Watch this thing get chaotic

For a lack of something intelligent to say, I'll say that I've been very angry this week.

Or despising. Is there such a word as despising? Firefox isn't showing a red underline on that word, so there must be a word called despising. And there it goes again. No underline.

Or maybe it's vulnerable. Sensitive. Easily annoyed. Easily angered. It's not good if you're sick, they say, for it'll complicate your already complicated condition. I was sick for a couple of days, and I grappled with not having to go to work and feeling sick. Not that I enjoy work, although I'm aware that it completely contradicts what I just told Seattle the other day, which explains why I worked on one thing yesterday, which was a holiday.

I feel rattled. Three out of five days at home? Couple that with a lot of idle time in between - being stuck at home is apparently completely different than, say, sleeping inside a shuttle on the way home, or struggling to find something to keep you occupied when you finished all your work before lunch - and you've got a cranky me. So maybe the right term is cranky. At least no red underline will show up on that word.

I actually don't know why. Sure, there's the fact that you're wrested out of the (unhealthy?) routine that you do for five out of seven days in a week. The contradiction is, I actually liked the idea of doing something that you usually do in one set of circumstances under a different set of circumstances. And then come another set of thoughts that lead to that unhealthy set of thoughts. So I must be fucked up, then. Speaking of which, I launched a barrage of expletive-laden tweets a few days ago. I think that was Wednesday night, when my momentum got busted by another holiday. I was cranky.

I don't know if Ning will read this, and I know this will be useless, but I apologize, even if I said I won't.

Maybe I'm just really that messed up. If, for some reason, I always end up wondering about why everybody else is getting ahead of me, just when I try harder and get stuck deeper, then I must not be trying that hard. They must actually be correct, that I'm covering myself up and looking for attention at the same time, that I should be the one doing the effort, that I should try, and try, and fucking try some more. Well, if I did maybe I should've taken her and thrown off the window until she dies, right? Because she just fucking shuns me. See what I meant?

So, instead, I keep all that animosity deep inside, write them down in obscure paragraphs, and just try to distract myself while I'm doing the exact opposite. Which is, say, look through the rows of computers and fail again. And wonder where the old you has gone, and wonder whether the new you is just as unacceptable as the old you. And wonder all the same things that you've wondered about before, whether it's all worth wondering about again. I had nothing left to do with my idle time. All those downloads can only get me anywhere.

I hope Icka'd be around to explain what is happening to me, but I think I'd rather cry. And I can't, because, you know, it's socially frowned upon.

And your responses...

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