November 14th, 2005
I have tried writing, and over and over again it's proven to be useless. I can't get anything out that I haven't already. Searching for words to try and fulfill the release, that beautiful release that it normally allows, is like watching reruns of a TV show.. but never the one's that you'd actually enjoy watching over and over. It only ends up bringing more frustration, with no way to get it out. So.. last resort, like any writer would turn to if there was no other, is writing about having nothing to write about, or no way to express what you need to. So, sadly enough I've turned to that in denial of my writers block, and hope that if I keep telling myself that it's what I want to write about, that maybe it will bring some sort of relief. It's not. It's one of the many viscious cycles you find yourself falling into... I write about frustration, and only become even more frustrated on top of everything that's stuck inside of me already. I want to explode. So, I would think that the past weekends event's would have been the cause of this if I had the ability to see them coming beforehand... but they aren't. I opened the door, the one that I'm not supposed to. I opened it with no idea what was behind it... and somehow had convinced myself that whatever was there, needed to come out. Sooo.. being my typical self, I neglected to process the thought further to realize that it was all going to come out at once. There was no taking bits out at a time. Once I opened the door, the monster was going to come out full force.. relentlessly. So, maybe I wouldn't kick myself for it if it was the first time... but this is one of those terrible reruns. And I just made the mistake all over again. Now all I can really do is figure out how to cope. Yeah, I seem to be writing in a calm rational manner... I seem like quite the nice and sane person. I bet Ted Bundee did too. Doesn't mean he didn't murder every cute little blonde he could get his hands on. Don't worry though. I go for the brunettes. Just kidding. Oh well, at least I can still crack bad jokes... my sense of humor must still be intact. No, really. I'm laughing inside. Okay, maybe it's sarcasm... or sarcastic humor. There we go. Well at least one thing in my brain is functioning properly. Yeah, I'm not depressed.. don't get that idea. I don't know how I'm going to feel from one minute to the next, but I can tell you right now if I were at the point of not caring, I wouldn't be writing this. Unless I were emo. Bad joke. Okay, I'm done for the night. I made the attempt to get it out. Unsuccessfully.. but it's the thought that counts, right? At least I tried. Wow, that sounds as bad as "I didn't mean to bring the country to anarchy when I came into office. I just wanted to make it a better place, really I swear! Oh well, at least I tried." Yeah, I should stop writing before I make myself out to be even more of an idiot than I am. I need sleep. Goodnight.
12:09 AM
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