Like talking to thin air

WARNING: THIS POST MAY CONTAIN BITCHING, WHINING, "EMO BULLSHIT", "HIGH-SCHOOL DRAMA", OR WHATEVER PEOPLE CALL IT NOWADAYS. THE VIEWS OF THIS POST COME FROM A COMPLETE IDIOT WHO'S LITERALLY NEVER HAD A LIFE, AND SHOULD NEVER BE VIEWED BY ANYONE.

That being said, I should start with whatever the fuck comes to mind and get this post over with.

I don't think anyone will ever see or pay attention to this post. I could link to this post everywhere, but I firmly believe that not a single soul will ever see this. And it's okay. Why? Because it always happens to me anyway: I talk, but no one listens - and it gets to the point where I simply give up and stop talking. "Why do you never say anything?" Two reasons. One: had I said something, would you have listened? You say yes, but actions speak much louder than words - and your actions say no. Two: I know absolutely nothing about absolutely anything - five minutes with me will very quickly reveal that. I have suffered way too many times because of my own stupidity (and I continue to suffer because of my own stupidity), and I therefore refrain from talking in order to hide my idiocy.

An interesting quirk about me that you'd otherwise never know about without meeting me in person: I never ever directly look at someone when I'm talking to them. It freaks me out, and I feel like I'm insulting someone when I make direct eye-contact with them, talking or not.

I can't draw. Hell, my circles aren't even circles - they're curved squiggle lines. Also, I have a very tough time thinking in 3D, thinking with details, and occasionally thinking in general. Some artist I could be.

I can't make music. I've started composing four different midi files using Anvil Studio, and I'll probably never finish them because they're pure crap. So many song ideas, but none of them can be realized because I'm an extremely horrible musician. And I had such high hopes, too.

I can't write. Both in the sense of the fact that I can never be an author or a poet or whatever, and in the sense of the fact that I'm an extensive Notepad user because I'm absolutely horrible with pencils. My vocabulary is horribly low, and I sound like an idiotic middle-schooler every time I make long blog posts like this one.

I can't drive. And I'm nineteen. And I have no intention on learning how to drive, no matter what the "benefits" are. Especially when it comes to learning how to drive our suburban (I have one really bad experience with driving it - no I didn't even scratch it nor came remotely close to, but my parents' argument going on inside the suburban definitely sounded like the contrary).

I can't talk ... correctly. (had you going there, eh?) I attribute this to my history of stuttering and to my aforementioned low vocabulary.

I can't express myself. Bingo, that's the phrase I've been looking for since the day that I learned that I was an extremely pathetic individual. "I can't express myself." How very very true.

I only blog because I have no means to express myself, and I figured that this was a viable alternative to expressing myself (had to do a definition search on "viable" just now).

I only see society at least once a week, and even then it's just for my "medium Big Mac to go". I see real society about twice a month, sometimes more, usually less.

Sometimes, I feel that Fate is trying to make me go crazy and kill myself. I say to Fate, "Sorry bub, but I've already seen that road and I marked it off-limits." However, while the direct road may be blocked, I'm afraid that Fate may have found a few hundred thousand detours to travel along instead. I struggle to block each and every one of these detours, but I fear of traveling along a bigger, less noticeable one in the process.

Fate wants me to suffer. It's the only explanation that I can think of. The only question is: why?

Why does Fate attack me to the point where I am left as not an average human, but as a Gollum-esque sanity-deprived shell? What do people do with shells? That's right, they throw them into the garbage. We have a name for people that have been thrown into the metaphorical garbage: hobos. Personally, I think that's my most likely future - a homeless piece of scum.

Another quirk: if there's one holiday that I absolutely can't stand, it's Valentine's Day. Every year, my self-esteem plummets because of that damn holiday. ~Ooh, it's a holiday for couples~. That's why I hate it - it celebrates something that I'll never experience, and I die a little inside from seeing people receive their gifts. Love, like a good idea, is something I'll never know of.

I feel like I'm just talking to thin air here. Hell, I could just end this suddenly, and no one would question it. In fact, I could do a lot of things that no one would notice. Like this for example. No one will download it. No one.

Hell, I think I will just end this suddenly. It's not like someone actually reads the crap I type.