#QuentinLives Bitches!

Anyway I just needed to scream this into the void because I don’t really have anywhere else to get it out. Feel free to read if you like, but it’s a rant or whatever so… I’ll probably edit it to be a read more as soon as I get access to my laptop.

Anyway.

Being a “grown up” sucks ass and birthdays are the worst. I mean, birthdays used to be this magical time where just for a little while, you were special, you mattered, and the day was for you. But then you grow up and it’s just another fucking day…. You know aside from the annual existential crisis where in you take stock of your life and realize you amount to a zero sum and are essentially a waste of space of no meaning and of utterly no significance. I came to the realization today that a startling 4 people would genuinely miss me if I just didn’t wake up tomorrow. Sure there would be a handful more who (as a passing thought) might be sad… more an emotion of “ well that’s a shame, she was nice” and then moving on with their day as they have other things to think about and to keep them occupied, than anything else. Additionally of the four that would genuinely miss me, one is so young that eventually she wouldn’t even remember me. I would just be stories and so, not really something to actively miss. Not in the long run at least. And I don’t say that to be morbid. I’m still planning on being here come morning. But it’s just… you know… the absurdity of it all.

I guess I’m just disappointed is all. I always thought that someday things I did, and who I am, would matter. Even for a moment. And I just… I’m realizing my own insignificance and it’s upsetting. I am a speck of dust. A blip in existence so small that I’m not even making ripples. I contribute nothing. I am nothing. I effect 0 change to the world in any real and meaningful way. And birthdays are shit for making a holiday that you’re supposed to matter on, only to get older and have no one give a shit about you any more than they did the day before, or will the day after.

This marks the passing of a meaningless, utterly unremarkable, and useless life.