Stumbling so far astray from the path, the external world ignites itself. If I said I felt no discomfort, I'd be quite the liar; something I'm quite bad at. Still, more than a few will believe the buffoonery spewing forth from my lips at those moments, even me.
I suppose there's something to be said for realizing one's own disaffectedness and disassociation from otherwise turbulent surroundings. The constant level of change can be hard to map, and sometimes incites strong reactions from the emotions, perceiving certian value judgments that attempt to drag the self-perception into a bearing of comparison with the group. The issue becomes "better" or "worse," when all lives have their own quality that cannot be judged in proper comparison. What kills is being unable to perceive a secret urge subverting all activity, when the operating system feels little more than apathy. Some strange thing keeps clamoring for attention, with no regard for source or truth of emotion attached. Do you know how long it's been since I've felt butterflies in my stomach at the prospect of meeting a woman? It's been something close to eight years.
Perhaps Ahriman was right: once an outsider, always an outsider. It's nice and free out here, but it's hard to navigate, for various reasons.
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