This is a diary. If I want to bitch about the state of the world, there are all sorts of places to do that. Here I get to bitch about my life in particular. And as fucked up as the world is, my life equals it in many ways.
And not because of the rest of the world. And not because of me either. It's some weird combination of random events and limited choices.
And it only gets worse since I've decided that I don't think I'm going to make choices anymore. Not that I make bad choices, but making good choices doesn't alter my fortunes one whit. So I'm gonna try not making any decisions, and see how that works for a while.
I just know that the Archbishop is gonna bring some truly horrible movies when he comes over here tonight. I feel...nothing.
Oh well, it was worth a shot. Like I always tell caz, my apathy beats his bitching anyday.
And actually, he told me today that I can try to kill him all I want. I just promised not to succeed. Cause if I do, he'll come back to bitch me, which is sort of like being haunted, but there's more bitching.
So I'm going to watch bad movies tonight and talk about my new RPG, and take tests tomorrow, and then play in the Magic prerelease, and then get a new computer, and then actually set up the RPG. I hope people actually play. I'm going to pester all of you until you do. I'm serious about this. When I say pester, I mean with a large stick. And I've got two of them.
So this is the end. The end of our story. I know we weren't telling a story, but it has to end. It has to end now. Everything has to end, so something new can begin.
Sometimes I fear I'm the harbinger of a new universe. I hope not. That means I have to sit through another one of these damn universes.
Why can't I ever get the suspicion that my existence will bring about the end of the universe? I could accept that. I wouldn't mind so much, but I don't want to just replace this one with another where I must take on the role of Creator.
But you wouldn't understand. You don't know my beliefs, how I view the universe. It makes a very big difference, and no one sees it the way I do. No one else could be this fucked up. This complex weave of fantasy and reality that I somehow believe is all reality.
I'm supposed to be insane. I'm a writer, whose entire life is based on his fantasies. I've lived more time in fantasies than I have in the physical world. All I do is fantasize any longer, and do my best to avoid life. My characters are more real to me than most people. How in all hells did I get to be a realist? Why can't I just lose touch with reality? It's not like reality has all that much going for it compared to the sheer quantity of possibilities available to me through my imagination.
I just want to be Chris. It's even the way I refer to myself. Not as Christopher. Just as Chris. I'm just Chris. It's all I've ever wanted to be, and I've been working at it so very long, and I'm so close, but each successive steps is many times more difficult than the previous one, and I no longer know where I'm going.
And I've thought these same things so many times. I just haven't talked about them before.
This is the kind of crap I think about on a regular basis. Is it any wonder I'm fucked up as I am.
I can't even feel despair, cause there's really nothing to despair about. And fear, fear isn't an emotion, but I have no fear either. The only thing I ever feared, I worked through that a year ago. So now....
Chicks are hardy, and have a high survival rate.
recent...
2000-09-21 - I've lost my way.
2000-09-21 - Today's randomness level is...
2000-09-19 - M-u-s-t S-l-e-e-p
2000-09-18 - A bunch of stuff I need to say.
2000-09-17 - So I'm not hyper.
Step Back ---/// Take a Step ///--- End of the Path