Metal Pencil and SCIFI III

metal-pencil-and-scifi-screen2

So, I’m giving mouth to mouth to this periodic post.

Great, now I have a metallic taste in my mouth.You too, huh. And now invariably you can taste the pencil. Even though it’s wood and shouldn’t be so repulsive, it’s one of the most foul things you can chew on.

Wow, did I blow through the first topics. But I guess I’m in a mood.

I’m tired.

I’m tired of pain, I’m tired of failing because I don’t conform, I’m tired of a moronic cruel family, I’m tired of love, I’m tired of life.

I’m tired of reading inspirational uplifting messages. If they work for you, awesome. For me they are insufficient. I made the mistake of looking through the looking glass, and now I cannot unsee what lie beyond.

I still enjoy doing things, so I’m not depressed. I cannot do them most of the time because of a failing body. That falls under the tired of pain rant.

I feel at times there are two people stuck in my head. Two souls, but unfortunately for me, both with a history of hardship. Sure, without high levels of suffering, greatness cannot be achieved, much like greatness for the Greeks was a tragedy, a tough drama, or psychotic vengeful gods. I feel that has been my existence of late.

Too often I feel I’m stuck in a parallel universe. Somewhere along the line things changed. I should never have done this or that, instead this other or that other should have occurred. There are times, that this feeling is so strong, that I become convinced that this isn’t real. Reality is the dream and I will wake up.

Why am I writing this? In such an open forum?

When we observe a particle, we force it to “chose” one aspect. Either wave or particle. It will no longer be both. So right now, symbolically I am forcing fate to choose. One alternate reality over the other. This over the other this, Other that instead of that. My tiredness will never have existed.

I’m thankful.

I’m thankful of my health, I’m thankful of succeeding, I’m thankful of my loving family, I’m thankful of my life.

And so, I write, and the alternate reality seems like a dream. Something I imagined while writing. But here’s the problem. A happy life is an uneventful life. A happy life never forces one to adapt, to overcome. Comfort breeds ambivalence. Pizza or burger? Meh, either way…I’m happy.

And that’s when it hits me. Fate chose.

But not what I had wanted. And not when I wanted. So I am in pain, and tired, and not even after any of this might have paid off. Not after knowing IF it might have paid off.

Signed, Somebody that looks and sounds just like somebody you know

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