Spewing, right?
So, here's my spew:
Oh god, I don't even know what to write.
Life is so bloody boring at the moment. Which is rich, considering I have everything I want, I fly a fucking plane, and I own more books than I care to count. Doesn't that constitute awesome?
And yet, what's the point? I'm not going to do anything special. Just to think of all those people out there that are useless and unimportant. I'm so unimportant it hurts. I want to be magnificent. Ha! My arrogance is hideous.
That's what hurts the most, I suppose. I love reading about the universe, and all it's done is confirm that if I died, nothing would happen. Nobody would lose anything. People have all sorts of ideas about grief and shit like that, but to be honest, we're all psychopaths, we're all narcissists, we all care about ourselves.
God knows very few people would even bother to mourn me. Sophie might. For a while. Then she'd forget. I bet I'd forget. I don't know what that makes me- what sort of person would forget about the first person they ever loved if they died? Who even knows. Strange.
I just look at people who are beautiful, talented, clever, and I think "I'm none of those things, what's the point in me?" Because what is the point in me? There has to be a point. Everything has a point. I have no point. I'm not going to be anyone, I'm not going to do anything life changing.
And I know my family would be upset, but honestly, I don't care. I'd be dead. In the long run, they'd have more money, more space, and more free time. Isn't that more useful than some two-bit nobody who's just a waste? I am a waste. I'm a waste of natural resources. I'm a waste of money. I'm a waste of space. I can't do anything, and that's what's infuriating. I'm infuriated with myself. And I'm too fucking lazy to do anything about it.
Agh what is the point? I'm so boring. I hate boring people. Maybe I should go on a rampage and kill some people. Then get put into a mental hospital. I wonder if they'd let me read books there.
Sophie might join me. Or visit me.
She's so complicated. She's not pointless to me. To the whole world, though, she's pointless. Just like me. We're pointless together. But for me, she's everything. Haha how pedantic! I could quite easily live in a world with just Sophie. Just me and Sophie. It would be brilliant. Me and Sophie and a shed-load of books.
I ought to write a book. Then I wouldn't be pointless. My point would be to write books.
I need to get up early tomorrow and do my Latin. Latin is pointless for people who have no point. Latin is useful to clever people who can do something with it. But for me, Latin is pointless. Because I am pointless.
I feel like downing the bottle of morphine to see if I'd make it through the night. Being the unlucky bastard that I am, I bet I would make it to the next morning. I'd wake up and be like "Well fuck, that didn't work" and go to school and nobody would know.
I won't though. I'm too much of a coward. Cowardly and pointless. Jesus, I'm pathetic. Pathetic, cowardly and pointless.
I'll just go fester in a corner, shall I?
All right.
See you tomorrow, I guess, for more ranting.
Do all teenagers feel like this? I think they do. What a waste of time. A whole seven years of feeling like shit. Why can't we go into deep freeze during the teen years, and come out fresh and healthy and ready to do stuff?
I wonder what people would think if I did it, and ended it. Nobody would care. Only a few people. I've been over this. People might read about it in the local news, but it wouldn't impact anybody. At all. So what is the point of me? Agh, I've been over this!
Anyway.
Bye.
Mx
