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Wednesday, October 20, 2004

Being tired, as I've said before, is not my happiness. It isn't the type of pleasant, cosy, mellow tiredness. It's like 'ohshitIjustfellasleepguardingthehousewiththedooropen' tired. A cold, panicky, upset and pathetic tired where everything is measured in halves.
And also, when my writing turns turd.

But hey, if I keep going it'll be ok?

So yesterday, on the phone. I stopped talking, not breathing, the air pushing down about an inch under my adam's apple.
What if I amount to nothing? Actually, what'll I do when I amount to nothing? Marry some dead-end girl, for kids? Too cowardly.
See the thing is, I want to matter. And potential counts for absolutely fuck-all, anywhere. The only thing potential gets you is a chance.
Constantly being told of your ability is only a recipe for failure. Just like the word 'genius' is there to comfort people who had ability or promise and lost it, on the train or something. Journeying from cul-de-sac to dead-end.
So yeah, I think maybe I'll have to grow up and realise, y'know, that the world doesn't gift me like I'm used to. And that no matter how important I think I am, all that matters really is external impressions...

And then I'll come downstairs, feel better after food. My dog just came and lay underneath my feet. ^_^

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