The Insanity of a Focused Life

I'm sitting in my black leather chair at my glass desk. Typing. Just typing. Music is playing. These are songs. These songs are definitely playing. I know that because I can hear them. Let's sing along, shall we? These songs aren't good enough to sing along to. I will anyway though...but now I'm bored, so next subject.

My mind wanders. It wanders like a homeless man. Homeless men wander because they have no home to wander back to. If they did, then they wouldn't be homeless, and if they're still wandering, despite their non-homelessness, then they're just crazy. Plus they probably eventually will be homeless if he or she doesn't continue making those mortgage payments or at least giving money to the utility companies. At the same time, if he's never there, I'm sure he most likely doesn't need those utilities to continue providing service. I don't know. I'm bored next subject.

Music is still playing. A new song. I'm tired of music. Music is actually a very popular thing nowadays. Before, you could say that you liked music, and that was an interest of yours. Now, it's not a matter of whether or not you like it, but what kind you prefer. The tiredness is fading, but my boredom isn't. Next subject.

I don't have some kind of disorder or anything, I suppose I'm just eccentric, or at least that's what people say. I'm one of them. People. Person. Individual. Individual is me. I am the one that is a one. Not a two, three, or myriad, just a one. How many of me are out there? Legitimate question. Just one, or at least that is what I have been led to believe. Should I believe it though? I mean, is it crazy to wonder about that? Is it crazy to question your individuality and uniqueness? When I mention uniqueness, I'm not talking style, but actual uniqueness, as in, clone style. I never saw Attack of the Clones. Just never piqued my interest. Next subject.

How quickly can I type? I don't know. Should I count the miles per hour that I type? Ha ha, that makes no sense. If it made sense then maybe I would consider it. I won't though, it is funny to consider it though. Perhaps the humor comes from the fact that considering it makes no sense, further, what would be considered doesn't make sense either, so I end up in a vat of ill-logic that spreads like AIDS in Africa. I'm sorry, did I just cross the line? Eek, next subject.

My feet are covered. What are they covered in? Is that a serious question? I mean, I'm right here. How can I really ask that like if I am actually wondering. I mean, it would make sense if I was sitting on the edge of a barrel with some strange glowing liquid inside that jumped onto my feet, but no, like I said before, I'm just sitting at my desk with music playing. Let me look down at my feet. Socks. I wear socks quite a bit. Is that normal? I'm sure it is. Next subject.

My mind is scattered. It goes all over the place at once. Most of the time, it leads me to hilarious antics and adventures. Oof, I need a girlfriend. My time is just wasted. Wasted like a college student at a house party. I'm not the biggest fan of parties...depending on the party. Next subject.

If I don't go to parties, then I find myself doing other things. Today? Nah, nothing. Slow day. Relaxing day. Did I relax? Eh. Not so much. I just wasted time; waited for tomorrow. All I did was sit in my black leather chair at my glass desk. Typed. Just typed. Music played. Ugh, next subject.