All I'm saying.

It's not the fact that I'm not accustomed to living by myself for very long.
Nor the fact that I'm temperamental and don't seem to get along very well with anyone else ever.

It's not that I'm just not good with people in general, so it seems pretty awesome when I am.
Nor the fact that it sucks that I'm apparently not entertaining enough for an eternity, or whatever the fancy duration is, kids' these days use in metaphors.

It's not like there don't seem to be a lot of people around that'll bother to listen to what happened all day.
Nor the fact that exciting things only seem to happen when you have someone to tell.

It's just that it fucking sucks, you know?
All the emotional and insecure bullshit aside. Or maybe it is just that? I don't fucking know.

All I know is, I'm a little fucking batshit crazy. Or so I like to be sometimes.
It's not the worst fucking thing in the world, you know? There are way worse things happening everywhere all the time.

It's part of the reason I feel batshit crazy sometimes.

And when I say batshit crazy, I just mean angry and shit.

It's not just that it's not good for you.
It's just the fact that, shit, come on. This is a pretty horrible spot to fucking be in right now.

That's all I'm saying.

Something funny and/or witty goes here.

I just don't want to do it anymore. I can't get myself to do it.

You know, pretend to be something? Just, something-else? Anything else?

I feel like writers are douches. I feel like every time you write something, you're pretending to be someone or something you're not. You're trying your best to be presentable. To seem witty, and smart. To have something extremely profound to say. To have something to say that hasn't been said before.

"We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars, but we won't. We're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off."

Feeding into our narcissism. The want to be heard. The irresistible desire to be desired. The dire need for attention. What is the point?

It's what social networking revolves around. Our narcissism is the sacrificial lamb, the scapegoat. All we ever do all day is whine and brag and pretend to be someone or something else. Everywhere. All the time. On everything.

And every single time I write something like this out, I end up deleting it or it ends up in draft hell.

For the sole reason that I don't want to come off as a hypocrite, because I'm doing it myself. Right here. Right now. Writing. It's like a viscous cycle, then, isn't it?

What I was going to write about, however, was childhood. I constantly find myself dozing off and remembering bits and pieces from "back in the day."

Like I remember not so long ago, summers in Riyadh. With absolutely nothing to do, and being so tired of being indoors all day that you don't even realize it, I would lay on the floor all day. And listen to things like How Soon is Now by The Smiths. Or Golden Brown by The Stranglers. My hair would be a complete mess, because I started rejecting the idea of a haircut for a few months. The red t-shirt that I wore for weeks at no end even had a hole in the bottom right. And I just walked around the house, looking like that. Not necessarily going anywhere. Not really don't anything. Just... you know, lurking.

I would go to the store every now and then. Just for the kick of it. And I remember getting stares from the shop owner guy. It was kinda creepy. He looked creeped out himself, if I remember correctly. Then I'd just go back home and repeat the process.

I learned about FServing around that time, if I remember correctly. You know, MIRC. That cool chat thing that all the cool kids use. It's so old, and it's still used by a good amount of people. There are societies that live on MIRC chatrooms to this day. It's crazy.

I also took out 8 hours of my very apathetic life, (over the course of 2 nights,) to create a 200 frame animation in MS Paint. I made an individual .gif in MS Paint... no, I made 200... and it was an animated short about a super awesome guy surfing a plane and then parachuting to the ground. I thought it was pretty cool, for such an original idea.

Then he breaks into some high-tech place and has a Matrix style bullet dodging scene. Which, arguably, might not be so original, but whatever.

Aah, yeah. Those were the good ol' days.

Jar of Pennies.

I have this jar of pennies in my closet. Technically speaking, it's not even a jar, per se. It's more like, a lot of pennies in a sandwich bag.

Every time I manage to safely put all the pennies I come across into that jar at the end of the night, I feel like I'm doing something right. I also think to myself, hey, at least I'm doing something right. I mean, I'm still alive, so I guess that's another thing that I seem to be doing right, too, but this, in a sense, is much more real. It's right in front of me, and what not. It's tangible and what not, even if I'm going to go into some mushy metaphorical bullshit in just a little.

See, every penny can signify something, you know?

No. Fuck that, I can't do it. I know I could've continued writing that and people would've been all fucking mystified by it and the amounts of fake skewed up philosophy I managed to stuff into it.

It's just a jar of pennies, all right. And for some insane reason it makes me feel just a little more grounded. You know? I also enjoy it because - hey, it's money. And eventually, one day, I'll take it over to a bank and get it converted to bills. It's probably around 10 dollars right now.

10 Dollars. That sounds like such little money, it's ... just horrible. Because that was my first thought: "Gosh, that's not a lot of money..." Then immediately after that, I felt guilty and completed it with: "... that's horrible though! There are starving kids and stuff all around the world, and people have made it with way less money!"

I don't even know where I was trying to go with this.

But uh... yeah. Jar of pennies... and stuff.