Can’t sleep. Cold and obsessing incoherently over dumb stuff.

…I wish I was good at anything. Anything at all. But I guess I’m not. I just used to think maybe I was or could be good at anything. Wrong.

It’s disappointing, I guess, but the kind of disappointing that I feel like I’ve forever been bracing myself for. It’s not that much of a shock. I don’t even have a sigh to offer in acquiescence.

A little bit of it stems, I think, from the sluggishness with which my Wolf has turned to look at someone who we might have been friends with. We’ve had some good conversations, but already I sense Wolf is looking after our interests and trying to cut them off. All to the good, I expect. Because I pick the wrong situations to see those little glimmers of me in other people…the ones that make me selfishly want to befriend them because they “are” me.

I suck at interacting. I can never understand why I turned out wrong like that.

It’s just awful because not only am I no good at basic relationship formation and social interactions with other members of my species, but I’m not really good for anything else either. I have no talents. No valuable skills to speak of. And I suppose that in a better adjusted creature, this would be cause for putting forth greater efforts for his or her improvement. But I am not that creature. I think I’d rather just curl up in despair. And I probably will (heck, maybe I’ll even be warm if I do, since it is freezing in here).

…what is the point of me, anyway?

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