What the hell am I writing? I am supposed to be sleeping but I’m here, wasting my time in front of a computer screen and whining about how insomniac I am. Well, I am not really insomniac. I just thought it sounds cool when I say that I’m insomniac and you all reading this will think that I am this disturbed little teenager who is going through the stage where he hates everything.
The truth is, I don’t hate everything. I hate the fact that I don’t know what I’m supposed to be hating. I have this negative emotion stacked up inside of me and I don’t know to what or whom I should direct it to. The feeling I’m having, I can’t describe because it’s so immature and child-like that I feel almost embarrassed that I’m talking about it here. Its like trying to figure out the answer of the universe and getting depressed because you can’t get a definitive answer.
The truth is, I’m just prolonging what I’m writing as an excuse to write something. I don’t really have a lot to say really, I just want to ramble on words that don’t mean and hopes I deliver some kind of awe inspiring message to anyone in the right mind who will read this shit. If by any chance, you read up to this point of this blog post, you are so like me. You don’t have anything better to do so you make up some weird hobby and try to write like the goddamn Shakespeare and act smart but weird in the hopes that people will find you mysterious. You know its true. I don’t blame you. The only people who write blogs are either bored to death or just plain normal people. Guess which kind of people I am?
Anyway, I am gonna pack up these shit and try to conclude this the best way I know how. Like this.