This computer monitor is too bright. Your going to get a headache. Your birthday kinda blowed. I expected it. I don’t talk enough on Fluther. I don’t have much to say. I wish I had the money to move west. You’d still have nothing to say. These people above me that are typing back & forth are distracting me & will make this large paragraph stand out. Shit, now people will see this & expect something grand. My typing can’t keep up with my thoughts. I need to stop using Fluther & do my real work. I think I use Fluther as a distraction. If I stopped, I’d have to take a look at myself & figure out what to do next. I’m not ready for that. I don’t like being an ‘adult’. I want to be 7 again. My biggest worry at 7 was whether or not my mother would finally buy me Dunkaroos. She never did. I feel guilty when I eat them now. I can’t be trusted. Should I stop? Maybe break into a new paragraph.
Good idea. I can’t stop now. This feels like that exercise I once did for my creative writing course. I liked it. Professor liked me. He told me law school was a bad idea. He was right. I don’t listen to enough people in my life. I’m too stubborn. Maybe that’s why I use Fluther. To help me open up to more ideas. That’s bullshit & you know it. It only sounds good. You’re stuck in your ways. You’ll never change. 3 people are watching me type. I’m nervous. They’ll read this, call you an ‘asshole’ under their breath & hate themselves for reading this shit thus far & skip over the lurve. I don’t blame them. Never really lurved what I have to say. Dropping out of college made you feel dumb, that’s why. You try to stay sharp by reading books & watching news & editing scripts. But really, you just new paragraph
Let your brain go. Look at these people typing in here. Kim Kardashian’s nipples. You’re going to look like a pretentious asshole with this rambling. There is nothing to be had in this. It is waste. For as long as Fluther lives, this inane typing will forever be stapled to your name. This is embarrassing. No one will possibly read this far. Even I would give up. I’m getting cold. I need heat. I want body heat. I wish I had a significant other. I want to love someone. I don’t feel loved. I’m such a pussy. I need to grow up. I’m emotionally stunted. Does a broken heart beat twice as fast? I sometimes get a strong pain in my heart. I haven’t told my parents about it. I once collapsed to the floor during a migraine. I didn’t tell anyone.
You need to wrap this up. I blame, Inked up chic. You don’t even know her. Why do I waste this much time on shit? You could have completed 30 pages of work, but instead you did this. I don’t know why you do it. I need someone. Someone to talk to. I want to listen to someone talk back. I miss high school. I miss Katie. You’ll never have another friend like that. I liked her freckles. You had freckles. They’re gone now. You need to stop
this & do some work. Your longest post will be this shit. I hate myself. I need to run in the rain. I miss college. You did laps on the soccer field every time it rained. It was nice. My mind shows no sign of slowing down. I should just end it. End it. End it. End it. I can’t, too much to think about. This is not your fucking personal journal. End it. This is probably riddled with typos. I don’t care. But they do. No one gives a shit. Delete this. Flag it. Insult someone. I couldn’t. I like the people here. You sound crazy. I don’t care. Your spirit is broken. You’re useless. You just said that to someone. This is a terrible place to stop. Come back another day. Write when you are happy. Show them you can smile. Katie liked your smile. I know. I’ll end it. End it now. I will. Just st