What?

what makes me happy?
Why?
Does what I think makes me happy--really make me happy?
What would ME  proud of ME?
Was I ever proud of anything I've ever done?
Why take pride in what I do?
What do I do? why?
My existence is temporary. like clean sheets.
Can we really change our own mood? Who is in control of my body, of my mind? Do I run the show? what about those pesky hormones? what about those ADD pills? What about that joint? ...what about it?
will I ever bask in the glory of I dream realized? Or will the moment pass me by?
 Do dreams ever become reality? Or does the appeal lie in their nonexistence?

I need my fellow man to recognize me.
...to fuck off and leave me be.
...to pave my way in this world.
...to stop standing in my way.

Why do I feel the need to write down all this crap.

Indifference. boredom.