Drifting

I've settled into a strange kind of routine. I go to sleep around noon and wake up around ten or eleven. I climb from the back of the car, over semi-organized sheathes of paper, get in the driver's seat, and get on the highway. Sometimes, but not often, I stop at one of the few restaurants that're open around the clock and get food. It's usually drive-through stuff, because I get antsy and paranoid if I try to force myself to sit down and eat, and even though I know I have enough money to last a while dine-in food is expensive. Vegetarian pickings may be slim (I've officially given up on veganism) and full of gross iceberg lettuce, but I don't really care anymore.

I'm not here to talk about fast-food vegetarian dining.

Problem is, I don't know what I'm here for. I'm aimless.

Get up, drive until sunrise, stop somewhere with internet, read blogs, maybe attempt to organize your car, fall asleep, lather, rinse, repeat. Ignore the prickling paranoia that's always at the back of your mind, ignore the thing you see out the corner of your eye whenever you're near trees, ignore the fact that you're a smelly, jobless teenage hobo with memory loss who somehow managed to screw up her future via internet meme. Ignore the cowardice that keeps you from looking into the hidden posts people tell you are on your blog or the papers in the backseat of your brother's station wagon. Don't write any more than you need to keep from bursting, don't get attached to people because they're eventually going to bite the dust, and don't assume you're safe.

I know I'm in it deep. I've read enough blogs, seen enough videos to know what this is. I'm still reading and watching, in fact. It's like an addiction I can't break, methamphetamine in the form of a memetic monster that may or may not actually exist. I know it'll tear me apart eventually, but I can't help prolonging the inevitable by way of ignorance.

I almost want to dive in, find out what happened while I wasn't myself, but I'm too conscious of the fact that I won't be able to dig myself back out.

Is this self-preservation, or simple fear?