Sounds like a lot of crying to me.

It's now two thirty in the morning. I have the duty to mind and body to venture back to the land of slumber, but I have no actual concept of how I will accomplish this task. My days are filled with tremblings of loathing. I must venture back to work again tomorrow, which is something I do not look forward to. I need to exercise some degree of discipline here. I have not been able to muster this for the last couple of years. I want to write. I need to write. Yet, it is a task I can't seem to bring myself to actually starting. I have ideas in my head that leave me sleepless and stirring. Fuck you, brain. Fuck you. I'm falling into bad habits and terrible behaviors. Oh my, such anger and no initiative.

Do you think I could be funny? I could be humorous, but could I be funny? I don't honestly fucking know. I mean, there is a glaring difference between making your friends giggle with your snarky remarks and ACTUALLY being marketable. When you're a kid, you have all sorts of dreams and aspirations; concepts about who you are and what you want to "be". As you grow, you learn a little bit more about yourself as a person and how the world destroys hope and crushes your will. You change your aspirations and your dreams morph, most of the time, leaving you with a broken mind and body. Your dreams resemble the fantasies of prison inmates. Your hopes begin to resemble the prayers of island castaways. The world turns you into a rat, scurrying from one dark place to another, searching for a fucking crumb and exuding your bodily greases as you stumble.

Now, I just want to be funny.

I remember when I was little, like ten or eleven, I wanted to be an Egyptologist. I wanted to study pyramids and Egyptian culture and ancient history. I don't know what ever happened to that, but that shit faded. As I grew older, people began to tell me that I had a talent for drawing. So, naturally, I drew a lot. Then, people told me that I had a good voice, I should get into radio. So, for a while, that's what I wanted to do. Now I just want to be funny. Nobody ever told me I was very funny. I don't even necessarily think I am, from an equitable stance. I make myself laugh. If I could get paid for making myself laugh, I'd be pretty motherfucking rich, actually.

I guess what I'm saying is, I'd briefly entertain the idea of fucking a tranny, but I'm not sucking any cock.

That, and I desperately need to get my ass in gear.