Getting old sucks...

It comes in random spurts.  This emotion that tears me up.  When faced with the vastness of nothing but negative emotions, I see I reach out to read.  When the comforts of the online world no longer comfort, and the voices of those I would call friend...grate; I disconnect.  But the world I've become accustomed to is my home.  So when faced with pure solitude, the kind that scratches at your head reminding you in the form of a headache that you're supposed to be elsewhere doing something.... else; I come here. 

I posted over a year ago last.  Tonight I'm angry, I know why and I can't do a thing about it.  It's an anger I carry around with me like a backpack reminding me of it's weight every time I breathe.  It affects EVERYTHING.  I haven't written in forever.  I haven't posted here in over a year.  Hell I dont even sing anymore.  I'm reminded of that every time I have nights like this and these are as of late, the only constant in my life. 

Blogging was such a "thing".  It seems so passe now.  With Twitter, facebook, god only knows what other kinds of social apps the written word is as archaic as actually picking up a pen and some paper and writing.  

These pages seem very empty.  Like coming to a run down library and finding a few scattered books and sheets of loose paper skittering about in the dust left over from years of neglect.  You wander around them reading and wondering if any of it mattered?  No one comes anymore.  I know why, but still you kind of wonder if anyone just ... peeks. maybe.

So tonight I'm rambling on in a blog I haven't visited in at least half a year.  Because no one cares, no one visits and honestly that's just the way it is.

But there's always that hope that maybe someone, perhaps someone who read frequently years ago when you couldn't shut me up and I posted everyday, might stop by and say "Holy Shit! She posted again".  Maybe even that person might just forgo the usual sarcastic "Hey it's anonymous so I can just tear it up because it's the internet" and actually care for a minute.  Might actually wonder for just a second about the plight of another human soul somewhere else.

But I am one person.  One speck of light that grows dim, and as nights like these tear at my soul reminding me how screwed up things are, I see that light getting dimmer.  So I write in the hopes I'll feel better.  And a little in the hopes that someone shares in this writing as fucked up as it is.  

But it will be what it will be and tonight will wind up being shelved in the archives as another night in my life where I really didn't live.  I just ...was.