I'm Posting Something... Start Drinking

       Gentlemen, raise a glass... to a long night of moping, accompanied by some Django Reinhardt and several lonesome hours of Dragon Age. The life o' Alex Petersen has become a state of confusing complacency brought about by loneliness, peppered with resentment, and garnished with lonely walks under the moon and evenings spent staring out the window with a glass of red wine, listening to Django Reinhardt pluck away at that sweet Gypsy jazz. I feel alone. What's more, I actually seem to mind feeling alone; I used to be perfectly content with long, wistful days just ambling along the creek and napping in trees, but now I feel at a loss. I used to never be bothered by loneliness, in fact I often felt inspired by its somber tune. Now however, I feel a pain that I am not accustomed to... I feel alone. I feel expendable, hollow, and forgotten; I feel like a toy, lost to the years, and left to collect dust, just lying in resigned self pity as my buttons dull and my strings wear away. I've always reveled in the beauty of a meaningless mortality, but now... I find myself longing for purpose. I find myself tormented by an insurmountable desire to have meaning; I want to feel like I mean something significant to someone, or feel like I've done something that has a tangible effect on the somebody. I feel like I have all these important things to tell someone, but that someone either doesn't exist, or I don't know them. Whenever something needed to be said, but no one was around to hear, I used to make people up and write letters to them; I felt like they always understood. There are however, a few problems with this method. They never wrote back; I've spent many an evening in hopes that all of a sudden, a letter adressed to me would arrive at my feet and let me know that everything was going to be alright. The other issue with this technique was that eventually, the people I wrote to started to seem so real that every time I was reminded of their non-existence, it felt like I was mourning the death of someone dearly beloved to me; I couldn't go through life living in my head, cursing the heavens over the deaths of friends who were never actually there. It seems that the only apparent remedies for my current predicament are to either go out, talk to people, and meet someone nice... or I could always just grapple with my mental strife and wallow in my own social ineptitude while I play Dragon Age and listen to violin music that I just fucking KNOW is going to depress the living shit out of me. Fuck it, those choices are so grossly imbalanced that I needn't have bothered mentioning being social. Hooray for bitching to anonymous people reading my blog! Now excuse me, I have monsters to slay and shit to mope over.