Seasonal Affective Disorder maybe? But that too would feel like theft and misalignment. None of it matters anyway.

So basically, it feels like almost nothing I'm doing with my life lately is actually getting me anywhere. Don't know where it is I hope to go, exactly, but I'm feeling terribly stagnant and impotent.
I don't feel like I'm really learning anything well.

What do I have to give to people? Life as connection and network; but I don't know how to do that really. I'm not really woven into life, I don't really feel like I fit; I am jangling, dissonant.
I keep skipping days, or rather, living through them as through a dream, something to get me somewhere else I already am. I don't know... Can't really explain. And I guess that's what I figure my purpose is, explain the unexplainable, but does it even matter? Even if it matters not to anyone else, is it enough that it seems to matter to me?
I'm getting nowhere, and yeah, it feels like I ought to be getting somewhere, but I don't know how. I've got suspicions, but not much more than that, and I don't want to look at them too hard.
Trapped and stuck in all of these things I thought I didn't have to deal with anymore, or even yet. Somebody keeps saying that it is so easy to get out of it all, to move past it all, but here I am, futile and strung up.
Maybe I keep looking outside of myself too much, but I learn from the patterns of others. I'm kinda lost, and maybe it's just the weather, but I don't know. I'm so quick to adopt the things in others that I think fit in me, but I still feel like that's a little invalid, a little untrue. I'm so colorless, it seems, but that doesn't sound true either. Looks like I'm looking for truth, even though I thought I'd decided against that long ago. I decided to search for love and compassion rather than truth. Truth is so subjective.
Chasing my own tail and spinning off after the tails of others.
I don't really believe in this world, I guess that's why I don't fit. Where do I fit? It doesn't seem like I really fit here anymore, but even that is transitory.
Nothing's the right color. But that doesn't seem to matter either. I feel so autistic. But nobody believes that either, and probably they're right. Yeah, still stuck halfway between my feelings and others' sayings. So many dang directions...
Isn't it weird that you can live in your own body and head 24 hours a day, and still you don't understand yourself entirely? You don't know where everything inside you comes from or why? But it never works for me to just surf over it all, I have to experience it, dips and crescendos. I'm so torn still, still don't know why. Still don't know why. Thought I was getting closer, and maybe I am, but I really don't know. It's like nothing I do matters, and in one way, I don't care, but in another, it's driving me nuts. Sometimes I wonder if I'm one of those nineteen to twenty-one year olds who's going to spiral off into nothing in a fantastic display of insanity, but even that is nothing but idle curiosity, though I admit I have a morbid and self-effacing side I don't like to indulge often but still it comes up, all self-satisfied and smug every once in a while. Sometimes it's kinda perversely pleasurable to stare into the void, eyes wide and glittering.
Is it possible to be objective about oneself? I guess that's something I'm trying to figure out, but even that annoys my sometimes. I don't like being removed from myself and my feelings. I kinda have a tendency, it seems, to run away from that which makes me uncomfortable, but something always yanks me back, and now I am tiredly resigned to just going through whatever it is I have to. 

In Which I am NOT Excited by Mushrooms (believe it or not)

There are mushrooms in the van. You know me, I like mushrooms, I love them, I tend to go a little bit elatedly loopy whenever I see them. I'll probably have a post soon all about the magnificent mushrooms I photographed on our hike Sunday, and let me tell you again,  they were amazing.
But they don't belong in our stupid van, our much-needed storage area, full of clothes for the kids to grow into and an old typewriter, a sewing machine and my mom's old journals. Most of it's just junk, but there's definitely some stuff certain individuals would sorely miss. Mushrooms, on the other hand, do not belong in there. Nope. They don't go in there, decomposing stuff and poofing clouds of who knows what (spores) all over the van, where I'm hoping my flarging birth-certificate is. The birth certificate I desperately need for my Learners permit so I can actually drive in driving school.
But nobody cares that the sun window was dropped down into the van, leaving a wide open entrance for the elements and more spiders and I kinda think I heard squeaking when I tossed a shoe in the corner after I saw the fracking mushrooms and hightailed it out of there. Spiders, I can deal with; they're in my house, and I even feel a little bad when I squish them; mice are okay too, whatever, but mushrooms, those are on a whole other level.
I guess mostly it's a combination of the three, their whole is greater than the sum of their parts. I really don't know what to do short of cleaning the whole thing out in a bullet-proof hazmat suit (or whatever those are called) and sealing the stupid sun window shut forever.