I'm surprised. That idea of the cliched movie character, I never thought that could actually happen in real life. But, a year on and here we are. It's starting to outwardly influence my mood, which is never a good thing, especially when it's over something you have every intention of keeping to yourself.
I'm turning to anything to occupy myself, something to take my mind to the innocent moments of my childhood, something that allows me to seem like a different person. In that world, I'd be someone of note, a trainer who excelled at what he set out to do. But in this world, I am nothing of note, utterly outclassed by the people around me, so it's no wonder this is what I have been reduced to.
No more literary metaphors, I'm sick of complaining. Writing here doesn't help anymore, I just force it to keep up my entries. Clearing my head is pointless when my head is entirely clear to begin with. And I'm out of veiled one-liners. Fuck it.