Wretched thoughts

There is a nihilistic urge within me that threatens to immolate me. I feel I could self combust at any instant such is the nature of the urge. It has been caused by my inability in the recent past to have any kind of control or be able to harness my thoughts and my actions.

I despair. I despair at my inability to wake up from my slumber. It is as if a part of me has been blindfolded, ruthlessly cut off from the rest of my being. I find solace in writing this down. Slowly I find my frustration ebbing as if the inner clutter is being swept away. I glance at my hands as they type, tippety-tap, on the keyboard. I wonder how I'd live without them. To be rudderless in an ocean of misery.

But then my mood lifts. It was all due to a game I had begun with someone. Trying to infect that person with my negativism. And it seemed to work. I seemed to have transferred my fury and rage and incoherence and the translucent haze was lifted off my mind. I could see clearly how facetious I had truly been, how all these words and thoughts were an elaborate charade, created by a bored intellect and mistaken for torpor. I could see through the self important claptrap and suddenly I realized. I need to stop typing and start studying.

Oh wretched BDA, you soporific subject taught by that odious demagogue, I take a stab at you again!