*Cough*Cough*

I'm sick. I hate being sick. It is the absolute worst thing. <--- This may be an over exaggeration. I'm sure there are much worse things, I'm just not feeling well, and of course, as I can't actually understand what everyone else in the world is suffering through and I only have my physicality to account for, I find myself at the the center of the world. Or at least of my own world. Isn't this where I belong? And if not, where? Does it make me selfish to want to care about my well being when others need more help than I? Does it simply make me human? I really don't know. I wish I did, but I don't. At the moment I'm slightly delusional, which is an absolutely wonderful state to be in when you're writing, because you don't have much of a filter anymore. Your restraints are gone. You inhibitions have been lifted. I wonder if this is how Lewis Carroll felt all the time? I hope so. Disillusionment is highly overrated and reality is nothing more than what we make of it. I feel like running through a spring in a forest. Where can I find one of those? Or maybe I'll watch a movie. I do really enjoy films. Though "blockbusters" just piss me off. They don't do anything. They may be entertaining for a moment or a little while after, and I shouldn't use generalizations because this is not always the case, but they don't make you think. They don't make you recognize the world around you. They don't explore art and life and love and what it is to actually be human. They don't explore truth. That's what I hate about blockbusters. I hope that, if I become a producer, I never make one... and if I do, I hope that its because it will have touched so many lives and explored so many facets of the human condition that it can't be ignored. If not, I just want to make indie type films that do well and have not only a message, but a true aesthetic.

...I'm not quite sure how this all came to be. But it is. And I shall let it.