After only a short time, I see some small patterns forming:
“I” (hate that).
And yes, this may be some (twisted) version of therapy. But nobody else cares about that.
Am I too focused on myself?
Am I being selfish in writing all of this?
(In thinking all of this?)
It may not be straight across the board, but as a generalization, I’m not sure I can trust my feelings. At least not all the time. Overall, they are not a fully reliable source.
The problem is some are (too) real, and some are dead-on reliable, so I’m still trying to reconcile that.
All the questions about God? I knew those already.
I’m not funny.
Friends have told me I am. But I don’t see it. I try to be, but I don’t think I am. I mostly just laugh at how stupid I seem at times.
Am I being too honest? Does the humor only come out as a defense mechanism? Or some kind of self-deprecation?
Or, as I suspect, I’m just not funny.
And that’s okay. (I think.)
Humor may be more of an ideal than reality.
Because it makes me (seem) fun.
But maybe that’s just what I want to be. What I wish I could be.
And maybe I’m just not.