aw bagger

So tired. But I feel guilty that I've neglected this bit of writing as it's about the only creative thing I'm doing right now. I've realised that most people are pretty much incapable of understanding anyone who isn't exactly the same as they are. Thus most human beings fail to understand other human beings. That's about the only conclusion I can come to about human nature.

I wonder why anyone bothers complaining about anything. As if that'll do anything. As if I'm not guilty of the same. Why do I bother complaining? About Rhea, about my fucked up family, about the fact that I can't sustain relationships.

I was oddly touched by the death of George Best, even though I hadn't heard of him until very recently. There's something that resonates for me about troubled sporting greats. Something to do with the fact that I wouldn't be here were it not for a troubled sporting great. Leave it at that.