rewrite for clarity

I hate wasting thoughts. Every bit needs to be used up, like a cloth dabbing at spilled paint water. The products of offhand notes and differing ideas that don't get used in something will live in my mind until I put them to rest. God rest ye weary artist, who thinks too much for his own good. Let him sleep, he who, when thinking, doesn't know where to draw the line, and when making, doesn't know where to stop. My greatest disadvantage is the terms and conditions of my existence. There could be a cup half full, if I could only see past the glass. Being blinded so slowly you can't see it. I wonder if anyone will think of me when my only marks made are just echoes fading out. Musical cacophony, growing soft as no one listens. My worst fear and best dream is that everybody knows my name. My body is a mystery we may never figure out. And my eyes, they stare long past my expiration date; always thinking of the future and missing the moment. I don't know how else to function. Monotony has never been so overwhelming. I barely made it out of high school. I barely made it out of second grade. I'm still waiting to miss the bus, catch a ride home on my escaping imagination. Out of the pan and into the trash. You can't win unless someone else is losing. I guess I'm making some people feel really good, then. I hate wasting thoughts more than I hate the feeling of imaginary spiders on my legs. I hate having to be the one to kill bugs in the house, but I don't get called a son for doing the son's job. "Rewrite for clarity" If I could, I'd try. Thanks for the input but I think I'd rather just let this one be unfinished.