31st
When sleep is out of reach.
One more voice in the chorus of millions of voices out there. A angst-ridden scribble of graffiti on the inside of a mall bathroom. Another hand raised in the back of the classroom begging Pick me, pick me… I know it seems pointless to be writing this, but here I am—a squeaky, insignificant opinion in the sea of cyberspace. I offer my humblest regards to the Void.
Let me explain what I am trying to do. This will be a journal—not necessarily a journal in the typical sense, per se, while I’ll just whine to you about my problems or tell you about my boring day, but a journal where I share the thoughts and observations I have throughout the day that you might be able to get something out of.
That being said, I can’t offer you a lot, but I can offer you my honesty. And the chance that maybe somewhere, someone out there will read this and understand that someone else sees the world in a similar light. That person will probably never find this blog. But then again, they might. Perhaps it is even you.
A little bit about me: I am a teenage boy living in the purgatory that is highly-populated suburban California. I’m filled with all sorts of stuff. Eclectic bits of experiential knowledge, wacky off-color humor, war-generation angst, and the secret to getting a flat stomach in seven days and understanding the origin of the universe. Maybe scratch that last part.
As I write this it’s almost 1 in the morning and I’m still wracked with anxiety. There are some days where it seems like you are two separate people who want two separate things. And to make matters worse, what I want is in the middle of those two wrestling selves. It’s like the two sides of me have got a rope around the waist of what I want and are pulling in two separate directions. If they both keep going, everything is going to be broken. Neither can win. This game of tug-of-war is lethal, and one side of me is going to lose. I just don’t want both sides of me to.
