The apocryphal accounts of cash sinclair- end.

   I wonder if I’m too down these days to make any worthwhile “content”. I’m not sure if anyone really gets anything out of these diatribes and soliloquies. 

It would be wise for me to take a break till I’m better but it seems like I’m never truly better. Besides, I do find some enjoyment out of these little things I make and do. They might very well be the only things that bring me that. 

  I planned out a route I’d like to take next year to travel the world through. Currently I look at it and don’t really care so so much though. The plan was to spend 26 traveling and hopefully by 27 after seeing the world I’ll find something that makes me certain I want to live. 

  At the moment I don’t so much care about it though, about anything really. 

It’s nice and rainy at least. 

I don’t know I feel like, slowly I’m getting more and more quiet, dull. That spark hasn’t been there for a while and now I’ve just accepted it and am falling asleep on the train tracks, not caring where I lay or what may come of me. 

I’m really losing

I really lost 

I lost

Despair consumes me.