I did another experiment in real life today. It was another devastating failure. I learned another lesson at the cost of my own sanity, flesh, and blood. I regret it. But in the future, I would probably behave the same — pick the most unlikely and uncertain choices for the sake of fun and curiosity instead of choosing safe choices with a high success rate.
I tried to endure the school festival today. But alas, even with my new phone, I can't last more than 7 hours, especially after a devastating emotional and social failure. The festival continues for two more days. I don't want to go. I'll just pay the fines. If they don't want it, I'll show my disability card. If they don't want it, they can do whatever they want with me and I'll endure everything.
For some reason, it always bothers me that my life is progressing in microsteps when I can make it progress in dramatic and larger steps in one ago. The awareness of my own identity and capabilities makes pretending to live a normal life even more painful. To keep progressing like this is essentially saying, "I'm a normal and productive person just like everyone else." — a statement which is deeply untrue. I can fold the space, split realities, and see through time anytime I want. It hurts so much to solve this puzzle as a human being. No, perhaps my definition of a human being is incorrect. Maybe I don't have to solve this puzzle as a human being at all, I simply have to solve it as I am. After all, as long as I don't use any extra abilities, no matter how much chaos and destruction is involved, by definition — I am still a human being.
Ah why does my image relative to others concern me so much? What does it matter if my behavioral gap between others of my age is large or small? Why am I so concerned about falling on the farthest edge of the curve? To be a human being is not to be a logical, normal, and nice person. This old bastard dares stare at me. If I stare back at him, he'll pull his eyes out from what he sees. Anyway, what is a human being? Is it the act of existing as a hairless bipedal ape? Is it the act of struggling and being aware of the pointless of such struggle? Those self-help books must have a thousand cringe definitions of a human being. But it is useless. Such definitions are futile if they're not our own. After long minutes of procrastination, I have arrived to the definition that humans are this, that, and so much more. Basically, anyone who can read this is a human being, except illiterates and celestials, of course.
If you think about it, today wasn't too bad after all. I managed to finish the sheepy ass report I've been working on for several weeks. I also managed to take a long nap, until I was violently woken up to wash a giant pile of dishes, only to be suddenly relieved from work a few minutes later.
Why am I even thinking too hard, when everything still remains the same? Despite all that thinking, I'll most likely survive for long, fulfill my dreams, get involved in some insane sheep, and die. There's nothing much to think about, nothing to write about. Yet if I didn't think, if I didn't write, eons would pass by instantly. To think, after all, is a way of holding on to the present moment. It's a way to make the day last a little longer, a little bleaker. It's a huge contradiction from the daily hours spent in consumption and slavery, whose primary objective is to make the days as short as possible and reach the coffin in record time. To think then, is akin to sitting on the ground while other people continue to march, it is like looking at the stars while everyone is staring blankly on the ground.
I could have done more. I could be more. I could have been myself. Yet, and yet, I must sleep now. Tomorrow, I may think the same thoughts, do the same things, and regret the same cycles. Is this what you call existing? Is this what you call being alive? It looks terrible to be honest. Everyday feels like I am expected to step on poop all day long like everyone else, and to stop doing so is to be branded as a heretic. Do you dare? Will I dare? For all I know, I may continue living with my feet in the poop for the rest of my life. I don't know what will happen tomorrow, and that's why I must sleep.