Two tickets to paradise

A tragedy (If you could call it that, which you can't, dramatic words just give me a hard-on) that has recently decided to bless me with its presence and in doing so turned me into a brooding nightmare (you know, like I usually am). Funnily enough, I managed to brush it aside and focus on my reaction and the way I handled this situation. Leave it to a cold bastard like me to be interested in the human behavior that is present after a dilemma rather than trying to get past the problem itself.

A natural reaction to having to deal with a tough situation, I've found, is simply escaping from the problem, through various means. Drugs, alcohol, and just cutting yourself off from the rest of the world provides the comfort of not having to think about the problem. Originally, I thought that anyone hoping to depend on escapism, being whisked away to paradise and not having to think about anything is weak. They don't want to confront their problems, the monster in their closet because they're afraid.

But I realize now, once I felt the desire to get away from my problems, that it's perfectly normal; it's human. And now that I think about it, all those behaviors I considered to be "weak," being afraid of the unknown, wanting approval from groups, from other people, are differentiates us from the beasts. Although I wouldn't mind being a tiger; I'd fuck people up so hardcore, Deckard Cain couldn't identify the body (heh, I make that joke with apologies).

I suppose that might sound like a rationalization of my feelings for escapism, but I feel that it isn't. And I don't need to justify myself to you, fuck you! <3

Quandaries (Oh, I'm getting hard again!) also present many other dark things, not as innocent as simple escapism. Perhaps a bit of rage rears its head, for some reason or another, anger at being manipulated. And I've also found that I am more self-depreciating than usual. I feel "why the fuck did I get into this problem in the first place?" Feelings of idiocy arise for just getting into the pickle, despite how normal or commonplace it is.

Being screwed over to a certain degree really gets you thinking. Unfortunately, my train of thought is one of those little car thingies that requires two people to push up and down.

PS. Explosions, hot tubs, and pancakes can do wonders for being bummed out. But now I'm back, so I'm feeling sad again. Maybe I should blog about it like a faggit.