something is wrong.

Many things are wrong...

I had a terribly bad fever, and now... nothing is really how I think it used to be. I look at people, and their faces seem alien to me, like we've never met. I struggle to remember their names, and I can't seem to express emotions. Or rather, I can feign them, but they are just a facade, they don't seem real. I'm not feeling anything when I laugh, or any of it.

I want to be alone, for some reason. I can't actually say why. company is not specifically bad, nor even upsetting. I just want to be alone. there is a rational part of me that says this is a horrible decision: you need all the people you can get. I need connections in japan, in the workplace, in the publishing industry. I need readers and watchers online. I need friends to care for me if I ever get that deathly sick again.

and yet I don't want any. and its not a sense of 'leave me alone', its that I just don't want it. rather like how I don't want a random piece of pipe. thank you for offering, but I really couldn't care less to have one. other people feel the same.

one person seems to have counteracted this, but I doubt she knows. she's the only person I'm talking to right now, really. I'll speak to others, but its just noises, just sounds, empty and hollow. when I hear her speak, it is a voice to me, and a person in there.

it is as though no one else in the universe actually exists but she and I. and there's nothing I can do about. everyone else is but a shadow, a false image, a talking illusion to keep me distracted from some kind of horrible truth, like the truth that there is truly no one out there. none of my readers really exist, they are just voices in the dark. I've never met you, how could I know.

I am reminded of the allegory of the cave, plato's. I see shadows all around me, I feel the cold wind and while it hurts it is at the same time somehow removed, somehow it just doesn't matter. I hear voices, but they are just actors, facsimiles of real people pretending. She is my philosopher then, leading me out of my dark cave into a light of understanding.
interesting.

understanding what? myself? perhaps. what else should I understand? god? this universe?
her?
I'd like to. I think I have finally come to terms with the fact that I never will, but I cannot deny the strong feeling of... correctness I get. I've been told be certain kinds of christian friends that we each get a guardian angel, someone who might not actually interfere, but when you're ready to realize a truth, they're there to point it out, and help you on the path towards helping yourself.
maybe she's an angel. I couldn't say. emotions conflicting with thoughts make anything I think about her up for grabs. perhaps these are just lost romance hormones wishing for happier possibilities. maybe.
I'm not one to say. I'm just writing my journal, my thoughts. and thats what I think.

All I really can do is... wish, I think. and just keep on trying to figure out what is the right thing to do with my life.

in that case, I'll move on. I would have been writing some great stories, but I nearly died from illness, which was a little distracting. I lost all the weight I wanted to loose though, through being sick, so thats all good I suppose. If I can stay awake long enough, I will begin writing.

providence...
what an amazing concept.
Music...

Goodnight.