Yawn. I am so bored and distracted that I am writing a new journal entry. Omg. I thought it was impossible too. But here I am sitting at a table in my school's cafeteria, four papers due tomorrow along with a soul eating speech, and I am making a journal entry that no one is ever ever going to read but me. I don't get me sometimes. I wonder why I do this to myself. I could at least be on a site where I could be doing something constructive but I am comfortable writing this entirely superfluous journal entry. Am I mad for doing it? I sometimes think that I am in fact insane. Not just for writing these crazy journal entries, but because there are only so many ways to be sane. I wonder why I am even saying this I could be doing stuff that would be more constructive if I just shut off the computer and worked on bashing my head into a wall. Or I could work on my papers. Or at least find a way to pay for school next semester. But still I sit asking questions into the unanswering void that is the Internet. I sigh inside and a little outside. The people around me at the table look up from their own digital lives long enough to give a questioning look before going back to whatever site they were just trolling, perhaps in their minds cursing me for wasting a few moments of their time with a distraction to their favorite distraction. I think the world needs fewer distractions. We need to go onto the internet to get away from it all. Then once we are all away from it all, we find that we are more trapped in whatever it we were running from than ever before. How are we to escape? To where do we turn? I often find myself asking myself these questions, but I can never quite grasp the answers. Like hot sand, it burns to hold onto for too long, but despite the burns I hold for as long as I can. And yet no matter how hard I hold or how much pain I endure, the truth still slips away like a wraith. I wonder if this is the true meaning of life? But no. That can't be. There must be something more, else why even live? Why go on? If there is nothing but chaos, I want to escape the chaos. I have seen what happens to those who embrace it. Those who love death, who love hate and rape and blood and bones spilled and exposed. Broken men and women who don't know what they truly want and so try to substitute with whatever they can. I can see the broken glass from the mirror the keyblade shattered lying on the floor. And as I turn my head to look at it, I look back. I smile and I smile back. But some of the pieces don't. Some frown, some scream, some are so broken they may as well not be me. But they are. They are all reflections of me. And with that realization I rise to find them. The me's out there. I will save them from themselves, and maybe in so doing, be saved. Perhaps by helping others the way to be helped myself will appear. Maybe the path will finally be opened.
Maybe this is it.
Maybe the door was open all along.
Maybe I always had the Key.
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A Sidekick's Journal
A super-hero sidekick who writes poetry and stories in between using origami to defeat enemies of all that is Prepackaged and Sugary!!!!
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