Escapism

Current mood: jabberwocky


My forearms hurt.

From playing this. And this. But mostly this.

These are all examples provided on GHWT done on expert mode, and I, of course, can only play on hard. Expert is way the fuck harder than hard, so I would have my ass handed to me on a giant Corelle brand platter if I ever even tried to venture to expert mode on any Guitar Hero game. But yes, I've managed to plop myself into the fascist world of escapism once again.

One cannot complain too much, as I've been here many a time before, and while I can secretly inwardly giggle when Mysty truthfully expels the myth that matters like "WOW' (World of Warcrack) and other such nuances indeed AREN'T a form of escapism, that fact of the matter is that it's true. It gives you a sense of accomplishment in a realm one would otherwise have been tossed aside as a fucking loser of sorts.

I sit idly by in my pajamas that I've donned for the 4th day in a row now, trying hard to argue this point within myself internally, but all that's succeeded in doing so is that my clothes are now crying tears of desperation, my shiny new black tee with a silver skull emblem, once a thing of newness and beauty, is now sad and forlorn, worn with the wear and tear of being ate, slept and shit in.

My dreads have managed to manifest themselves by now. Before they needed prompting, the picking of scaly barnacles. But yesterday they spoke to me. They say they no longer need me nor my incessant picking rituals. They can get by just fine on their own now. They sing on a song all their own now, much like the "horns" on that of "Treeman". After a well turned night of my ridiculous "off the herbal meds" bickering over finances and our lack thereof, Snookms and I both had the pleasure of watching this documentary. I felt I could relate to this sweet man on so many levels. I would have elected to have just become a full fledged tree. I think I may have been sexy as one, no?

Even in my currently uberly depressed state, I can still say with deep and profound conviction that there is still so much beauty in the world that lay before me. It feels unattainable, a stretch, if you will. And I sit like an idle God, watching this snowglobe of pleasantries, unwilling to do a god-damned thing to reach out and "touch someone".

I feel alone.

I feel afraid.

And I feel okay with this.

Maybe things will work out the way I've always hoped and dreamed.

Maybe not.

I'm utterly complacent with this notion, but something vexes within, crying that this shouldn't be right. If I could only touch this small and weakened creature right now.

If only I could see her again.

I might be not okay with not being okay then.

And that would be okay.


Currently reading :
Where Is God When It Hurts? : A Comforting, Healing Guide For Coping With Hard Times
By Philip Yancey