Insignificant Dilemma

I feel that my life is so boring and scheduled; nothing exciting ever happens.
I sleep, wake up, go to school, go home, do stuff, go to bed.
I guess it's something every human being feels.
My life is just a routine, basically.

I don't resent it. I just want something else.

When I think about the problems of my friends, my own problems seem very insignificant compared to theirs. I believe I don't have much to worry about. The biggest problem I had was almost failing a subject, while they have problems that constantly threaten their very lives. It makes me think that I don't have any right to whine or rant. If they can cope with their problems, I should cope with mine, no sweat.

Now, knowing that my problems are relatively insignificant, my life has become more boring.

The thing about problems is that they have the ability to break a routine; something that I want to happen to me. So I guess what I'm saying is that I don't mind having a big problem because it gives me a chance to do something new, to feel like my life isn't a broken tape replaying itself over and over again.

It's a selfish way of thinking I know. Why don't I just enjoy this carefree lifestyle that I have? I virtually have everything I ever wanted and more. Who in their right minds would wish for problems to happen to them, right? Well, I guess I'm not in my right mind, then. Boredom has that effect on me

wishing for irrational things... preposterous.

Communication Failure

Daily interactions with people has become tedious for me.
It's not that I like being alone more.
It's that I like being surrounded by people less,
be it strangers or even my own relatives.

Perhaps I am slowly walking down the path of absolute solitude?

Talking has become a nuisance. It opens doorways that lead to arguments and conflicts, and frankly I find such childish endeavors a waste of time. Only insolent and spoiled bastards find such opportunities in the most innocent of statements.

I used to love speaking my mind. I still do. Ignorance took away that joy of mine. Ignorance in the form of my kin...

Speaking was the only escape I had. Little by little, I was able to let go of frustrations and unwarranted emotions. Feelings of torment would be subtly released in senile jokes, loneliness in sarcasm and vulnerability in playful insults.

Now I draw and write stories to vent these suppressed feelings of mine.

I guess this proves the point about doors and windows, huh?

s c r a m b l e d t h o u g h t s

Will this be a childish attempt or a smart endeavor?

I just need a place to dump all my
thoughts. Who knows? This could
be of use to me someday... or not