Exercise in Futility

my life is an ex­er­cise in fu­til­i­ty. even when i do noth­ing wrong, i still fail. my bad kar­ma must have no end. even when things are not my fault, i still hurt. i must be too sen­si­tive. we knew this was go­ing to hap­pen, i guess it was worth it, but for some rea­son it seems like what we had is made less by this cer­tain­ty. i am meant to be alone. i am meant to be em­bit­tered and cyn­i­cal. who needs laugh­ter any­way. i look at my last post and try to re­mem­ber what it was like. i am not a de­pressed ma­ni­ac or a man­ic de­pres­sive i am an in­com­pe­tent masochist, i set my­self up for great falls. my feel­ings are not wrong, they are ap­pro­pri­ate, they are sep­a­rate from their source. this prob­a­bly makes no sense to many of you but i don’t give a fly­ing rats ass if it does. this is my damn di­ary and i’ll write what­ev­er i please. just be glad i let y’all take a look at it.

my fo­cus de­ter­mines my re­al­i­ty. on­ly i can change my kar­ma. i dic­tate my own terms. my life is to­tal­ly mine. no more self-de­cep­tion. it is time to re­turn to ex­is­ten­tial­ist mode, at least for a brief pe­ri­od.