look at all the lonely people...

Today I am feeling very small and empty. Powerless and disconnected. My concentration is down. I've faked my way through the minimum school work I need to be able to get through the next few days but despite all of this spare time that I have since being made redundant (although still employed, odd as that is) I have none of the dedication to education I always assumed I would have if work were not an issue and I was financially secure enough to get through the next immediate period of time. Instead I find myself a blank and emotionless blob re-watching movies on Encore Love for most of the last 24 hours. Most of these films are, at best, ok. Playing By Heart is only watchable because of my fondness for Gillian Anderson and Jon Stewart. I can say for sure I haven't seen the film close to half a dozen times because it's good. It just has one pretty couple out of four. The Notebook is drek-the acting is good, the story is sad, but it is utterly bad for some reason that I am unable to pinpoint. The Fisher King is depressing as hell--it's probably the only GOOD movie I've watched on TV. The Aristocrats I watched that last night on my PC-it's funny. Sick as hell and I wouldn't recommend it to anyone because I wouldn't want to have that responsibility on my shoulders-but I do think it's about as amused by filth as I've been recently. Great cast too, one of the best in memory. In memory I can't remember another day I watched four movies (French Kiss-that predictable but at least kinda cute in a non-thoughtful way movie-was the fourth) in a day.
Everything seems so childish and silly. Everything seems devoid of meaning. I am very tired of death and disease and loss. I look at people and things and think about how tenuous this grasp on this world we have and how it unravels. I do not feel poetic. I am sad but hollow. Perhaps I could cry, but what could would my sadness be? It's better the departure than the continued existence. The pain must be unbearable-the waiting...I can't imagine. It seems like dying is always right the next space over. Like just when I've gotten over one loss or adjusted to some other change there is this new emotional upheaval demanding to be reckoned with.
Me. Me. Me. Me. I am selfish. I only think of me. Me. Me. Me. I am human. We all think in terms of ourselves. I remind myelf of that.It is not abnormally selfish. It isn't just me. Me. Me.
At this point I would like to say what I'm talking about. But I am suspicious and can't write it or type it for fear that it will happen because it has been set in stone. I give myself too much power. Speak the words-perhaps, but write it down, no Things happen that way-something comes over me and I know even though I in no way know. In the past it's an odd stray thought and not written words-but it seems a better choice to not tempt fate. I do believe that is not the right thing to say at this point. While things will not get better, things could continue for some time. Some long and painful dark deteriorating time.