Thinking too much about life.
Being different from other people makes it so hard to make meaningful connections.
Maybe I have just seen too much in life.
I feel dead inside. My emotions only a variant of either sadness or anger.
I guess, I'll just grind out bugs. Keep grinding out bugs.
I dont even know anymore why I find bugs. Maybe it is the only thing I actually know how to do.
I wish I could be excited about being alive, like other people. Some days I want to go to the Arctic, vanish in a raging snow storm, never to be found again. One final mad struggle.
Perhaps the storm is just inside my head.