Venting 141 Words of Nonsense

[cattywampus]

I feel as though I'm being a human wrong. I have no strong likes or dislikes. I'm not particularly passionate about any subjects. It's funny I concern myself with passion when I live in a state that is, at best, indifference. Though my career path creates a ball of dread in my chest, I suppose it's what I dread the least. My "hobbies" are either bad coping mechanisms or activities that are an ideal tradeoff between physically exhaustive and deceivingly productive, allowing me to redeem myself for waking up at 2 PM and crawl back in bed at 5 PM with little social repercussions. There's no proof of my existence. No friends that call upon me in my stagnation, no words from relatives that prove I was heard, no lasting impressions left on places or people I've visited a million times.