To be plain and honest, I can't sleep, and last night I assumed my restlessness was purely the adderall. Now, a while back I decided that if I were to pursue a career in creating stories I'd have to start thinking from all sorts different perspectives.
Yeah, I decided that I had to concern myself with other people's emotions to the point where I could understand almost any circumstance and be able to create probable fixes and such to create more comfort for those around me through my stories or just my words, even if they're not 234 pages long with an introduction.
In all honesty, it's mostly worked in my advantage. I'm more understanding than I could've ever been before. I looked through eyes and made conclusions based on how I've learned people think. From them telling me, from intimate conversations about head trauma and early morning nightmares. I thought through their irrationality, when on certain drugs, after consuming a certain amount of alcohol or even watching them drink too many cups of coffee. Being able to feel what they felt when whatever I said or did was occurring in their personal timeline of existence, considering all the little details.
Partially drunk, smoked through about four cigarettes in the last 20 minutes. Dull expression, bored although painted to absolute perfection. Whoever thought boredom could be so awfully sexy. It's clear that what I am about to say isn't going to do me any good, but because I could not understand where she currently was I would not understand why it ended up the way it would. Therefore, I'd be confused considering I personally ignored her feelings being conveyed slightly through facial expressions because I was too concerned for what I had to say. What I had to get off my chest. And of course, we all play games when we're bored. But who's to say victim? Not me, not this time, no, because I was the one who couldn't see it and she was the one who knew it the whole time.
None of this really makes any sense, to be blatant I can't sleep because something passed away in that room recently and it makes me nauseous just thinking about sleeping in that torture.
I participate in a pretty awful chain of events but I choose to keep it out of my hands. It still hurts me in the sense that I'm thinking from the perspective of the recently deceased. Particularly, a caged animal. One, that really can't feel any real emotions toward an owner but could exist alongside it respectively being taken care of. Unless, it wasn't.
I shouldn't feel guilty but I do. And maybe I should but I've shirked the responsibility once again. Or perhaps I just didn't care at all, but now that things have turned out the way they have I'm upset that I didn't care. I guess that's human enough.
Blue skin. Dried.
Ugh.
I can't even think straight, and I've got to work all day tomorrow.
Glory.
Time to make up some shit to try and get my face off this image.
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