The Obscure

Is it possible for something to become cliche when it is only one person saying or doing the thing in question? How often must a thing be done before it becomes a cliche? How many people have to do that thing for it to become a cliche? Can it be just one? If I wrote, "But we, who call ourselves Man, with the audacity to walk on two legs..." right now for the fiftieth time, would that be just me? Just the cliche ol' fatalist Johnny Colón, that crazy kid who sometimes fancies himself a writer, who stands constantly on the brink of complete insanity, and always wishes, just a little bit, for the apocalypse?
I suppose it would. I also suppose that that bears little relevance to anything. Just food for my own strange thoughts, I would suppose, for a third time.

I haven't been at all well lately. The pain in my skull has been far worse and far more daunting than usual for the past month or so. It would be kind of a funny twist of fate, if it turned out that somewhere along the line, long after the doctors had given up MRIs and CatScans in disgust, that I had developed an inoperable brain tumor. I probably wouldn't even notice the difference. "I'm having a really bad cluster, lately." I would say. Then, I would be dead. An anti-climactic end to a relatively short but intolerably boring life. I think that should be my epitaph, if I die young. I would like my headstone to read exactly that, "An anti-climactic end to a relatively short but intolerably boring life."
Of course, barring some bizzare accident where I happen to misplace a large quantity of buckshot somewhere inside this annoying head of mine, I doubt I shall die young. I theorize that pretty much everyone who thinks (or hopes) they will die young will generally live longer than those who think they will live long and fruitful lives. Barring, of course, a direct descent into some nasty habit from which roughly 25% escape from alive. Fellows like me don't really have that option though, with younger sisters and nieces and (though I doubt it would affect him much) nephews, to attempt to set a good example for. I say "attempt" because fellows like me who do live under those conditions are invariably terrible at making good on such attempts, so "attempts" are really all they ever amount to. All the advice in the world about the sanctity of life and living to your potential all kind of goes to shit when you drop out of high school and occasionally get caught holding naked blades and fantasizing about killing yourself.
Then again, it is good advice. It's a shame I didn't heed it, a few years back. Hell, I can remember giving Elena that same exact advice when I was in 11th grade and missing sixty percent of my classes and failing eighty percent of them. Perhaps that is why it doesn't seem to be sticking so well. When you have to start off half of the things you say to a younger sibling with the phrase, "I know it's really hypocritical for me to tell you this, but..." you know you are in pretty bad shape.

I am in really bad shape, in so many ways. It doesn't really look that way to me until I take a step back and look at myself from a more objective point of view.
Oh well, I'm going to go to bed. I had no idea what I was going to write when I came out here, and I have no idea of what I did write now that I'm leaving. Regardless, maybe you enjoyed it, or at least didn't hate it. Goodnight ladies and gentlemen.