I think about my own demise too often.

Sometimes by my own hand, and other times by some freak accident or by another, and I at times find myself wishing for those accidents because I know that while I - deep down - might want that nothingness to just ease myself of all that which I feel (and don't feel, really), I'm too cowardly to take that plunge.

I imagine it and I think about it all the time and it just seems...almost like a dream.

And with me not taking that path, I instead continue to drudge along this dull road filled with my own failures and disappointments.  And while I know, theoretically, that there is good along this road also, it is...impossible to see right now.

Hah, and part of me thought I was ready to return to school.  (Though, the other part of me always knew choosing to go back at this time was for monetary reasons only.)

Returning to Binghamton seems awful right now, but staying here also feels stagnant.

I wish...I wish I could just go somewhere new.

Though the last time I thought that going somewhere new would help me, it brought me to Bing, which probably made things worse.

Then again...

Sometimes, I think of London.

I think of Pennsylvania, where my college friends are.

I think of Wisconsin, where best friend is.

I just think...dream about places where maybe I would be truly happy.  Not happy "once in a while" or as part of a cycle that I continue to struggle through but...honestly happy.  Like how others seem to be.

Or at least normal.