Off-Clock Musings

On Things Random

I'm still hanging onto the cliff, but my fingers are slipping. Time is ticking. The ground beneath me is waiting to absorb me. I'm not special, and I know that, though I don't know how long before my forearm can't handle the pain anymore. At this moment, I hear fireworks behind me, something my brothers are entertaining themselves with. I wish they'd help me, however the fact of the matter is that absolutely no one can help me. I can't even help myself. That leaves me in the hands of God. I'm in God's hands, always have been and always will be.

I spent most of yesterday with a friend, or so she's called. I had came home past midnight and thus didn't bother to take a shower, falling asleep instead. Today, I had to work on assignments and an exam all day, so I am a bit stinky. I want to go in for a shower after I complete this piece. My legs have several mosquito bites that are quite irritating. Mosquitoes have always been obsessed with my blood for some reason. My hair is starting to get oily and my room messy. I'm slacking off.

I'm trying to catch up, but it isn't working because I don't know how to catch up. People make it seem easy; it sure in hell isn't, though. It's a curse that I have—to stay alongside the people most dear to my heart. Most of the time, I receive more support from arbitrary people in my head, on TV, and in video games. Now I wish I can say the same is true for animals, but they don't like me much neither.

I've come to terms with the fact that I'm different, not in a hip-type-of-way, the opposite actually. I can't "click" with them is how most would put it. While this may not be a better way to put it, I just can't get along with most people; they don't understand me, and I don't understand them. For years, I asked myself whether the problem is within me, but as I grew older, I've learned that it isn't exactly a problem. I'm just an individual like everyone else, and the individual is the most unique of us all. Of course, there are pros and cons to all things, and my nature is no different. I only need one person's love, the right person's love, to feel loved, one person's care to feel cared for, and only one person's attention to feel sought after. I don't need much besides video games, water, my lover, and a shelter among trees and animals. And, of course, writing. I need to write sometimes; it has never wronged me. In fact, I only like things that never wrong me because, from my experience, when people wrong me, they don't wrong me in petty ways, rather they do it in destructive ways.

I don't like demolition. No one does, but I mean it on a spiritual, personal and psychological level. To be psychologically or spiritually demolished is dangerous; it brings you down closer to hell, a worse event no one should want to be closer to. The irony here is that hell isn't the lowest point to be reached. It's when one's fingers are close to slipping off the cliff of hell helplessly that she is nearing the lowest of the low.