Optimism is a fool’s errand. I have a hard time picturing things getting better. I see darkness, not light. And it’s not that’s it all bad. There are things in life that are good. There are, but it’s not always enough, and when I see the future…I don’t see the future. I see a blank, that I’m not good enough to fix.
And I don’t care about Paris Hilton. And I’m not writing this to be constructive. I don’t think that through my bitching I will find fulfillment. Because wishing for fulfillment would imply more hope than I actually feel.
And, the world just sucks. Sure, there are cute animals, but overall it’s a shitty place. And it ain’t getting better. And, I don’t do this for woe is me, because I am part of the problem, and I am the reason my future is dark. I have control, I choose not to cease it, I choose instead to bitch, in a blog, on a Monday, as I sweat, and itch, and listen to some pundit on TV, drone on and one and on. And I don’t feel like dealing, I just don’t. And the Braves were winning, last I checked. Hopefully the Phils will win. Though probably next week, since I’m going, and they never win when I go there it seems. Mostly never. And time is simply going nowhere. And no one seems able to stop it, or move it, I’m not even sure which one it is I want. Speed up, slow down, when they were on the ship they weren’t cows, but then they saw the sky and they were cows again. And yeah, even if you got the reference, I’m sure I flubbed the line, but I’m too lazy to google it.
And, I guess I sound like River, except not psychic, or brilliant, or a good dancer. I don’t see the future, at least as nothing good, and I have smarts I do nothing with, and I can barely walk without falling down, let alone dance. And, I don’t even have Alliance mind-rape to blame for my current free flow…I just have myself. And a lifetime of circumstances I refuse to divulge. Including the current ones, that have me in this state. And I’m not even sure why I’m in this state. I mean, the world is bleak, but why tonight? Maybe I’m just tired of lying to myself that things will get better. And I’m tired of things not getting better. I’m tired of being so pessimistic, but I can’t be optimistic without serious chemical intervention.
And I can’t see the point of moving forward, or standing still. And this memory isn’t mine, I shouldn’t be forced to carry it. Except it is. And my Sims are terrible parents, there was a fire last night, and the old guy dropped the baby next to the burning stove and ran outside. I need to call the social worker.
And I forgot my point, because I didn’t have one. That’s the point, the lack of one. It all seems pointless…