anger + confusion = welling

I want to cry but I can't seem to generate the tears. Have you seen those infomercial cleaning solutions on the cable television? One clean swipe and the detritus is swept away. There are dabs of that solution in my gut and they are slowly spreading and taking everything with it. The anxiety juices and the stomach lining are trading molecules, like two pre-teens trade clothing. Here, try this on says the anxiety juice, and the stomach lining fits the oxygen atom on like a top hat and whoooooooosh, burns in the expanding hole.

Hellooooo in there. Is there anything left worth salvaging? Where is the sickness? We can't locate the sickness. Folks, now we know there is sickness in this here soul, but for the life of us, we can't find it, so we are going to ask that the group move on to the next poor sap. Yep, everyone back on the bus and we hope the ennui at the next stop will be more accessible or, I guess, dysphoria tours will refund your money.

Why do you wake up in the morning? Yep, I'm talking to you dear reader. And I'm honestly asking. You'd think as this writer approached 30 he'd have an answer or two of his own, but he's fresh out of responses for now. I am eager for someone to give me a compelling reason to get up in the morning. Don't give me one word answers like love, or hope, I can read bumper stickers. For how seriously I take this question, that zen shit won't cut it. This student is not ready for that type of master to appear. No, I need you to tell me your struggle, and I'll tell you mine.

Wait! That's not how this blogging shit works. I need to pour out my soul and then you who use the random search function on the blogger bar will pause to sniff the suffering and move along. Unless of course you are a connoisseur of the schadenfreude. Then, by all means, make yourself comfortable. But I must warn you: I'm a rank amateur at identifying and processing emotions. For close to three decades now I have suppressed them in the service of self-preservation. Would you like to see what's behind the curtain... TOO BAD *straightarm to the face*. Why would I trust you behind this curtain? The only person I trust back here is me.

What is the point of these feelings I've heard so much about? They don't seem to have a place in my ultra-rational 5000-step plan for world domination.

Brief excerpt from the plan:

Step 1254: Fine tune a killer lasagna recipe.
Step 1255: Go to Brazil.
Step 1256: Learn how to shake your hips.
Step 1257: Make love to a Brazilian woman.
Step 1258: Get a blowjob from a Brazilian man.
Step 1259: Did you like it?
Step 1260: If yes, go to step 2782. If no, carry on.
Step 1261: Get over your fear of the deep ocean.

Oops, fear snuck in. Here's another question? How many emotions can you name? I can name three: happy, sad, and angry. Those are like the primary colors of emotions, right? Free Slambeaux monogrammed luggage set to the first person that can name more than three emotions.

Hmmm...still feeling empty. I thought starting a blog would certainly fill the void. Maybe I should just find Jesus and get it all over with.