Conflicted. Confused. I'm not unhappy, but I fail to feel a heavy foot reach the gas pedal, lurching myself forward like a lumbering ton of frothing metal. 

I don't know what I want out of life anymore. And I'm pretty sure life doesn't know what to do with me. I'm pretty sure I'm too smart for my own good, but dumb enough to have base instincts overtake me on the time to time. Fuck, I don't even know why I bother being cryptic when it's nothing that I'm actually talking about. Typing out bored words to blind eyes so I can alleviate this helplessness inside me that I never seem to understand. 

Do you understand, Braille-reader?