I developed some kind of objective indifference towards a variety of things. Partly because I am currently reading The Fountainhead. And partly because I am simply tired of this preposterous constant struggling. But probably primarily because I do not have any fucking time for this shit. Caring keeps you from functioning, and function is the only thing that matters in this world. I ceased to care if my football team won. I ceased to care about the food I eat and whether I eat at all. I ceased to care of pleasure. I feel indifferent about Trump winning the election. I was shocked, for a second, then my mind remained silent. I lost my excitement. I found comfort in numbness. I drink because it loosens the grip of reality. I get high because I greet with relish the sweet embrace of contemptive unconsciousness and physical rest.
This is just a phase, of course, as everything is, naturally. An attempt to apply static to the inevitable continuance of movement. I cannot step aside, physically, but mentally, I can.