Tiredness

I'm tired :D that is why that is the title of this blog. Truly not a creative title, but a title nonetheless, and i can't quite be stuffed having a creative title.

Everything seems kind of fake when im tired. Probably for you too, when you're in the same such condition of the body and mind. Its like theres a haze over everything, and nothing you say or do is truly happening. Its almost a dream. The living dream of wakefulness. Not that that meant anything at all. Just that reality seems distorted. And sleep, being the state of desire at such times as these, seems the only escape from the fraudulant world, full of phoneys and annoyance. Yet I can't bring myself to close my eyes. Because then time is going by. Time is slipping, valuable time. Time that could be spent doing something else. Probably something useless, but something fun nonetheless.

Although right now im just internetting it, and that is not really fun (although blogging is, mostly) and definitely a waste of time, i do think. Facebook: networking, im building on my relationships? Pah, excuses. I should sleep. Become lost in that land of dark and, well, confusion really. Kind of buffered confusion though. Soft and cuddly. The sort you really like to get to know.

And the tiredness creeps and lurks in my bones. Making the most menial task home, because I don't have to think to do it, it's just routine. And then I'd rather do that than get up, even to go to bed. Why is it that sleep seems to be the last thing I want to do when I'm tired? Almost like i can't be bothered doing even that? Zombified, but not quite gone. Not quite out to the world. Not quite overtaken by the shadow of otherly conscious, otherly place that is. Inside the head, inside, where the worries run deep. Dreams show us our inner disturbances, our inner desires, all of our unknown self is revealed. If we dare watch, listen. If we dare interpret such as our darkest fears, should the fear become realised, it may become heightened. I don't know. It's a theory. One I like to entertain.

Photos are unbearable. Just to change the subject. Don't you think? They show the happiness, the fun of the old times. Yet none of it is true. The photos are fake, they lie. They are glorifying the times gone past. The times that are no longer within our grasp. And its unbearable. Because theyre gone. And you can't get them back. But they weren't as good as they seem in the photo, surely? Because I could take photos, and perhaps it would be fun, of my friends and such, but in truth, they wouldn't be as great as they seem when looked back upon. I guess its just the torture of wanting what you cant have. The longing, the yearning. The missed out feeling. Thats what it is. As if you're missing out. Even though its passed, and even if you were there, its no longer possible to be there, you're missing out. And now its impossile. And its unbearable. Don't miss the opportunities. And if you do, don't look at the photos.