Every night I sit and wait for my computer to tell me when to sleep. I drift aimlessly from day to day like time was some giant void and events mere cotton balls floating by in some meandering meaningless direction. The only thing that gives those cotton balls any more importance than the nothingness they float in is that one final event.

The final event.

Thats all the perspective a person needs to suddenly need to pack a million tiny fibers of cotton into as little nothingness as possible. Then, with all those cotton balls stuffed together like badly assembled snow, they can't seem to find that one tiny event at the end. They can't find anything. They can't even move. And then "pop" that one final event grabs them from the neck and they are nothingness too.

My life, on the other hand, is filled with nothingness. I don't want to miss the great wandering forth of the final event. I don't to miss all those little fibers snatching me up and tearing me down. I don't want to miss a thing. But with all this nothingness it seams I already am. and I can't help but wonder about the futility that I'm surrounded by. The immense scope of this nothingness I rot in is staggering at best. I feel so useless and rotten.

Every time I stop to smell the roses, I can't help but think I'd rather be playing with snap dragons.