Inconsequential Atrophy

I hate bitching about anything but that doesn't stop the need to. Of all the problems afflicting the people of the world, mine seem the most unimportant.

My opinions seem hollow and empty at the moment. A person can no more mediate their own feelings or reactions than they could regulate their own rate of growth. I am a creature of sub-text and I will suffer being misunderstood and misinterpreted because of my innuendo.

I - like many I'm sure - feel distended at times. It's an harassment that in-itself places me at odds with the rest of humanity, even if it's only in my own mind. As much as I hate it and lash out there is still a responsibility I feel, a selfish-selflessness that ensures that I get up and dust off the residue of self-pity.