The Obscure

Man, I feel so weird righ tnow. I've been sitting here for several hours in complete silence, doing nothing but yawn and stare mindlessly at my computer monitor. Say nothing of intelligence, your wisemen cannot know me.
I don't know what is going through my head right now, all of this mental bullshit is getting to me. Why do some people spend their lives thinking so hard? How do they do it? I haven't thought hard in my entire life. Since the genesis of my existence my mind has been empty, as a child they thought me intelligent and "hyperactive". What does that mean?
As I recall, I was hyperactive in the real world because it was the only expression I could find for the abstract thought of my innards. But my innards have been silent for so long now, I feel lonely without the constant prattling of an imagination that does not know universal law, that does not care for physics or logic.
I remember when I was very young, I used to throw things through the air. I would throw them a few feet, walk over, pick them up, and throw them again. I did this because I thought that if I threw it just right, it might, by some mischance, manage to slip into some invisible accidental crack in the fabric of reality and disappear. My father explained the concept of atoms to me when I was in the fourth grade, and for years I was fascinated by it. I thought that, if everything was made up of tiny particles, then there must be a tinier space in between the particles, and if all the particles are constantly in motion, then eventually a few spaces of them should line up and create a crack in reality; and I wondered: What was through the cracks?
Of course, later I learned that things didn't actually work that way, and a whole lot of my childhood fantasies deflated and became nothing but memories of a naive would-be scientist. I never ended up stuudying much science, much to my father's chagrin, and although I still enjoy thinking about strange things nowadays, I don't think science could ever be consistently fantastic enough to hold my interest. I think space voyages, alternate universes, holes in the fabric of reality, and the like are things that I will never have the pleasure of comprehending. Such is life, though, I guess.
That is how it has been with most of the things I have pondered over, for most of my life now. I think about things so much and grow so in love with those ideas, and eventually it turns out that those ideas aren't real, or could never happen, or can't yet be accomplished--and eventually I kind of ran out of steam. How long can you go on contemplating strange notions and being constantly disappointed before you lose your motivation?

But, that's putting whoever is reading this under the wrong impression. I have never, in my life, actually tried to DO anything. I only think about things, obsess over things. Things that don't matter. I'm sure anyone with an imagination does the same thing, but some people with this affliction, some people who spend hours awake at night thinking about confusing questions concerning the physical make-up of the universe, they develope passions for it, they do something with their lives. Me, nah. I just think, and think, and think. And eventually I go to sleep, and when I wake up I have grown bored with that idea before I have had it long enough to "use" it.
This is a very weird blog post, I have just realized. It came from me looking up scholarship stuff online. I got down-hearted, y'know? School, pfft. I gotta go to college, though. Why? Dunno. How? Dunno. When? Dunno.
Even being a minority won't get me in, you need a GPA of at least 3.0. I think I have a .6.

Sometimes I wonder why I continue to keep this blog. Then, nights like this roll along. I am not thinking anything in particular, I am just looking for a place to shove my talkativeness, because there is no one to talk to. I have always had a big mouth, both literally and figuratively. If I don't have someone to talk nonsensically to, then what do I have? Nothing.
So I must turn to the blog, and abuse it with my deadly fingertips.
I remember the days when I would only use this thing for jokes. I still do that, sometimes. I'm not in the mood for it right now, though I probably have inserted a joke or two thus far. Maybe not. That's unusual.

It is still cold in my house. The hair on my legs is standing up. My jeans are so threadbare nowadays, I'm almost afraid the attentive leg-hair will tear holes into my fragile denim.
Years of my mother's "frugal" philosphies have made me reluctant to purchase another pair of jeans. That and the fact that I don't have a job and, consequently, do not have any money with which to procure them.
I have always made run-on sentences. It truly is my achille's heel. My achille's heel of paragraph formation.

I'm too sleepy now, I guess I am just going to go to bed or something. Maybe I will eat some food.
Thank you for your time, Govorov.