I worked so hard

And it was all for nothing. I'm too tired to read, but not to write. So is it an excuse? I never know, the other times I've sorried my self it was later revealed to be an excuse, so is it an excuse now? Am I not so tired right now that I want to lick the wall? I'm so tired that I want to lay face up on the grass and be drenched by the soft rain, fall asleep with eyes open to the sky, drinking in the moistness, ants crawling on my everything until I am all ants and ground and speedbump. This is why I never run to catch the metro. More than working hard, what I really hate is working hard and not getting results, when taking it easy would get them. There'll be a another metro, but will there? I feel the bags weighing down my eyes, someone gouge something out of me. I want to not fail when I work hard. I don't mind failing, I don't mind working hard, but both at the same time make me hate the world. There is a black woman on the train in front of me, she is attractive, what do I do with my life? I have no time to think. I have no think to time. The greater plan though... Remember, all bad days before are precious memories and lessons. What was the lesson? Do I want to know an uncomfortable answer? How can I fulfill my dream(s)? I feel like an idiot. My problems are so small, I was going to liken them to an abyss but then I realized, contrary to what I say, that the little beast is still there, the ego, eating away at the... god, I'm hungry. It's all an excuse. At least I'll get some rain and alone time. Everyone likes to think they're the strongest, that they'll be the last man standing, and you make fun of the filler that passes by, but how can you be sure you aren't also it. You can't. Just don't give up, I guess.