Night of the run-ons?

Oy vey. I would rather not do anything productive right now. It's about time to go home  anyways. Except I'm already home, so there's no reason not to do something productive. But why produce something when you could simply fool yourself into thinking you've produced something? Anything, literally anything, is better than what I've been doing these past few weeks, which is pretty much reading dumb internet comments and telling myself I'm smarter than everyone else- when actually everyone else is doing something to somehow, however insignificant it may be, further the action in their lives and I'm sitting behind a chunky laptop that's missing four keys, not even participating.. just watching, like a fox watches the snow fall over the crisp winter soil when that fox is a lazy fuck.

That's me, a lazy fuck, except I'm not going to use that noun because nobody likes it when I use that noun when I type because it's not innocent and I think I'm supposed to be innocent, but everyone knows that innocence is overrated, and I'm not saying that to sound cool or tough, I'm saying that because I think it's the truth of the matter and actually when I think about it, I don't think anyone thinks I'm innocent anymore so why the fuck can't I say fuck? I like to write really long sentences that connect each little thought that passes through my head, only separated by commas, because in my head I'm speaking quickly and frantically, only resting to breath when a comma comes up. And then a period comes along. I wait. Calm down. It's just punctuation. I think. And I trudge along writing this mess because I really have to feel like I've done something today, I don't care that it's only on this small blog (that is secretly read by millions-- spoiler), it's still something. I've done something today, so now I can wait another three months before I come crawling back here looking for exactly what I found today: empty satisfaction.

The guarantee of a job halfway done. Because if I really cared I wouldn't sporadically write meaningless posts on this site, I would dedicate myself to crafting exquisite snippets of literature and profound insight that would enthrall my readers and draw in the masses, I would brag about my accomplishments and people who wear glasses because they're smart would stop me on the street just to have a conversation about muffins or the state of environmental decline the area is suffering through, and I would nod along and tip my hat goodbye at them when our conversation was finished, and return to my home to craft a new post and think about how lovely it is. BUT, my fair weasels, this is not that and that is not this and this that no. Now that we're on the same page I think it's fair to say that I hereby resign. Not from this, of course, but just in general. take it as you will, we're all just foxes.

Except for you, Hamilton.