Twitter's only making me dumber

I wasn't too keen on creating a new blog. For one, I can't afford to waste more time with my already strenuous lifestyle. Wow. No kidding. I have quit school AGAIN, if you must know, so I have time to spare actually. Also, I have gotten painstakingly attached to the previous blog. It is the most honest (and loyal) blog I have ever had. It also arguably has the most interestingly (I can't even say beautifully) written crap. They're still crap though, so I'm not really giving up much in that regard. Problem is, I have filled it with so much awful writing (cheap, dreadful, unacceptable writing, even to my standards) I can't even stand reading my own posts. So here we are.

I was going to tweet something about the beauty in the feeling of uncertainty.

Something about... when you don't know if you're doing something right (or if what you are doing is right), and even better when you have no idea about what you're doing but you just do it anyway and give it your best shot. That feeling. When you have to be constantly on your toes because you might be doing it wrong (or you might be doing something wrong.) It kills me. Sometimes to the point of depression or serious anxiety I feel like I would literally (to the true sense of "literally") die from the feeling. When you are not sure about something (but you somehow have an idea of it) and you can ask, but you are also not sure if you should. You ask or not, either way it's a risk. Because either way, you have no choice but to take action. Because you can't help it. Either way you might get into trouble or you might get troubled. Catch-22 might just be the drug that will kill me. But I can't help looking for it. It has recently occurred to me that I have to consistently inject myself with a dose of this kind of stress (which I hide behind the mask called "the feeling") to remain sane (at least a certain level of sane--junkie sane). Intoxication, mania, chaos and madness, always the extraordinary and spectacular, and also the calm, quiet, peaceful soul, the classical and blues, the simple and content. One do not exist without the extreme other, it's either you float away or pounce. And maybe, there's a balance to this perversity. I might never find it, because I'm not even sure I intend to. And so we go back to the feeling of uncertainty.

This is the journey, the undertone of the big Life. Let these writings be the official chronicle if nothing else.

So yeah, I was going to tweet something about that and I figured it was too long so I created this new blog.