My fortieth. It came and it went. I feel like time passes and it’s empty.

Do you ever wonder if you’re living life properly? Do you ever wonder what that looks like? I don’t get it; I can see that to gain something from life you need to focus, to desire something, even if that desire is one of selflessness. But I can’t focus. I can’t see anything I want. I try to make money, it’s a necessity, and I’m not even managing that. And to what end besides survival?

It seems to me that humans are able. Able to exist and to work and to feed their family. I don’t have to feed a family so I try to concentrate on things creative. I fail. I lack energy. I want to make this year a year about music. Maybe I could enforce focus through that.

Time passes. We age. What has been done in those years? As one who stays indoors almost all of the time, mulling creativity, creating websites for money alone and doing little more than pondering free will and wondering why we are here at all I can honestly say I feel my life has been wasted. But why do I feel that way? I see nothing to do.

As a boy I enjoyed computer games, drawing and growing things. As a teen I enjoyed writing during a drunk, computer games and growing weed. As an adult? I can’t seem to relax, always on edge, always nervous and I don’t know what I enjoy. I feel people don’t understand me and I’m damn sure I don’t understand them.

What should I be doing? People. Family. Time passing. I love my family more than my own life and I can’t get my head around my or their ages. I feel that reality is not as it should be, it’s not ten. I’m not ten. I think it took a detour when my father died and I’ve shown it no respect since. How could I possibly?

I can’t drink as I used to either. I can’t tell why. One glass of red causes me to get spaced out for a couple of days though a little sherry at Christmas had no ill effect. But boy do I get bored. Yet nothing I want. Except to stop ageing until I decide what makes life worth living so I can proceed.

A cat. That might help. Solvency and a change of geography are required but so hard when you’re as tired as it gets and unable to sleep.

I shall sleep. I need some new people and new times, new things, no wine. Heh. A poet. Hardly so. Hardly so should be the name of my humble poetry book.

With that I leave you.