"Scar tissue that I wish you saw
Sarcastic mister know-it-all
Close your eyes and I’ll kiss you ’cause
With the birds I’ll share
With the birds I’ll share
This lonely view
With the birds I’ll share
This lonely view..."
-- The Red Hot Chili Peppers, "Scar Tissue"

I want to vent. Baddddd. But I really don't feel like venting to anybody that I know. In fact, I feel like talking to most people has become an unnecessary chore. Pretty much everything right now has become a chore. What happened? Why am I living only just to get through the week, so I can plan on catching up on sleep and manage to leave the weekend more exhausted (from doing nothing) than I was before? Most importantly, how come I have this savage desire to be a total jerk? And why am I giving in to that desire? Why has apathy replaced idealism? Why is this happening now? Why am I freaking out over nothing? Why aren't I freaking out more? Why do I just not fucking care?

I'm so tired of overanalyzing my life. So tired of trying to figure out other people. I'm tired of trying to sit back and relax. Hell, I'm tired of trying.

I crave attention. But now, I find myself systematically burning bridges with people who try to reach out. And by golly, I'm not even sorry.

I so much want for a fresh start. Just to go anywhere, not to know anybody, and start over. Be whoever I want to be. I want to be the mystery. I want to meet somebody like me. No, I want to meet me. Who am I from the outside? I'm finding the internal me to be increasingly unpleasant, like an unwanted roommate who leaves his crumpled-up failures all over my side of the apartment.

And even now, in my fuck-the-world haze, my attention-craving, wannabe-entertainer personal roommate is thinking about what words and what metaphors would most impress.

I want to be a tiger. A tiger does not try. A tiger does. A tiger is sinewy, deadly grace; unadulterated, uncompromising fangs. A tiger has no debts. A tiger does not cultivate relationships like carefully grown bacteria in petri dishes or fragile foreign flowers in a greenhouse. A tiger knows no gnawing fear, no pressures of responsibility, no pathetic self-deconstruction. A tiger relies not on what he knows but on the truth. A tiger is truth.