Seattle's Not the Only Place

The late night seems to be a recurrence with me. Am I one of those 'night owls,' or could my nocturnal nature stem from some other source? The correct answer to this is hidden from my knowledge, though I do have quite the conjecture to part with:

If I were truly satisfied, content with my life and the direction (and/or speed) of its movement, why would I dare shun sleep? My evenings are spent perusing... Youtube, Facebook, and now Blogger. People, as I have oft said, interest me to no end; even in all their imperfection, I have this non-religious kind of agape for such flawed beauty. Still, I cannot fully justify my insomnia-like tendencies. The amount of time I spend looking at videos or pictures or blogs and trying to attain as much information as I can about individuals is creepy in one way and just plain pathetic in another. Even now, as I lay in my bedroom and scorn the crime, I am committing it. Something must be missing, but I cannot ascertain what. I just don't know. I never know.
Sometimes, when I step away from my mind and review what I've done from a more unbiased standpoint, I realize that I envy. I envy so many people for having lives, lives just like the one I knowingly have. I am greedy and unappreciative; I want more, so much more than this, and I am afraid that I may never get it. So, I keep waiting. Every night is spent in waiting, my naïvete allowing me to hope that I may find what it is I am looking for. Or, perhaps, that it may find me.
I doubt that this progression will cease; it will only worsen with time.

Find me... soon.

And So It Began

Tonight, as post- becomes ante-, I delve with both reluctance and curiosity inward. I am reluctant to reveal but curious about the consequences of revelation. At any rate, we shall see where this "blog" leads us.

I currently find myself at an impasse, though I cannot perceive whether or not the fault is my own. Do I create this cuboidal prison wherein my thoughts must be kept? The "mindset" theory: tastefully simple and pleasantly received, yet lacking substantial evidence to support its accuracy. To relate the mind to a light switch is preposterous, for there exists no "On/Off" in regards to conscience; it is omnipresent, making cowards of us all.

I feel trapped, a little isolated, and emotionally ill, so to speak; however subjective these feelings may be, I need to find happiness. I may have the right to pursue it, but the pursuit itself has stumped me at even my wittiest. With not the slightest clue as to where one would begin such a quest, I know only that this is the beginning, for in realization do things become truth.