Plain

I thought I'd be able to write something profound or beautiful. Today, it's not in me. I'm hurt as I'm always hurt, alone as I'm always alone; I just feel plain. I keep checking my email, looking at my phone, and popping in and out of IM desperate to find some company. None is forthcoming, as usual. I don't know why I'm always looking to others; when I was in High School, I avoided people like the plague, and they avoided me likewise. Prester Bane, the Many-Armed-Knight, the Harvester, Scabbard Man and the rest were all the company I needed. It was like breathing twice, once for me, and once for the rest of them. Eventually, that changed. I don't know if I was bored or frustrated, or just tired of the constant conflict in my head. I found some things to fixate upon and write about, but every time I try to plug that hole inside me, I find out it's bigger than I'd ever dreamed, and my items of fixation are never true as I see them. However, partial truths give me hope sometimes, so if you want to IM me, or email me, just say "Hello Plain and Lonely." I'm not much for conversation, but I could use a friend.