I don't do anything. I don't know, nothing? Less productive. But why?
Listen I have all I want, yet I still feel like a burden to walk out of my bed.
I feel the pressure, the unavoidable pressure of not doing anything of which I have promised. I can't handle it.
I do all I think I should do. Yet I don't. don't. don't.
It is a strange word, one of those words that make no geometrical sense after you stare at it for too long. Well my days make no geometrical sense either.
I have it all. I have friends, I think. I have a girlfriend. I have a game ready to publish. And yet...
When I step into the shower, I just stare down. I come to my computer, and I don't code. I don't draw. At most I drew two panels, and for the rest I just binge on YouTube. And when I look outside of the window it's already night. Waking up from 1pm to 5am.
I feel... miserable.. no.. I know misery. I feel.... I think I feel sad. I don't know why.
Uncomfortable. Sad. Sadness in the shape of the word we know. Sadness as the strange way my brain can link with strings the abstract connections of concepts into the materialized realm of words.
Orwell said to not overuse words. Sorry then.
I think I'm sad because there is no word closer than sad. Assuming the case is sadness. It is a stabilized sadness. A lingering flat sensation of sadness.
Is it a femininity? A weakling posture to not write this in ink and paper? To not sign it into an envelope? Does it characterize my cowardice and fragility to hide across a screen.
What did my grandfather do at my age? Well for certain he got married. And then started his long and successful career of abusing beer. You wanna know what he did for a living? Taxi driver. And yes, he used to drink while driving.
And is in such simpler terms that he accomplished in his life the illusions and time-made desires of this.... love for living. I don't think he was a bad man. I think he is just the chemical reaction to cultural parental neglect and abuse. Which in those years and terms would only be to straighten up a man.
As nature orders for men to own and rule. To fight and to defend. Oh such cruelty of nature, those rules were never made by none other than us. And is us who obey nature.
It is not for me to whine and cry for my realized life. And to have existential crisis at eight years of old.
Just because the proof of matrix is unverifiable it does not showcase that those of which you know are real. I used to think in movie logic. I could certainly prove my own existential, but I couldn't prove of others.
And I thought, I wish there was any girl out there same as me. At least, my objective being to find her. And dominate the reality.
But so, so disgracefully, and in any night like these. I feel like life and time pass by like wind. More uncomfortable when you realise that you are not getting it back.
And this steady steam hot day is not helping, getting 36 Celsius on my room every day (and night). So much my PC even turns off. My CPU must be accustomed to 100 Celsius or more, which it doesn't even struggle to reach past three minutes of runtime.
Maybe I'm similar to my computer more than what I think of. I have not taken the right care of it. And I have planned of disposing it.
I feel..... I think, sad.