I Don’t Think This is a Blog Post But Fuck It

I want to write something profound and wonderful and also funny. But I have writing blue balls or limp writing dick. Why is everything about penises? I’m not sure. I have a lot of feelings about the things that are going on in my life but I don’t want to articulate them in a way that is coherent because I am tired of being vulnerable. It’s exhausting and terrifying and I need to lay down and rest my head and not think for a while. I want a big giant bed with flannel sheets and a white down comforter and some hot chocolate. I want to lay down there and not think about anything real. I don’t want to feel anymore. I feel things too intensely and for too long and I can’t turn my brain off. I’m tired.

All I can listen to is sad music, because apparently that is all that I own on ITunes. I miss having a Disc Man. I am stuck in the 90s. Pain is an annoyance to feel. Emotional pain is the worst kind of pain ever. It’s not the kind of pain you can take Motrin for. Sorry Motrin, you don’t get paid for this blog post. I don’t have the energy to write anything truly creative and that makes me feel even sadder than I already feel. Social media is also a huge trigger for me. When I get negative comments or when people unfriend me, which shouldn’t bother me, but it does.

In the 90’s we didn’t have Facebook and life was fucking great. Everyone listened to Alanis Morissette and Third Eye Blind and we all had cordless phones and watched reruns of Growing Pains. Why can’t life be like that again? It’s too exhausting and complex.

I miss the simplicity of things before becoming an adult.

I am consistently reminded of the injustices of adulthood. I try so hard to be a good person and apparently I still get fucked with. It’s not fair. I express myself honestly, I give of myself and still…still it’s not enough and I hate everything right now. Even though today was a somewhat awesome day for reasons I can’t talk about. But let’s just say that I won an award and I have been trying to win this award for seven years. I finally did it. So that’s great.

My brain is the weirdest of all the brains.

I’m so tired of being a good person and being taken advantage of or taken for granted. It really sucks balls. See? Back to penises. It’s always about the penis. I feel compelled to tell you that all I ate for dinner is string cheese. If you are still reading this blog post, I’m sorry. It’s not even about anything. You are an incredible person, because I am not even reading it after I hit that publish button. This is probably one the worst things I’ve ever written, or maybe one of the best depending on how much you think I suck as a writer. So that’s kind of the spectrum of reality.

Sometimes I think that I am bored. But how could I be bored? I have children. That in itself is entertaining. I am hungry, but not for food. I am hungry for knowledge and for understanding and also peace. I don’t want my mind to keep running. You know, like minds do. My mind is reckless and does what it wants. I wonder if I’ll ever be “enough” for someone. I guess that doesn’t matter. Because as long as I’m enough for me, that matters. It seems that’s how people find love though, by being this “enough” I speak of. I feel like a failure at all things relationship. I mean, if you read this blog post, you can probably tell why I suck at relationships. Because obviously I can’t form a coherent thought without being tangential. I do know big words like tangential though. This should totally be my dating website profile. THIS BLOG POST. And then all the fucking crazy people will want to date me.

Okay this is clearly not about anything and I need to eat some real food and take the television back from my children and engage my pre-frontal cortex in some entertainment. Is that the pre-frontal cortex does? I’m not even sure.