Saturday, February 5, 1983


I haven't been to bed yet. Am I destined to go through life watching others as though I’m on the other side of a pane of glass? What do I want? Someone to walk up to me and promise to be with me without me doing a thing about it?

I'm starting to despise the mundane level of daily existence, the inane talk, the chatter, the laughter, the busy ant-like scurrying that fills the days with meaningless, unfulfilling activity. I crave intensity because nothing ever happens, and I know the way I’m carrying on nothing ever will. I'm sick of scratching the surface, of a throwaway existence, of forgotten comments and jokes about the weather, sick of the odd laugh at an occasional party or two.

It's as if by getting drunk, staying up late, not eating (I haven’t had a decent meal in three days) I'll make something happen, even if it’s something negative. Better that than just blithely putting up a placid, cheerful exterior and pretending nothing is wrong.

No comments:

Google Analytics Alternative