Wednesday
21-2-18
8:36 pm
I have this thing, where I'm always counting down the days in a week to help me get through it, and then realise I have to do it again, and again, and again.
It just goes on and on, a never ending cycle of 'just one more week to go'.
Just today, while I was coming home from school on my bumpy, un air conditioned bus, in 42 degree (Celsius) heat, stupid bus, with the stupid bus driver Barry, I was thinking about how I basically just been applying this logic to my whole life.
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One day I'm gonna be 36, most likely single and hating myself, alone in an apartment in the city somewhere, working at a sucky job that I hate, never having completed my dreams.
And let's be honest here, I know I never will accomplish anything remotely spectacular so why the fuck should I bother.
I can't give a shit about anything if I'm dead. I can't care if anyone's sad and hurt or if some asshole is mocking my death. I'll just cease to exist in an eternal void.
I'm okay with that.
Beats high school.
And don't give the 'but high school will be some of the most important parts of your life' load of shit. Fuck off.
Fuck, it's better that this shitty world.
Everyone's an asshole, (myself included), the world is over populated and too many people are living in shit. This world is disgusting, the human race think they're top shit but they're actually fucking pathetic for fucks sake.
I hate living because it fucking sucks.
We don't matter at all, not one fucking bit. In fact, the world would be a hell of a lot better place if the human race didn't exist.
I AM SO FUCKING ANGRY AT THIS BULLSHIT THING CALLED LIFE. THERE IS LITERALLY NO POINT AND YET WE CONTINUE ON ANYWAY. WHY?
Why?
Why?
Why go get yourself and education just to get out in the world and work so you can live to work to live to work to live to work, you get the idea.
But none of that is living.
None of this is living.
We are tiny, insignificant parasites with no purpose except to procreate and kill our home and everything else that inhabits it. If the world got hit by a meteorite today and wiped out the entire earth, everything thing we loved, worked for, lived for, it would not make a difference. It would not matter.
And yet, we are still here.
Why?
The only feasible answer I can possibly think of, and it makes me physically cringe to say,
Love.
Love is what keeps us from walking off the edge.
It's so fragile, and can break so easily, but it's what holds us together.
And I kind of hate it.
I guess I'm just in a mood today.
Whatever.
