I have this condition where I feel sad all the time. I forget what it's called, but I've started taking drugs that are supposed make me feel otherwise. I've had this particular affliction for a while now. As long as I can remember in fact. And from what I've been able to surmise, it has something to do with thinking. Whether its the way that I think, or how often; my contemplation seems to culminate in dejection. Or vice versa.
To be honest I can't say that I mind it all that much. The perpetual gloom facilitates an anomalous sense of identity and self-value. I don't know that I'd even bother with corrective therapy but for some cosmic interdiction in which I became host to the siren notion of achievement. I've since garnered a collection of goals and agendas that somehow nestled themselves deep within the recesses of my egoic fancy.
Thus, upon suspicion that a perennially melancholy existence might not lend itself to the realization of my numerous ambitions, I began a journey to excise my angsty preoccupations and actuate my inner Übermensch. This blog is supposed to express tribute to that journey, as well as document its progress, but at the moment I seem to be struggling to connect this action with its purpose.
Tonight, inspired by the words and character of Barney Stinson and aided by a delightful concoction of psychotropics, I've taken another step on my journey to self actualization. Though since I started writing this post I seem to have forgotten many of the details and lost sight of the precise nature of this monumental step, I feel like posting these words somehow still instantiates its existence.
Here's to being awesome instead.
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