I’ve come to the conclusion that this whole "living" thing is just futile. Each day is so much like the one before it I can hardly keep track of the date. I don’t know if I can bear another 60 some odd years of this drudgery, going through the motions, a faceless zombie. I’m sure no one would lose any sleep if I killed myself tonight, save for the parents. I desperately yearn for some sort of human connection beyond the superficial “Hi, how are you,” yet I have no idea how to go about procuring it. My distrust and disdain for most people prevents me from acting on these feelings. From an early age, I’ve prided myself on being the maverick, always going against the grain, and fooling myself into thinking I can just deny that which makes me human. I’m old enough now to realize this is not the case. Thus is the paradox of my existence. Know that this isn’t a cry for help; I don’t intend on making my exit anytime soon. It’s really just a vent. Granted, we’re all in different situations, so most of you won’t know what I’m talking about. That’s fine. Lucidity isn’t one of my strengths. But on the off chance that someone can relate, then hey, the five minutes I spent typing this would have been worth it. Oh, and Happy Halloween!