Another bottle down

Currently 7:11am. I'm drunk, of course. I don't really know how to start these things anymore. I feel whenever I tell people about my asexuality, I feel myself lying to them. I think it's because heterosexuality is so ingrained in our society, I try to appease this inner turmoil that I might change, eventually, once I fuck or once I find the right girl. Personally, I don't think I'll ever find the right girl or guy, not that I am giving up, more like I never really cared for finding someone. I think it's because of how I am. Maybe, I think I am too screwed up, or a little too intense for people, still I know of people who would jump head over heels for someone like that, and yet I resist. I resist because I find myself in a position of where I wouldn't want to be in, ever. I am a little strange sure, does that mean I will never find a lover? Not necessarily, it means I have to try harder, but what if I never want to try? What if I never want to find a person who's skin comforts me? Who's laughter illuminates my life? Who's eyes pierce my very soul? What of the people who decide love is not for them? What comes of their meaningless lives of fortune, and solitude? I think it's truth, I think it's knowledge, and fulfillment. I have so many questions, but the only one who can answer them are me, someone so out of touch with reality, that humans no longer mean something to me. They are something I can never figure out, so there's little reason to pursue questions. I'm done, I think, with trying to understand them, to live a life of lies hidden in smiles and fortified by a personality buttered to their liking. I am not like them, and it's time to stop acting like I am.

Questions

It's 7:38am. Currently a little bit drunk, what a surprise you may say. Ah but the sweet taste of liquor does not carry such a burden on my brain as it once did. I think I am much happier now, streaming. I think I enjoy myself a lot more than when I am doing things I would rather not do, like going to work in a place that does not interest me. Many times, I find myself questioning what I will say next. I sometimes fear, when I speak too much, or write too much about myself I realize that one day may come, when I have no more stories to write, no more things to say to the world, what then? Do I sit alone, wallowing in despair, waiting for the reaper to come take me? Do I yell against the world for it's pervasive inaccuracies? Do I accept it, and move on? So how does one move on from the most principal of human objectives? To become what they want to be, seems like an alluring dream, something made from fairy tales, and as I grow older, it seems to be just that. I think if that day ever does come, I may finally rest. Rest my eyes from a cruel world, a cruel world made from the bodies of others, made from the blood and flesh of many conquerors, of the plagues and trauma of the cruelest of humans. It might finally be a paradise. Who knows? I sure don't.