Mood: listless My disgust for daily living grows at a steady pace, and has been for quite some time--years, I think. But it leaves me to wonder where or when is the final breaking point, or do I just simply have some infinite threshold? Infinite threshold is overrated. People who can smile through every situation life can throw at them... I don't know... I don't understand it. I can understand a lot of things in this world, but understanding how the mind can be capable of thinking like that is something of a baffleing thing to me. I wish I knew their secret, but in reality, I know it's not a secret at all. They cry in the corner, the same as the rest of us, only for them--their facade has enslaved them so much that they need to go into a closet and cry. No one can be that happy. Or at least, if they can, I hate them. Immensely. It's amusing, because I hate everything that I can't have, but if or when I get said thing, I end up hating it regardless. I'm so bitter that I make me sick. And I'm just tired of my own bullshit. And I'm tired of plugging away at the dream. And I'm fucking increasingly sick of playing the game. I see no point, yet I know the point. And THAT right there is where my problem lies. So, yeah. People are the world's biggest disappointments. Including myself.
Manufactured happiness
8:24 p.m.//12.26.06
Sound: The Magnetic Fields -- You and Me and the Moon
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