Double Up Gray

I never wanted to be a writer when I was a kid.  I mean, I guess most people would still consider me a kid, but I don't feel like I have the capacity to think about what I want to be when I grow up.  Most of my former classmates are probably just preparing themselves to work towards their dream jobs, or at least starting to work towards their dream colleges but I'm never going to college.  It was unrealistic, money-wise back then and it's impossible now.

I wanted to be a fireman when I was really little, back when everything was still normal, which is disgustingly ironic.

But it's not worth trying to have dreams now.  I just have to live from breath to breath, and try to glean some joy from the anti-joke that is my life.  Like, what did the mentally broken boy hunted by a monster get for Christmas?  Being locked in a room with his mother's corpse.

Ha ha.  So funny.  I'm not very good at jokes.

But I'm horribly off topic.  I was trying to say that I never wanted to be a writer, but it's all I seem to do these days.  Case in point, I am now on another blog.  Miss Cordelia's blog, actually, but she wants all of us living with her to contribute.  I don't know how much I'm going to be able to "contribute" but I'll do it if she asks me to.

I'm still going to be posting on here, too.  Just, probably not so much the what happened as all those mushy gushy feelings that are the reason I have this blog which is kinda a diary as much as an obituary.  I know, ew, right?

Feel free to not read it cause hey, I hate my whiny feelings, so I bet you all are sick to death of them.  But there's more than just me on this new blog so it's probably better reading material.  God knows we may as well try to read something enjoyable while suffering.

Catch you later.