I'm only doing this to save my soul.

Just so you know.


I was searching for happiness - and, thanks to those fucking google kids, I found it. In that picture. That'n.

So, there is your e-happiness.

Now, in my search for the same thing in my daily life, well... results are much more difficult to come by.

There are a few things that bring solace in the empty afternoons. A great book (when I even think about the second chapter of Faulkner's The Sound and the Fury, I tear up a little) is a good way, if you're not so downtrodden that you have trouble focusing.
Or, there's always a bottle of liqour - what's the line? the medication may kill us, but it sure killed all the pain. Or something like that. Look it up later.

Lately, I've begun writing again. I used to, in my troubled youth, write daily. Hourly. I had notebooks stacked around my room, each at least half-filled with stories no one but I would ever know. I captured my demons, my dreams, myself, and locked them all away on those lined pages. Over time, the pages yellowed, the bindings gave way, and the world became my story. Every fear, every heartbreak was acted out again, in startling clarity.

So, now I write again, trying, well, not to find happiness, exactly, but to push away the darkest thoughts, for as long as I can hold on.
One day, though, the pages just won't be strong enough, and the ink will bleed through, dark and cold as blood, and escape will no longer be possible.

Until then, though, I'm... well, I'm only doing this to save my soul.