Things We All Feel

Impatient.

Anxious.

Angry.

Happy.

Embarrassed.

Content.

Rushed.

Overwhelmed.

Unsure.

Impatient.

Doubtful.

Unsure.

Hungry.

What's the point?

Does it mean anything?

Does what we do mean ANYTHING...?

What am I doing with my life? What's the greater purpose? Why am I writing this here? Why can't I talk about this with my wife? What am I hiding? What is the point...

What is the point...

What is the point...

Selfish.

Lazy.

Driven.

Embarrassed.

It's a chess game, and I think I know what the next move should be, but I have no idea.

This blog is bullshit. This post is BULLSHIT.

Would geniuses exist without dunces?

What the hell am I writing?

There's a cat staring at me. He's swiped at me and drawn blood before. I can't help but think he enjoyed it, which is why he continues to swipe. And draw blood. I'm going to throw him off the bed at some point tonight. I know because I can see into the future.

Once you have the idea, it's already been done. I want to be one of those people that has undoneable ideas. Maybe those are the people that walk up and down Figueroa while talking to himself.

If she's empirically attractive but doesn't do anything for you does that mean you have bad taste? Or is this post just getting more bullshitty by the syllable?

Cat, don' t test me...