Blaah

Blaah
I feel like I'm not living my life. I feel like I'm not living. Well, I'm clearly alive, but I only exist. I feel like I care more about what other people are doing than about what I'm doing. And that what I'm doing doesn't matter. Nothing matters unless it's about someone else. Where is my life? What is my life? What is the point of life? I fill my days with activities and experiences. I exercise, I swim, I occassionally go to taekwondo. I've picked up my knitting again. I read magazines and the interweb. I watch tv. I think about things, but the things I think about don't have to do with me. They have to do with other people. I suppose this isn't really true b/c here I am writing about my life. I must be thinking about it to accomplish this task. But maybe this just means that I turn everything off and then vomitron it out here. Maybe I'm just lonely. Maybe I'm frustrated that I'm done but not really done because I'm working on this paper, but not really working. Maybe my life these last two years have become all about accomplishments and grades and accolades. This has never been me but it's so deeply infiltrated my being. What happened to happiness? Even something that should be bringing me happiness isn't because I'm just too royally fucked up. Too fucked up that I fucked it up? We'll see. Maybe it's hormones. The timing would be right, but usually I'm angry. Now I'm just ... depressed. No, I'm not depressed. I just feel like I'm not alive.