And apparently this is a defining trait for me. I continue to hate the feeling that my attempts to restore life from the old days is wasted and in vain. Either my attempts are unwanted (as they so often are), or they fail early, quickly, and efficiently.
These results make me tired of the continuing pattern in my life. I cannot understand why the women that I attempt to court refuse me so steadfastly. I am tired of being alone, and I am tired of feeling tired of being alone.
DAMN IT!!
I know that I am tired. I have not had much sleep in the past seventy-two hours, and that sort of deprivation leads even neutral thoughts to having a twist of cynicism. But even before that, I find myself growing weary of "cute" and "happy." Advertisements showing "adorable" animals sicken me. That storybook ending that Disney is so famous for nigh induces regurgitation for me...my own personal ipecac. I wish that I knew how to rid myself of this tedium.
My idiotic airs keep my hopes alive for a romantic tale where I finally accept happiness in a situation where I can share my life with another. My realistic side longs for the day that I accept that I will grow old alone. ...Or, at least, die that way.
Sweet relief that would be, having been freed of my fetters to hope and joy.
I must rest soon before I commence yet another thoughtless action. It seems that all I may do now is wait. Next month will mark the day that I either celebrate a red or a yellow flower. At least by then, my mind will no longer be stuck in an eternal battle between two evenly matched options.
