Hindspect

Even the knowledge that Amanda Palmer and Neil Gaiman were up at this hour enjoying themselves somewhere isn't much help (and believe me it usually is)
What's wrong with me? What's my obsession with VD? What do I WANT exactly? I am fed up of being told what it is that I want, what it is that I feel, what I am like. I have had no chance to decide these things for myself and there honestly is only a precious opening of time for deciding these things and if you miss the boat you're fucked. I think I am fucked. Weirdly, though, I think I almost like being a shell if only for the fact that it means I'm not full of dirt, if you catch my drift. Well, the drift is precisely the point. In my idealist mind I like to think I can be buffeted about by things and that's ok. I'm not sure if that's true. But I'm not sure if I care. I'm not sure what it is that I'm supposed to be doing with myself, and I have a strong suspicion that all of these things point to the fact that my 'self' should not be in a position to be 'doing', or any other sort of verb.
For fuck's sake, why am I even writing this in a blog? Am I this concerned? I don't think so. It's true.

I wrote the above a few nights ago. At least it's still pertinent... If a bit embarrassing. I think I'll post it anyway. Fuck, what are blogs for? I've been in this frustrated position so many times now that I'm sure I'll find myself awake and alone in the early hours of the morning many times after this, and maybe if I keep reading this then I'll actually have the backbone to speak up about it.
Until then, poetry ^.^