Exhausted. Quite, but caffeine fills me with its clever awareness. It is night and I cannot sleep. I feel the goosebumps on my arm and know that I’m still alive. My mind is filled with comfortable, familiar emotions again. Ironic, that such sombre feelings can make me so happy. Have I become a prisoner in my self-fulfilling world? Will I remain trapped in this prophetic existence forever?

I cannot tell.

Yet I fight against it.

Yo.

It’s been difficult to write lately. Sometimes I peruse other peoples’ blogs, note their wit and style, and wish I could write as interestingly as they do. Then I remember that I only write for myself anyway and that it doesn’t matter if I sound boring or pretentious. Nevertheless, my writers’ block has partially been due to the fact that I’ve been experiencing some odd mood swings. It’s not even so much due to the ephemeral nature of my emotions, but more related to the fact that I don’t understand what I’m feeling.

Some things make me happy. Some things make me depressed.

I think I’m mostly just content, which is a feeling I’m not quite used to yet. It’s almost as if I’m floating in a pool of lukewarm liquid, unsure of what my senses tell me. All I know is that my dysthymic phase has long left me. For now, I have resigned myself to experiencing such emotions with an open mind, with the hope that I will some day understand them.

I remember wanting to keep my emotions in check a long time ago, wanting to become a completely cerebral person. Nowadays, I’m not so sure that this was such a good idea, not that I’ve been able to fully succeed in such a monstrous task. Perhaps a balance is needed in something such as this as well. A lack of emotions may cause a better appreciation for the few emotions one experiences, or vice-versa.

My rationale has changed on this because my experiences have changed. Growing up in a chaotic world of confusion and pain, I wanted an emotional barrier to prevent any further mental agony. Now, I’ve accomplished more, loved more, been loved more, and felt more. Perhaps I now feel that happiness is worth the possibility of mental anguish. Sometimes it feels as if I’m waiting for a terrible incident to revert my views. Life, however, seems to be getting better.

I just wish I knew what I was feeling.

If only I could decide whether this was good or bad. I walked outside tonight and everything felt unfamiliar.

It’s 2:33 in the morning and the streets here are empty. The lamps illuminate darkened stores with a lonely glow. The buses are sparse and the occupants sparser.

Mood? Not quite sombre, but serious nonetheless.

I am usually not one who professes to know a lot. I’m often fairly humbled in front of many others who possess a greater intelligence than me (although I know my fair share of stupid people). I think that intelligence is something about myself that I’ll never be satisfied with. There are too many things to know and learn and improve upon, and the pursuit of such would take longer than an eternity.

Reading back on some of my entries, something which has been hard to do lately, I feel like a child again. My entries seem to be filled with such uncerebral emotion sometimes. It’s as if I can be greatly bothered by things that I should be able to overcome. Of course, it’s writing here which helps me out when I need it, when it feels like no one can understand or relate. It all just fills this written history with bias. Nothing can change the fact that I am still a human person who has emotions, although my life experiences have dampened them considerably.

I feel young when I realize how much these emotions can sometimes affect me.

I’m still unsure whether it would be better or worse to feel more. On the one hand, I can keep myself in check and keep my actions consistent if something happens which might upset me. On the other hand, I feel numb, as if things which should bring me pleasure end up being nothing in particular.

Balance needed in yet something else.