Don't-give-the-world-a-shit day.

I don't get it. There's this willingness to begin writing in me right now but I don't seem to be able to write anything. Somewhere inside of me is a small person hollering, agonizing, and prancing about, imploring me to write something, anything. Don't know where to put my first word, first step, or pretty much anything else for that matter. Life is treating me fair but I am not playing my cards the way I should, emptying what little talent and time I have into sinkholes of whatever, all too happy to drain away everything I offer into the unfathomably deep abyss of the what-ifs and what-could-have-beens. Writing like this is as unglamorous as hell and bloody un-arty but I don't give a flying fuck because I can't be bloody bothered anymore. Actually, on some level, I realise the pretentiousness of almost everything I have ever written. About time also. There is no way I'll be able to do any good, preaching about something I don't believe in. I won't kid you, it's fun writing like this; might be trash but at least I'm enjoying it (you're still reading up to this point so I suppose you might be also; in that case - hah!).

You know, one thing I've always liked is coincidence. Coincidence never ever fails to entertain me, however trivial it might possibly be. I feel like and should talk more about my life experiences with the subject but I won't because I'm getting tired of writing and tired myself. I might read this next time and find out most shockingly (quelle surprise) how self-indulgent this post is but since today is don't-give-the-world-a-shit day, I will have quite pleasantly have myself excused. If you have suffered up to this point reading this poppycock, I can't say I'm sorry; it's nice to know you're reading anyway.