No doubt, it seems to get deeper.

I've become something that I've dreaded forever, but I think it's just because I never knew what part of the puzzle it fit in. My thoughts have become long, run-on ideas that fuse into each other and end up an amoeba of words, evolving only over excruciatingly long periods of time.

I've lost touch with people I love, and started loving people I really ought to lose touch with.

Every time my right arm hurts, I wonder if I'll die soon. I don't want to, per se, but then again I don't really know for sure.

I'm about to move away, across the country. What am I supposed to do there? I'm only moving away to move away. I don't really care where when it comes down to it. I think I could move anywhere and feel alright, as long as it was far enough away from everyone.

Sometimes I wish I owned a sword, and played lots of table top games. If for no other reason than to prove to myself that I still have an imagination.

Adult socialization seems to suck the color out of me. Maybe everyone. It takes the happy little trees that Bob Ross painted in my head and turns them into 2-dimensional strategic blobs of paint.

Maybe it'll come back once I'm uncomfortable enough to drive myself crazy. Kind of like I was back in 2005, when I didn't care who saw me, or where. I just cared that I was there.