I’m writing this letter in the hopes that by expressing myself here I can finally get back on track to a well-lived life. I’ve fallen off the edge, just like in Vertical Horizon or Cliffhanger, but not like in the movie The Edge, which has nothing to do with cliffs. There are so many signs that point to my terrible dismay.

I can’t be bothered to tie my shoes. I wake up in the morning and cry as I stare at the laces. It’s a terrible indicator. Another terrible one is that I use British phrases like “I can’t be bothered”. I can’t be bothered, what does that even mean? I’m from Buffalo NY for God’s sake.

Every day I live reminders of my aloofness. When I pee, I flush before I’m finished, to cover the splashing sound–but I keep going after it’s done. Then I flush again. I’M WASTING SO MUCH WATER.

I pout when I butter my toast in the morning. So many crumbs scrape off and fall onto the counter, and I imagine them screaming as they plummet to their doom. I can’t be bothered to clean it up. I CAN’T BE BOTHERED. Bloody hell.

Every distance is too far. If I need to go to the kitchen, I wish I only had to go as far as the living room. When I have to go to the living room, I wish I didn’t have to get off the couch. The couch itches. What the hell is Febreeze for, just the scent? It is? Well what good is it then? I’m switching to Windex.

What other terrible indicators of my free-fall are there? There’s the TV situation. It is angled slightly toward the window, so I see glare from my favorite spot on the couch. I can’t move it though. Screw that, I’m not doing that. Then there’s the stuff I watch. There are so many shows it’s incredible. So much to learn, so many good stories to follow. All of this, but I always end up watching yet another rerun of Groundhog Day, and then just wait for what’s next on the same channel. God help me.

Like everyone else I have a list of things I need to do. But every time I finish one thing two more things occur to me. This Catch-22 has me trapped in an endless Cycle of To-Do. I can’t, I can’t cope man. When there’s so much to do I end up just doing nothing, or watching the last half of Groundhog Day.

Social interaction befuddles me. I didn’t used to be so cerebral, but now when I talk to people I can’t help but thinking about them in words, inside my head. “Look at that nose! Oh crap, does she know I’m thinking about her? I wonder what she looks like in overalls. Hello! Hello! Echo! Echooo! Puberty was not so bad!” I want to pay attention but I can’t help my mind’s rambling.

Exercise is out of the question.

The internet is like candle staring, but it leaves me restless and unenthusiastic. Not to mention that I’m probably less informed now than ever before, despite having knowledge at my fingertips. I always think about how amazing the World Wide Web is. But all I ever do is refresh my e-mail and read terrible comments on Liveleak. It helps–those people are way more screwed up than I am, I think. I hope.

I think I’m done writing for now. My hand hurts and I need it later. I don’t know how I feel about this exercise. In any case, it has left me with a strange craving for Dr. Pepper.