I want to write, but I couldn’t tell you what I would like to write about. I’d like to write something of some sort of substance but I just can’t seem to find anything at all in my mind. It’s just kind of blank. It’s not negative, nor is it positive. It’s just blank, neutral, if you will. And if you won’t, then fine, don’t believe me. I don’t care either way. Well I shouldn’t say that, it’s a tad rash. I do care. I care about a lot of things and I believe that is where my problem stems from. When you care about things, they can backfire, they can hurt, they make you fall and bruise, but on the same coin they can make you feel all grand and wonderful about life and such and such and such.
But maybe it would be nicer to not care. If I didn’t care about anything, I would care who I’d hurt. I could jut do as I please. But I suppose that’s just fantasy. Would I even be able to change something like that. Well I suppose that I can’t, but things like time and life can. I could become broken and batter and calloused to the point that I can feel nothing anymore. Then maybe I’d be free to do as I please. No concern for consequences or anyone other than myself. Hell, I might not even give a shit about myself. Would that be a good thing? It could be. Just exist as I is and nothing more. That might be nice.
But I suppose that even with that, memories would get in the way. I would remember all the things that made me care in the first place. So I’d have to erase my memory too. Damn, this is starting to sound expensive. I guess it’s all for naught. I’ll just spend the rest of my life caring too much about everything. I’ll make a lot of mistakes and hurt people I didn’t want to and all these things that I’ve gotten so good at. But so it goes.
So I’ll apologize for all that I’ll do in the future. My intentions are good, believe me.