Pretender

2013-01-13

I'm not even sure of what to make of myself anymore.

What am I hoping to achieve by losing weight? If it happens at all, I'm sure I'll still find a way to be ugly.

And even if I'm not... so what? My lack of personality, drive and social graces have already failed me tremendously. What do I really bring to the table if I can't get laid without losing weight? What have I proven, exactly?

Why am I bothering to learn how to code? It's fun, but I'm not going to get anything out of it.

Why do I write, or more precisely, consider myself a person who writes even though my output consists of fewer than 5000 words per month? I can quip at the low-hanging fruit that are Facebook status updates all day, but nobody in the history of humanity could ever possibly even begin to give a shadow of a fuck.

Why do I always feel like I'm full of shit, even on those occasions when I'm not?

Why don't I care when I should, and why do I care when I shouldn't?

Why do I put my personal boo-hoo bullshit on my website? Reduced though it may be, any amount is superfluous. What do I hope to gain from it? If I'm not ashamed enough to refrain from posting in the first place, then why even fucking hide it?

Who's going to be impressed by any of it?

Why do I bother hiding feelings for women I've grown fond of? It's always obvious as shit anyway. I recognize the signs in other men and more often than not, it's sickening. Pathetic, like a lost dog that just wants to fuck the girl it's following around.

Why am I even writing this?