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.