I had complaints, but I can’t even voice those because when I went to try here it was just, death.

Ugh.

I don’t know.

Over.

I want to like, part of my life, to be traveling on foot, to achieve or accomplish tasks, in real life, not in video games. I want land, which I can traverse, with my IRL feet, to do IRL things with my IRL hands and possibly other tools IRL.

Where do I go to do this.

Romania?

The I don’t know what to call it… old country… of Switzerland?

I don’t know.

But. Like. What kind of motivation do you need to do something like that.

Nothing’s stopping me from just flying somewhere and doing that for a while.

I guess not permanently, that’s not allowed, because I don’t have citizenship in Romania or Switzerland.

Had to relearn where the w key is on the keyboard and now all my typing is thrown off.

Switzerland. I keep typing Sqitzerland. Fuck.

Everything is so empty. Everything.

I hear twitch streamers in my head fucking with me.

It’s always unwelcome.

It never stops.

I don’t know what to do to improve my life.

My mother is there. She’s just there. She works hard, she supports me, she makes me feel guilty. All the things required to be just there. It’s what being there is about.

Yeah.

Those three things.

Fuck.

What’s real life?

Hard work.

Real life is hard work.

Then you get some down time.

Then you do it again.

There is minor variation in the tasks you do at work.

But generally people specialize.

So there’s a sense of repetitiveness to it.

So like.

This. This is the goal. This is what psychiatry wants me back into. This is what capitalism wants me to do. All powerful social forces want me an office zombie.

What the fuck.

This is total horseshit.

This is why they don’t provide any way for people who’ve broken free of the loop to be happy.

Because they don’t want people to break free of the loop.

It’s not even a conspiracy. It’s just logic.

Fuck.

All I do is drink coffee.

Mom slept all day because she worked the last three nights.

It’s almost 3 PM.

We were supposed to go out and do a chore together.

It didn’t happen because I didn’t initiate.

Mom can’t drag me out of the house. I’m too stubborn and nothing physical, neither of us wants that.

So it’s just words.

And her words are like, she just doesn’t even try that hard.

She’s given up on me. And I’ve given up on her.

I hate meeting strangers.

I hate filtering out the populace to find the select individuals who are of erratic and creative enough mind to be a friends with me.

It just doesn’t happen very regularly.

Or ever, more like.

Poetry is stupid and insipid.

There is no such thing as good poetry.

It’s innate to the medium that it’s just shit.

It’s impossible.

Try as hard as you want. It will sound BAD. And all the greats are BAD. Poetry and books and just reading in general are UNREWARDING. PERIOD.

I hate my life. A lot. The only question is what do I hate more: My life or society at large.

Hard question to answer.

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