Late nights.

What do I want? I often ask myself questoins such as these. This quesion can be as serious as asking what do I want out of life, to as vain as what do I want to snack on. But tonight I wonde, what do I want? I want to sleep. I want to puke. i want to restore old relationships. I want to write a novel. I want to shrink back in my reclusive nature. I want to change the world. What is it that I truly want?

I'm tired of lying. I'm tired of crying, and caring, and dying. I'm tired of praying, I'm tired of waiting, and staring, and hating. I'm just so stinking tired, and don't know what I want. I'm so bored sometimes. So depressed. The idea of law, rules, structue... eww.

It's interesting to think of who I am. I'm a self governed body. I'm a self thinking mind. I'm a self serving waitor, waiting on the waited that lies in waiting to be discovered. But seriously, I'm as independent as the flowers of the fields. Sure, you can pluck or plant one. But in the end, neither will make the flowers stop growing, nor make them grow. Self serving. Even if you burn down a field, flowers will grow in time. Just give me time, and I"ll show you the most beautiful blossoms you've ever seen.

I live in these walls of rules and regulations, but who's precepts do I abide? Isn't it rather imperialistic of someone,or thing, to impose rules and regulations on me, a free thinking self governed being? Why must I conform? Let me blossom.

But still, it will not satisfy. Everything I could ever dream of could not satisfy the longing that makes me desire such things. It's a terrible plight to find yourself wanting knowing that wanting will not cure the hunger for more. "Living water"
Interesting concept. Does it exist?

How many questions can I ask at late nights, and still keep a train of thought, even if it's gone of track several sentences ago?
Why do I care?
Who am I, really?
Well, who do you say I am, Peter?
Can you teach me?
Where will I end up?
What do I want?

I'm tired. I'm hungry. I'm sorrowful, mournful, depressed. I even started a blog sight thingy just so a certain person can't read everything I write, incase she does. Which she probably doesn't, but I still like to flirt with the idea that she cares about me enough to stalk my pubic messges.
I feel stupid openly admitting this, and I've done it so many times before. It's not silly. I'm not insane.
But, I am passionate. What's the difference?

Passion these days is to be filled with every kind of folly, and vain foolishness. While so many argue there is no reason for life beyond passion, I say that life is without passion, so it's reasons are irrelevant. It is. Who needs a reason when you are? "All art is quite useless." -Oscar Wilde [The Picture of Dorian Grey]
great book, by the way.

Anyways, I just wanted to communicate to myself that I'm tired. And taht I need a passion, even though it contradicts what I so passionately uphold as moral bounderies. The paradox however is very well within my boundries, and I will exersize it's disciplines accordingly. :]