:in deadpan voice:

I have nothing to say.

I wish I did. But I don't.

I have no job to exasperate me. I have no friends to delight me, or annoy me, depending on the situation. No customers to annoy me. The only person I really talk to is my aunt, whom I live with. And we are not friends. And as much as she or I or perhaps both would like it, we are not sisters and will never be that close. I am a burden on her. Her husband and I don't really get along. We have a few common interests but exponetial differences of opinion. I don't know what he thinks of me, but I know it's not good. And for my part, he reminds me of my father. I wish I could say he's nothing like him, but I can't, and I'm sorry for that. But the way he speaks to me, the way he makes me feel: it's very similar. The harshness followed by generousity. It is my father. It is me, as well, I can admit that.

I wish I couldn't. But I am what my father made me. I am not cruel, as he was, and neither is my uncle. But I am harsh.

I have limitless patience and a short fuse. I can make people terrified to talk to me and then assure them they have nothing to worry about, they can tell me anything. I will get mad at them for things I promised I wouldn't.

I could have children. I could easily have children. But it's not safe. I can be a good parent but only for a limited amount of time. 24/7 with a child and I would crush them.

They would crush me.


I could be a million things. I wish I could find the motivation to be one.

I can't tell you there's something wrong. I need you to ask.

If you ask, I'll probably lie.

I need you to already know.

But who knows me well enough to know?

Well, there was this one girl. My best friend. The best friend I'd ever had. But I killed it.

I put too much weight on a bridge that wasn't prepared to hold it. She was the flaw. But I stuck the dynamite in and lit the fuse.

Though I will blame her if she ever tries to say it is my fault. I lit the dynamite. But she was the flaw.

I have little issue with the way I look, weight wise. But I have a stern disagreement with the number. And I'm not sure the weight has anything to do with the fact that when I look in the mirror, I see a stranger. Because how I look is not how I feel. And the mirror reminds me of the fact.

But again. The motivation and lack there of.

Would it fix it?

Am I willing to take the steps to reach the point where I could try?

The higher I climb, the farther I'll fall. I've done this before. But it wasn't height. It was distance. and when the cord snapped me back, I think it broke my neck.

I think my keyboard is infested with sorrow and it injects me every time I touch it. And other than the imagery of needles, I don't think that was a metaphor.

I have never been in love.

A few times, I hoped I was. But now I know that I am blinded once I learn that someone likes me.

You know what I regret? Once I got drunk at a friends' apartment. Well, barely a friend. I think I annoyed him. But we had things in common. He was a computer geek and I wanted to be one. I threw myself at him, as I always do when I'm drunk. He said no, because I was drunk. Later he offered that if I wanted, we could fool around together. But that it couldn't be a big thing, because he was graduating at the end of the semester.

So you know what I regret?

That I said no.

I once talked to a roommate about what orgasms felt like. Because despite boyfriends, she'd never had one.

I'm still a virgin. But I masturbate.

I'm going to be a virgin for a while. Because while masturbating is always disappointing, I don't think I'll ever feel comforatable enough to get that close to a man.

If they exist though, and if I ever come across mine, then I think that's how I'll know he's the one for me.

I'm going to be a 43year-old virgin.

Unless I'm a lesbian. Which I'v e considered more lately than ever before.

But it doesn't seem like something you should have to consider. Does it?

I'm not terribly turned on by naked women though. But, not by naked men either.

But men seemed more equipped to my tastes than women.
But women seem more emotionally relevent.


Something tells me I'm never going to know until I've met my one true love.

If I have a one true love.

If I'm meant to make it that far.

Fear, horror, tells me that my life is never going to end up the way I want. That it's not meant to end up the way I want.

And every day it kills my faith in God just a little bit more. I still believe in God. Because I want to believe in God. I hope and pray that he is real.

But my heart doesn't believe it. And I'm not sure that saying I want to believe in God is enough, when nothing I do follows God's rules.

Of course, I have yet to decide what I think his rules are, because not having faith means I suspect all current religions of being wrong.

But if God doesn't give us more than we can handle, why does everything feel like more than I can handle?

And if God gives us the desires for the things we're meant to have, why don't I have anything I want?

And if God will meet us halfway, but we can't know his plan or purpose, and we don't get everything we want, when is it wasted effort? When are we just wasting our time?

Or is nothing a waste of time, because he has a plan for everything?

And if he has a plan for everything, can't suicide be a plan too? But suicide is a sin, because only God is meant to have the power to choose life and death.

But what if he did choose? What if I'm just doing what he told me to do?

Maybe my life isn't supposed to be anything. Maybe my life is just supposed to be something that affects other people's lives. Maybe I'm only alive to activate the lives of other people.

Maybe that's why I feel so lost. Maybe I'm not supposed to be awake. Maybe I'm just supposed to sleepwalk my way through life before jumping off a building or drowning in the bathtub.

Maybe I'm just a chemical catalyst.

Maybe I have no soul.


Maybe that secret really was for me, as all the others weren't. Maybe it's the light at the end of the tunnel, guiding me to my real life.

Maybe it was probably for someone else.


Is "maybe" it's own opposite?

The opposite of "is" is "is not."

But saying something "may be" automatically implies that it "may not." (If something has a 50% chance of happening, then it automaticall has a 50% chance of not happening.)

So what's the opposite of saying "something may be, which automatically means it may not?"

"Something may not be, which automatically means it may?"

Which, wouldn't that be "maybe?"


Told you I had nothing to talk about.



I ended with a joke. Get it.