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Thought Doodles, Analyzations, Observations, Training
I'll work today...to rise up tomorrow. So that yesterday will be something I can be proud of! And it's not a loop. It's a schedule. Eat THAT.
What a Lie! &New Plan.
What a joke, what a farce, what a front, what a fool am I!

Good intro, isn't it? Yes, I know. Ungh! My last entry? That's the joke. I can't care anymore! I noticed it with anime--Sora no Woto had no moving effect on me even though the conclusion I knew it should have been chilling and beautiful and touching. Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann was not thrilling or chilling or exciting; just something to entertain me like the bum is drolly entertained by the glowing box in front of him and a beer in one hand.
I finished my fourth game of Fire Emblem: Radiant Dawn today; the game that had me choking from shock and suspense, chilled just by the music, and literally cheering with victory at a battle won; sweat on my forehead from exhilaration and the terror of the battlefield . . . No, really.
Well, it wasn't all that this time. But at the very end, with the beautifully animated epilogue and all the character endings as well as the final word to end the Tellius saga . . . I did feel. I did. A ripple of shivers, a glow of accomplishment. It was fun too. (And easy. 'Cus I kick a** at that game.)

But what about next game? My fifth game. Will there be any emotion left?
I came to type this after reading some listed remembrances of my first Wicked in London. I'm glad I managed to save whatever I saw because . . . reading them . . . I didn't recall those first, fuzzy sights. Not with conviction, not with nostalgia, barely at all . . .
I'm more disconnected than I've ever been and I can't even get myself to care. Beyond all else, I value strong emotion and feeling. Rage, sorrow, joy, grief, shock . . . Those are what makes life worth living for me! Without them, what is there?! What?!

When I was suicidal in the seventh grade, when I first began to really think and become myself, I went hollow for a bit. This is cliche, but it's cliche for a reason; all went dark. And yet . . . though at the time, I think I wanted to be uncaring--yeah, I did--every display of emotion and genuine feeling touched me so much that I wanted to cry. Of course that was when I vowed to myself to never cry again. I'm doing well on that still with only two slip-ups; both brought on by unhappy authorities.
There was a while around then also that, I became vehemently opposed to the use of the word, "whatever". It was uncaring, dismissive, lazy. No, you must care! Please . . . ?

Since all that, I have matured greatly. I do believe that, no doubt whatsoever. But I also think I've made some terrible mistakes in caring for myself. I know I have. So, if I can't bring myself to care, to feel . . .

Then it's time to instate third-person assistance. I will refer to myself as another person. This is similar to a critical thing I once did that I still cannot rid myself of, and maybe it's the carelessness now that is stopping me from realizing that this is a really, really horrible idea.
Nonetheless; I'm going to try it. I rather expect it to fail quite hard at first; adjusting to a change of the self being another and talking online will take some skill. It's not something I want to broadcast; people's opinions of the act being poser-esque will, I'm ashamed to say, influence me. Thus I'll not refer to myself. To people I know IRL that I speak to online; I won't speak to UFN. To online-only friends, it'll be for my sanity and that is that.
Speaking IRL, I will try to refrain from referring to myself as myself. As I've trained myself to do other mentally destructive things, I will train myself to think in third-person as best as I can.

Myself is detached. My hope; if I detach from myself, I may gain a new outlook. Marijauna would probably help. That I'll work on as well.
I know this will be hard; perhaps harder than any other like thing I've done. It seems conceited though it should release me from such things. I'm going to try my hardest . . . if this becomes another critical mistake . . . something I can't shake off . . .
Well. We'll find out, won't we?



Also. This may become the next joke. Like my School entry. That's okay, I think . . . though I want it to work. I need a new perspective. Any perspective.





 
 
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