From an old journal
I am staring out of my own portrait these days. My world is becoming so saturated with the same things day in and day out that I’m ready to burst. It is new media, it is working on projects I don’t feel more than a passing interest in, it is surrounding myself by people whose interests fulfil only one of my own. Most of all, it is this place.
I hate being stagnant more than almost anything else. It get this itch, perhaps my gypsy itch, that propels me to leave, to walk away and change to a new life. Every day it gets harder. Every day I feel like I’ve sunk into the mud a bit more.
So now I am looking beyond. Not in the excited way of expectation. Not in the interested way of philosophy. I’m looking ahead in the yearning way, the way that nearly brings me to tears, the way that is so frustrated, so amazingly antagonized that I can do nothing but sit and stare. It’s like I’ve already given up.
Tonight I was quiet. Less talkative than normal. I was made to notice because of what a friend of mine told me. I can’t keep up the energy to talk most of the time. I am way too tired. Like now. I am exhausted, utterly, waiting for something to change. Bed tonight will bring no comfort in the grand scheme of my life, but at least I won’t be yawning.
Someone tell me why I didn’t study religion and mysticism in college? Someone tell me why I, a person who values his individuality, his freedoms, and his sense of being alone more than anything… someone tell me why I feel like I want someone to lay against at night. It doesn’t make sense. People never do.