You know you're wrong

Clearly this "frequent updating" thing is going well.

I dunno, man. I don't know what my deal is. I don't know why I feel so fucking anesthetized. My life, such as it is, is not bad. Not even close. The problem is ... that I think that's the problem. Why bother seeking an outlet if you don't need one, yeah? Where's the motivation to change when everything is kind of okay the way it is?

It's a difficult situation to grapple with. I don't handle homeostasis well, apparently. How's that for depressing.

Let's be frank: At this rate, in this direction, I can clearly see the span of my life rolling out into the goddamn horizon, and all I want to do is rebel against it. And I. Don't. Know. Why. Surely I could sit here and analyze the possibilities until all this resembles some sort of Freudian circle jerk, but who can be bothered? It probably has an awful lot to do with the whole "grass is greener" syndrome, which is neat & normal enough. I guess. Or maybe I'm just an ambivalent lunatic who can't stop playing some retarded mental game of leap frog with the universe.

I will hazard a guess. In my younger years, there was a distinct "I want that" modus vivendi silently steering my decisions, actions, progress, lack thereof. At present, I am flying sans co-pilot. I am already annoyed with this metaphor, but can't think of another way to phrase it. I do not know where I am going, or what I want, or how to get past this pervasive inability to move. I am not who I was, but am having a lot of difficulty addressing that; because to address it would be to address that I actually have no fucking idea who I am, or will be, or should be, or have to be. I keep telling myself this is a period of transition, but realize that it's not. The transition is over. And I can't quite figure out where I got off.

So, what, then. Am I unhappy? Sometimes. But it's the nagging kind of irritated unhappiness that you can't pin and can't explain properly when asked. I feel stunted, mostly, like I am somehow pinioned, stymied ... caught. Not trapped, per se, but maybe its distant cousin.

All of it is useless, anyway. You can't fix something if you can't identify the root. And you especially can't fix something if you can't be bothered to care about it.

Whatever. Fuck it.