It appears I have nothing left to say anymore. I'm quite seriously too exhausted to generate useful thoughts.
That may be an exaggeration.
I'm growing weary of writing to myself. It has served its purpose, but journaling, even in the form of blogging, doesn't help me lighten my burden or gain any clarity anymore. Nothing ever changes in my life.
Nobody cares about me, and I want to be OK with that, but I'm not. I'm meaningless outside of my utility--what I do to make others' lives easier or more interesting. I'm useful and lots of people benefit from that, but I'm hard to like and harder to care about, and that means that once my work is done, I'm no different than a car parked in the garage or a vacuum cleaner put back in the closet, not thought about until the next time there's a task to be done.
And so I find myself having one-sided conversations with myself here. What a pathetic situtation this is.
Truth be told, I wouldn't want to be very involved with me, either.
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