I could be about that

You're so deep in crap that you don't even notice the smell anymore. All you can do is write a book about your life, but no one cares. Only your mom and some weirdo who thinks your problems are their problems too.

You're not in or out. You're just standing there, confused, like you're waiting for someone else to decide for you. You're the human version of a half-baked cookie.