Had a short day at work since it was a holiday and I technically wasn't supposed to come in, but I worked for a few hours then left. Had my usual bout of ruminating, but they're becoming so transient and common I don't even see the point in worrying about them too much.

What I did come in to talk about is some weird... revelation I had, sitting out here in the open air, listening to sad music and thinking. I'm just one person out of billions. I feel helpless, internally tormented almost daily; I indulge regularly in grandiose fantasies of someday being something great so I won't hurt anymore, or even simply being some strange and important character in life. I feel... different, dare I say special in my suffering. But others experience the same things, probably have the same feelings and fantasies. Lots of them do. On an intellectual level I knew I'm not unique in what I feel, but the feeling of distance and difference from others in general persists. It always has.

Maybe this is the special snowflake syndrome, the entitlement everyone talks about. The inescapable feeling of being the protagonist of one's internal story (but... isn't that accurate? It seems accurate for others, but suddenly so delusional for myself). And without it, there's no life...

Who am I? Surely I'm no beautiful, tortured soul, someone with valid reasons to be in pain. Nothing's ever happened to me, I'm just a born screwup compulsively victimizing herself. I'm not special but god do I wish I was. But even with such stark awareness can I keep feeling, keep having any kind of ambition or fantasy? Maybe that could be my character: someone driven mad by the anguish and shame of ordinariness.

I feel like I just wrote paragraphs and said nothing.