Closure
I am a nihilist.
Closure is an absolute motherfucker: I want it for ages, I need it to get on with my life, but it makes me so horrendously ill.
It’s a bit of an arse that the Ultimate Question of whether there’s anything after this is unanswerable until it’s too late. No closure there.
…well, except for those of us who don’t believe in it full stop. (ha. Period. I finally fucking get that.) For us things are even worse. All that mundane shit that we put up with before death? Turns out that it’s actually important. So you need closure on all of that.
I have to give up alcohol. And going out with my friends, and looking women in the eye, and a huge list of other completely pointless things. The only person I can trust, period (ha), is me. Everything else is strictly bonus.
Wordpress needs wysiwyg. I need a good night’s sleep. I know that I won’t get one.
Giving up on tonight’s new friends. No point. The only time I’ve ever benefitted from any encounter ever, it’s been by surprise. The few exceptions can be ignored - they’re probably just statistical errors.
Gonna keep in touch with clare though, and definitely chris. It’s almost possible that he feels worse than me at the minute, although I guarantee that he’ll be better faster. (fuck, I swear to try to help him first.) [edit: turns out that missy doesn't give a shit and chris copes better than the Galapagos. You live, you learn.]
I have to stop poisoning myself. If the only thing that matters in the world is the rising sun so be it. I’m going to be healthy by the summer, and comfortable with being permanently single, and unafraid of my pointless future. And whatever the fuck happens, I will not be expecting the unexpected.
[edited to remove drunken goffik prose. Maybe.]
[read this post in: ar de es fr it ja ko pt ru zh-CN ]Tags: blah, goffik prose, wimmin-folk
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