a word for this
Jun. 3., 2012 | 01:00 am
the city is empty at night. my favourite time to wander around in a car. for the second night now there has been plenty of time to look at the illuminated road before me and think. most of the time my mind tries to slip into a complete silence, as if trying to imply that thinking will solve nothig. this silence makes many decisions for me - it makes me abandon plans that I had, makes me forget the problems I have to solve, leaving me to face the results of my inaction. but even those are lost on me, because the silence doesn't let me feel anything. it does not let me care.
still there is one loud note - there is no joy outside my small circle. I walk the same steps I have taken countless times, moving through the same motions, seeing through the same faces, and there is no joy. there used to be. I wait for some events impatiently, only to realize that they bring nothing but more familiar motions that I do not care about. seems like nothing has impressed me for a long time, seems like I have not wanted anything for a long time. makes me feel ancient.
and when nothing can move me, I have to create emotions for myself. I have to obsess, and torture others with their self-inflicted obligation to take notice of my existence. it somehow moves me to hear their strained voices on the phone. the words are lost on me, but I can hear the indisposition clearly.
I guess there is a word for this feeling - boredom.
and since I can't alleviate it with alcohol, I indulge in sleep deprivation.
still there is one loud note - there is no joy outside my small circle. I walk the same steps I have taken countless times, moving through the same motions, seeing through the same faces, and there is no joy. there used to be. I wait for some events impatiently, only to realize that they bring nothing but more familiar motions that I do not care about. seems like nothing has impressed me for a long time, seems like I have not wanted anything for a long time. makes me feel ancient.
and when nothing can move me, I have to create emotions for myself. I have to obsess, and torture others with their self-inflicted obligation to take notice of my existence. it somehow moves me to hear their strained voices on the phone. the words are lost on me, but I can hear the indisposition clearly.
I guess there is a word for this feeling - boredom.
and since I can't alleviate it with alcohol, I indulge in sleep deprivation.