On The Dwindling, & Silence

So I’ve been slacking off on the posts. Big deal.

I feel bad about it, really I do, but what am I supposed to write when there’s nothing to write about? My life has been fairly empty these past few weeks (though if I say “years” it would still be true) so I really have nothing to tell except for life’s daily events which, unfortunately, don’t amount to much, either.

I don’t write too much anymore, and I don’t go online except to giggle and whale-moan over Daft Punk fangirl things for a  couple of hours. It’s a good thing that I sleep early now, and that sometimes I get enough of a self-starter to get on with my nightly hygienic rituals, but at the same time it somehow seems like another indication of the boring turn my life has taken. I don’t even know exactly what it is that’s eating up my time. Hours of the day go by and I truly, honestly, cannot remember where they went.

To be honest, I think I didn’t totally recover from that one bad weekend. My issues are starting to resurface again, what with the aborted attempt at seeking help (the counselor told me to come back, but apparently she forgot that she was actually too busy).

I have not been talking to anyone except for my best friend, and a couple of others. It’s an active avoidance, but it’s all the more frustrating when you find that no one actually gives a shit whether you’re there or not. Which is sadly the case with me all the time.

So yes, I am once again all alone in this, in the knee-deep emotional shit that I am in, in everything. What a feeling to have on the day before your birthday.

Life is crawling by like a salted slug; slowly, and dying. Won’t someone spare it mercy and just douse it in bleach?

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