I think too much.

I've rewritten this post in my head over and over again for the past couple of days, each time depressing me even further. Because of the depressing nature of this post I'm going to put it all after the jump.

I suppose there are benefits to having a sort-of private blog - the people that actually read what I say are the ones actually taking the time to pay any attention to what I do, coupled with the fact that they have to click again to read past the first couple of paragraphs means they're spending at least five minutes doing this.

On the other side of the coin, this blog is my place to be selfish and get whatever's on my mind out on to the internet, where I'm another anonymous person adding to a stream of rambling thoughts strong enough to be an ocean. The kind of depersonalisation that reading words on a screen brings is comforting, in the sense that even if someone does read this the facts are made less serious by me talking about my dick for upwards of ten paragraphs (ladies ;D) which offsets bad news and terrible thoughts written down.

Now about that ten page god-infuriating cockument to my own ego.

The start of a fantasy thing.

The boy held his breath. Not because he needed to, but because that is just what he does when he performs. The crowd seemed to feed off this intense concentration and elaborate lack of motion and it helped him get into the mood and make this work quite smoothly. He closed his eyes and shut everything out. Everything except for the pen in his had and the book in his lap. When he opened his eyes again, it was if they were the only things that existed - just him and his tools.

He liked it this way.

He put his pen to the paper and started to write, making sure that every stroke of the pen was gentle enough to handle a newborn baby but firm enough to shake the hand of his father if he ever met him again. The ink flowed from his pen so well that were it not for the faint noise of the metal lightly brushing against the page you would think that the pen were merely a guide for the creature of ink to follow with it's tendrils. The resulting letters on the page shone with his brilliance.

-birds-

Both the boy and the crowd waited anxiously for something to happen. He had put his heart into the lines, and he expected them to repay him with the same effort he gave them. The crowd still waited, there had been talk of his talents even among the most cynical. Tales of a boy that had such a mastery of the written word that the tales he wove could tell themselves, however - by the time the stories had disappeared, so too had the boy.

Unblargh.

Hey guys! Look at Jamie doing that thing!

You know!  

That thing where he doesn't keep his promises and never finishes what he sets out to do.

Fuck you Ralph! I'll blog as infrequently as I want! I'll also only ever write the first couple of pages to a story! I'll flirt with girls and then ruin my chances at anything solid after the first week due to my own self-loathing! That's how I do things and I like it that way.

 Since the last update, I've been pretty busy - I've taken up terrible habits, rekindled old flames and then snuffed them out again, worked on a cosplay and then gave up at the last possible second to do a much easier one that looks better and is more appropriate for this abysmal weather. I've also been seeing a psychiatrist through all of this, and I've learned the difference between a psychiatrist and a psychologist (as well as the difference between a psycho and a psychic).

Most importantly, I haven't died!

On that front, I've been seeing a psychiatrist since the last time I died, and since I've used up all my free passes it's out of my own pocket. In these sessions I've been getting advice on how to continue to not die for the rest of the year and beat death, and the answer is pretty gosh darn simple. You see, the stress of having to figure out what to do when you know you're going to die at the end of the year is apparently pretty stressful and can actually lead to depression which kills your immune system making it easier for you to die in the year you're actually worried about dying in (instead of the far off year of 2013, where dying is an acceptable form of saying "thank you")

So what have you been working on with the psychiatrist? 

That's a very good question!