Cowardice, Boredom, Philosophizing

Am I a coward to be scared of spiders? Not just scared but actually shaking can't-even-say-anything petrified. I know it's meant to be hereditory. The was something I read about women and spiders in caves so big they could poison babies with one bite. Unless that's rubbish. I don't know. Most of the time I ramble rubbish. And keep it, because I don't allow myself to delete anything I ever wrote apart from to improve wording although as this is apparently forbidden I shan't this time.

Cowardice...I often get distracted, lean away from the subject, then realise later I hadn't said everything I meant to say. Am I allowed to be scared of things? Well, it's a free world, isn't it? I'm terrified of fire, and yet I've no experiences with it. Maybe that's why. Why am I scared of fire, though? I've been through countless safety briefings, have installed the prevention equipment, have vowed always to take precautions et cetera et cetera, so why am I scared? It just makes me frustrated thinking about it, although all you experienced deep-thinking readers will be judging me shallow and young, which, perhaps, I am.

I'd love to write about my life and everything and everyone in it, but I don't know where to start, and at the same time I can't remember anything much, and at the same time I wonder why on earth anyone cares about me or my life. Well not why no one cares. People care, I think. Or think they care. Or do care but don't know the way to go about it. If only I did. But it's me and my life and my thoughts and no one can be me or think my thoughts or live my life, and perhaps the fact that no one really understands my psychology makes me frustrated. No one knows, apart from God, and he seems so far away sometimes.

I'm an exceedingly boring person, that's all I can think to write. I'm selfish, and cowardly, sometimes, or often, and I think some people really like who I am, and then others think they like me but don't know me, and yet others still don't know or like me at all. It's very confusing. And I'm confusing myself.

I'm not going to reread this because if I do it'll be such rubbish I'll be forced to delete it, and that's help for my writing. I don't delete stuff. That's my philosophy. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst; some call me a pessimist; I think I'm just realistic. My logic's mine, so no names or criticisms on my silly musings. Therefore I haven't a clue what I've just written about. I'll come back to it tomorrow and think: "Did I really write this? What was my brain thinking about at the same time?" Morelike this is a break from thinking so thoroughly about everything. Exams, people, exams, people, clubs, sport, music, exams, people...the list goes on. I think I'll stop now. I've unburdened myself for the time being.

The End

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