Passages Of Days

Hey guys.  Been a while since I wrote in here, kind of dropped off the radar for a week.  Everything I planned on posting is backed up.  I’m not really sure what’s wrong specifically, I can’t say I’m depressed exactly, but I can’t say I’m in tip top shape.

I’m just not sure if I’m quite satisfied with my current life, but in classic Asher style, that means that I’ll do nothing about it and then bemoan the fact that I’ve done nothing about it.

It just seems like I waste my time sometimes on things that don’t really bring me anything in return.  I’m stuck on one of my most important projects (so important that I don’t really share it here), I’m one clever twist away from a solution, but I can’t figure it out.  The project is attempting to do something thought impossible, and I’ve been working on it for fourteen years, and I’m very very close.  But at the same time, spending lots and lots of time thinking about it doesn’t really yield progressive results.  I just end up with nothing (until it works).

And yet, when it works, it’ll be amazing.

So I sit here, thinking that I don’t really have anything to write about.  Funny really.

I don’t really quite understand what the problem is.  I take a little step to do something and then its a giant block.  I’m swimming in a sea of emotions that make me hesitate to do anything.  Then I hate myself because I can’t do anything.

I feel like I’m empty sometimes.  That there’s little to no personality or interest in this body that I inhabit.  I’m just a boring spirit that wastes his time trying to do things that aren’t possible.  I don’t actually take care of myself to create a life full of things that I want.  I’m just here.

I don’t do anything.

When life gets like this, it’s somewhat dangerous, because things get weird.  These weird spots have been appearing on my ankle.  At first I thought it was left over glass from when my bowl shattered, but then I thought that maybe they’re vasculitis, which is more serious.  My nose has been stopped up for at least two weeks now, and just two days ago cleared up into a normal breathing instrument again.  Last night, I felt like my teeth had moved to different places than they were before.

I feel like my body wants to transform, but I don’t particularly want to transform.

However, as soon as I write that I get blocked.  I even hesitate to transform, I just hate myself.  I hate the lack of everything.  I hate this block.  Nothing feels right, nothing makes sense, nothing grows, nothing aims and fires.

As the internet put it so succinctly this week, I’m just a cucumber with anxiety.

I want something of substance to put here, but I’m coming up dry.  I want something interesting to be happening in my life but I’m so afraid of everything that I just hesitate.  I could succeed, but I can’t bring myself to do it.  I could fail, but I can’t bring myself to try.

Really, I don’t know what I want.  As soon as I want something, I don’t.  As soon as I do something, I don’t.  As soon as I think of something, I don’t.

I just don’t.

I even hate writing this, but I thought I should write something.

I hate doing anything.

Vast amounts of hate reside within me, and there’s no where for it to go.

I hate everything including myself.

I hate.

I hate.

I hate.

I hate everything I’ve done, everything I’ve been, everywhere I’ve gone, everyone I know, and there’s really no where to put all of that.  It just balls up, wrapping in upon itself, until I can hardly stand it.  I’m nothing but a vortex of pure hatred wanting to self-immolate.

What’s worse is that I can’t wish I was someone else.  I used to wish I was someone else when things got like this, but then I dissociated really bad one time and learned what it was like to be someone else, and I vowed I’d never wish that again.

I’m full of hatred for everything.

photo credit: guerillat via photopin (license)


I'm just a wunk, trying to enjoy life. I am a cofounder of http// and I like computers, code, creativity, and friends.

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