Ah, people taken over with the poison of pretension. I hope that I never have acted as if I had all the answers. All I have is thousands of questions. 

I have found myself in a place where I have  lost any kind of beauty in the world. Everything is dark, joyless, melancholic. It's my fault, I know. The world has not changed - and I, in some vaporous, indefinable way, have. And certainly not for the better. 

It's as if I fight a constant battle everyday with myself, with my dark self, like some kind of ridiculous, self-indulgent movie (I'm looking at you, Spiderman 3). 

Well, I could be dead and that would be far worse. I don't know - I think I have disappointed myself in a deep, terrible way, which is worse than any other kind of disappointment. I don't appreciate myself like I once did. I know this sounds ridiculous, like some kind of Richard Simmons bullshit where everyone hugs each other and cries. Eh, whatever. I have to take out the trash.