My own Tyler Durden.

My name is Phillip Lang and I neglect my blog. I've been awake for 38 hours as of right now. The words I string together so carelessly probably wont make sense, but I'm writing anyway.

My life's been more or less turned upside down. My father walked out, I'm basically unemployed, and we need to move. Have you tried to deal with rental applications, job applications, and adjusting to someone who's been there for each and every year you've live simply not being there anymore? It's a nightmare. When I do sleep, it's for minimal amounts of time, and I wake up feeling like it didn't happen. I'm a wreck. Emotionally crippled, physically exhausted.

And even though I've been awake for a day and a half, I'm not sleepy. So I'm stringing words together while I wait for slumber to come calling.

Are the strings elloquient? Or are they a vulgar butchery of the English language? I couldn't tell you what I wrote five minutes ago, let alone the quality of the writing. I cannot help but laugh and wonder how many people will read this, hoping for something with meaning, rather than the random string of words it's become.

What if this is merely a dream, a product of my subconcious? When I fall asleep, the dreamer awakens and goes about his merry way, maybe pondering the ridiculous things I do. And when slumber finds him, I wake, and go about in this dream world. I must admit, after being awake for this long, combined with a general lack of sleep recently, it feels like I'm within a dream world. An imaginary being sitting at an imaginary computer, writing for two imaginary friends. If you've read this far, I love you.

And you'll never get back the time you wasted reading it.
/cackle.

I think I may actually be experiencing mild hallucinations, blame the lack of sleep, alcohol, migraine, or painkillers for said migraine if you will. But I can hear songs in my head, as well as snippets of dialogue from games all mashed together. Bring ample supply of butter and FIRE IN THE HOLE! BOOM!. To the tune of I Caught Fire. Good times.

My eyelids are drooping, I feel as though I'm about to pass out. Time for sweet, sweet slumber.

Fare thee well, dear friends.