The Obscure

I've been blowing my nose far too much lately, every morning I wake up with dried blood and snot encrusted on my upper lip.
It used to be that I would go over everything I wrote and proof-read it so that I wouldn't seem like an idiot when someone happened to read it; but it has been a long time since I gave that up in favor of spouting long monologues with spelling and grammar errors included rather than short soliloquoys that are put together with all the precision and delicacy of swiss clockwork. It's easier to get my brain out and to devil with the rules than it is to leave my brain where it is and abide by them. Do you understand?
It turns out that I have mono. A terrible turn of events, to be sure. But it does give me an excuse to lie around the house all day doing nothing. Up until very recently I have lacked the energy to do things that normal people do. Then, whenever I have attempted to do those "normal" things, too much blood starts rushing to my head, until I feel that it will explode. Then, the narcotics.
But as long as I have mono, which is to be at least another three weeks, I'm allowed to stay in and do nothing as much as I need to. Which is great, because my normal lackluster existence has grown even more dull recently. I guess one could attribute that to the disease.
I've read many a book in my day, too many, if you ask me. It has gotten so that I can't think a single thought without a phrase from some long-lost story butting into the foreground of my consciousness and befuddling me. I walk around all day saying obscure things very loudly to people who have no possible way to comprehend them.
"Raskolnikov is a madman!" I say.
"What?" They reply.
"Nothing." I say, suddenly massively aware of the amount of hats I am wearing.
Then I must apologize to them, taking a very long and awkward time to say that I was quoting something they have never read or seen or heard of. Or it goes the other way, they just give me a funny look and I turn away and go about my business. Then they get to talking, talking about things that are way outside my sphere of influence (to use a term very badly), and I have to sit there in awkward silence and not comprehend what is going on in the slightest.
Since my first doomed and confused attempts to make friends when I was in grade school, I have endeavored to keep my mouth shut the best I can so that I do not alienate myself. It doesn't work very well, even when I keep as quiet as I possibly can, I am still far louder than most people; at least when I am either relatively comfortable or extremely uncomfortable (which happen to be the two worst times to make an ass of oneself.)

If I tried to average out the amount of times I have thought the words "Mother-Fucker." silently in my mind, I estimate that it would be around 175 times a day. Then if you add in all the times I actually say it outloud (be there people present, or otherwise) I think I may top 250. Then you average in all the obscene humour and other strings of terrible profanities that come out of my brain (unintended, I assure you) and I am the single most horrifying human being on the face of the Earth. Funny, seeing as I don't approve of bad language and obtuse humour in a general sense. I think there is just another person inside my head, pulling the strings and making me act in these ways that I never really intended too. Smoking too many cigarrettes, alienating myself from my friends, writing long, boring, self-examining journal entries, and never making enough bread to get by. Is this where I thought I'd end up five years ago?
Frankly, I thought I'd have killed myself by now.
I guess I'm better off living, though. At least I have room to improve.