So it turns out that I am not the only one the universe is repeatedly stabbing at. Bloghopping means you find another x-number of people who are being poked repeatedly by the fat fingers of the universe.

Fat. Universal. Fingers.

HA!

I went on a snickerdoodle yelling match on the sekret blog though I don't think 'yelling' would be the approriate noun... More like a flurry of typing... Angry flurry of typing and a barrage of onometopoaeic (had to google that one...) outbursts of 'blaargh's and 'sajsgdkhfjkgjdsgdh's.

How fitting.

Life tires someone who's head never shuts up. The constant flurry of thought from the moment I open my eyes in the morning until the time I lay my head to sleep at night. It promotes my already distinct ire and cynicism towards the human condition. How easily one is misdirected, how much easier one is judged by ones looks, behaviour or the clothes one wears. It's even worse when the world expects you to be what is portrayed by the media. Those select few who choose to be the wolves amongst a sea of sheep are hardly spared the open end of a shotgun.

Fire! Shoot down the wolves who threaten the very existence of a media based, government controlled environment. Gun them all down mercilessly.

They gag me, tie me up. The poetry one calls life brings less and less meaning as years go by. It's mustard gas for the psyche.

I sit and think of how much easier my life would be if I had just followed the flock into greener pastures. Conformed to the whims of everyone, everything. Be just another face in the crowd. Then the thought escapes me as I remember how much the Plastics irk me.

Hang on a second, I just coughed a bit and in the process bit the inner part of my left cheek. Owwie-owww...

I'm also wondering why, in my second trimester, floating around in the yucky bits of my mom's uterus, I didn't get a copy of my life's script. It's either that or I hadn't bothered to read it. Surely it's the former and not the latter as I assure you I would've read the damned thing and probably would have an inkling as to what I'm supposed to be doing on this blasted plane. It seems as though Theinvisiblemaninthesky is just pulling my strings.

I had asked Theinvisiblemaninthesky one too many times what he wanted with me, why I was put here on this delightable planet, why I was even in an ever brooding existance... All I got as feedback was rain or silence. Most of the time silence.

To say that one has had enough of life is a lie. I am not afraid of death nor do I think about anything in particular when the word pops up but I don't think now would be a good time to kick the proverbial bucket as I have too much to do left. It's a shame, still.

I think I need a hug.