I wake up the next day. Something startled me, some sort of a crash. I walk groggily into the kitchen, only to find everything on the kitchen table has somehow ended up on the floor. I see one of my cats right next to the disorder and instantly blame him. Damn cat, I think, and don't even bother to clean it up.
Log onto the computer. Get something to eat. Maybe use the toilet if I need to. That's exactly how if goes every weekend. There are no exceptions, at least not so far. I'm confident that there never will be.
You know, sometimes I wonder about things. I wonder why I can talk to people online better than I can in real life. I wonder why certain people I haven't even met feel "drawn" to me. If they knew the so-called "real" point in my existence, I'm sure they'd rethink themselves. In real life, you can't change what you are saying while you are saying it. Online, you can erase even the meanest things. Too bad everything isn't like that.
Drugs, sex, depression. All we ever talk about. That, and why I'm not involved in it. And why I couldn't give a flying fuck. The topics depress me even more than usual things do. Does it matter that I don't trust people enough to date? Does it really matter that much that I won't submit to tokers and pill poppers? No. If you think otherwise, you may as well die along with society, because no one cares.
Then again, I do care. I care about the people that are submissive. What about their families? And their friends? What would they make of it? I mean, I might submit someday, but wow. The stories I've heard make me wonder how off these people were. Or how curious.
I'm definitely not a nun. The entire aspect just pisses me off.
Nothing seems right anymore. Maybe it never was. Maybe I was just imagining it. Or maybe it was just the hope I was fed by the government and the media that made me think everything was okay. Someday something will happen to the world. This something will be both bad and good. It's the one thing I'm not sure of.
I'm typing again. Yes, of course, to someone I'll probably never know. I don't see how it's so dangerous. I don't give away my full name. They don't know my address. I've never given out my phone number, and I can see how that can be a danger, but still. The huge worry about pedophiles is ridiculous. You need to know how to deal with them, and how to be smart. The people who are found on the side of the road probably weren't thinking straight.
Sure, I've done it before. It wasn't that great. Then again, it wasn't all that bad, either.
That's exactly the response I was expecting. I can nearly pick out what people will say to me before things are said. I hate it. There's no suspense.
The entire night will go on like this. I'll type away in my journals, to my friends, and to those I barely even know, and I'll pretend to not recognize the chaos I'm subjected to. I'll pretend to be happy, just for the sake of it. There is no hope for a new beginning. I just hope the end isn't as horrific as I could expect it to be.
I don't know where I originate mentally. I don't know who I can and can't trust. I don't know when the end will be, or if it will even come. I'm unsure of who and what I really am, but I'm certain I'm not crazy. Something is coming. Something huge, and I can't explain it. There's no stopping it. It's too late.
We'll just have to wait and see, now won't we?