Phlegm Buoyancy

My blogs seem so pointless. I usually try to keep a sense of humor, but I think that is a mask for the truth, lately. I write about nothing in order to protect those around me from my problems. I never want to burden anyone, and it seems I never ask for help. Even when I need it.

My life seems to lack purpose. I have lost interest in most things, and I just go day to day trying to get by until I die. I think of the universe and how vast it is. I don't even know where to begin - there are more GALAXIES out there than we can count, and there are millions of stars in each galaxy, and who knows how many millions (billions?) of planets and other material. And then there is this one little blue planet, sitting out near the edge of one spiral galaxy in an uninteresting, uneventful little corner, with but one moon in the sky at night. And on this planet are over 5 BILLION human beings. Millions of those people are on the Internet, looking for whatever it is they are looking for.

And then there's my blogs. My blogs about me...and other pointless topics.



I am but a speck on the face of the space-time continuum. A nobody in a great pool of planetary parasites. What do I matter? Sure, I suppose in the relative scheme of things, I matter to a few people...though I'm not sure why. And what is this life business all about, anyway? There just doesn't seem to be a point it. At least not to mine.

I have everything anyone could ever ask for, yet I am depressed and unhappy. I get irritated by people and things, and even about myself. Somewhere along the way, I changed from what was once an inquisitive, interested, hopeful kid to a miserable, cinical, depleated old ogre.

Ah, well. Phlegm floats, right?

Whatever that means. Life is weird. I just need to find a way out of this funk before I either start playing with explosives again, or wind up taping a bag over my head. Anyway, I just needed to get that out of my head - write it down somewhere - before I made a movie about my head exploding. Sometimes, just spitting it out helps make things look brighter. Sometimes, however, it just puts into perspective just how pathetic I can be.

God. Why couldn't I have won the lottery yesterday? $315 Million! I'm sure that would help a little. I would have plenty of money left over after buying my own burial plot to do...whatever. Maybe go bungee jumping from hot air balloons. Or maybe just buy a plot of land out in the middle of nowhere and build an underground house and just hide away in there. That way, I could die where I lived and nobody would have to bury me.

I want to be fed to the birds, anyway. Return my body to the Earth - none of this burial or cremation nonsense! Donate my organs and let the critters eat the rest. I've got to do SOMETHING to give back to this planet. I feel like such a leech. I eat food every day, yet all my bodily waste gets channeled down through a pipe instead of recycled back into the ecosystem. Don't even get me started on the whole garbage thing.

Anyway, I'm rabling now. I better stop before my wife gets home. Though I'm not sure why. Does anything really matter in the whole scheme of things?