, go ahead, but I won't expect much. I can't expect much. I have to do things for myself. Maybe not completely alone, but part of taking care of yourself is knowing when to go to others. So I do that when I can, but a lot of times I can't. No one really wants to read my soul or listen to my story. I'm just a person amongst many.
Who cares? Well I do, so I guess I'll do things for myself. I'll mess up, but Max will forgive me. He doesn't know hate or anger, really. I'm not sure what those negative feelings he has for Mojo are, but they aren't hate or anger. They're something else. He's innocent. He's better than human. I don't know how I feel about humans anymore. I like the beautiful parts, and I guess I'm a human too, but it's just something that is a fact. I don't feel as strongly right now as I have before about humanity. What's the point? It doesn't do anyone much good to think about the whole of it, the underlying, when all we see is an obscure sample throughout our lives. So I'll only care about myself and the few that are directly around me.
Indifference. I've been waiting for this. I've been hurt pretty fuckin' bad. But now I just don't care. Sure there are things I'd like. But it doesn't matter. I'll just do what I want and not wait for anything from anyone else. If I can't control it, it doesn't matter. It just is and whether it's supposed to be that way or not isn't my concern if I can't affect it. Music isn't the same. Food isn't the same. Nothing's the same. Oh well. We evolve, or whatever.
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