Why do I write. Why do I write...in a blog. God knows I'm not an "author", I don't have a published novel or a major motion picture script in the works. I'm a student, one of millions of people in their 20's with probably the same thoughts and problems running through their heads just like me. What do I tell the world that I consider to be so important that I simply MUST share it with the world? Maybe to speak for those who can't. I'd like to think that because I can write, I should write, even though that really doesn't apply to everyone.. especially this kid in my English class. I am not any more worth your time than your favorite book or a good cup of hot chocolate. I want to feel more outgoing I guess - less like myself and more like a world-changer or a troubadour. Or at least I do until I grow tired of it or I simply don't have the time to anymore.
I can't think of any reason that people would want to know what my life is like from my perspective - and I'm not a nearly good enough writer to even make my perspective come completely to life. At times I think I make my life look more like a rerun of I Love Lucy... except I'm single and don't have that many friends.
People tell you that no human is perfect, all of us our flawed. But it's like we purposefully choose not to believe that we aren't perfect beings sometimes so that we can live, if even for just a moment, in our heads' version of our great life. Like when you meet someone really interesting for the first time and first start hanging out together - you see all these qualities and all of their talents within seconds of meeting them. But after a month or so those talents fade to the background, and as unfair as it is, you can really only see their flaws for a certain time. I think that we should keep people in limbo as "an acquaintance" until we get past that flaw stage, and all of their talents and flaws become one person who is still unique and valuable to your life. I suppose that's really unfeeling of me in retrospect. The thing is, I'm so sensitive inside but I have this hard and scratchy surface that I use as armor to protect me from befriending the wrong people, having a bad experience, getting hurt.. I fix little parts of myself. Like an inchworm. In some ways I started from nothing, actually I was negative nothingness: I managed to fuck my life up before it had really started with a momentous event. My enlightenment. Or at least, one of them, because I'm pretty sure that I'll have more - because we all change from day to day, month to month, or in years. When we're ready. Or when we're given a chance.
I say that I am an inchworm, but really I feel like I'm only inching along on one path, when I'm meant to be straddling two. It's like you have two sets of lives, and your happiness depends on the existence of both of those roads at the same time in your life without any potholes or roadside robbers. I wish someone would acknowledge how hard it is to even keep on one of those roads, and how sometimes you can't even get on foot on the other road because it actually depends on something that is out of your control. Out of your control... CONTROL. I have control over how much responsibility I take in my life, how much advice I give, how many times I smile in a day. I think inside I want to believe that I have control over my happiness too... so I'm choosing to feel like I'm partially empty inside.
I'm not unhappy, I don't know. I don't really know what actually eating down happiness feels like. I think I get tastes of happiness, like at the ice cream store with those little spoons. Enough to tell you that feeling that way is just good. It just feels good.
So I get this taste of happiness and then I work so hard to feel it again. But it's like you can only really control half of that happiness. The other half, when you're young, it's timing and circumstance and the orbit of the moon and the sun and stuff that like. Because we're all waiting around for something. Somehow it all comes down to the fact that we all want validation for what we have accomplished. Some people want to know that they have made a difference after they recycled all of those bottles, others want to see the smile on someone they made laugh, but at one time or another we just want someone else that we respect, that understands or at least tries to get our struggle to succeed here and there in our life. And loves us for it. Because every day that you wake up alone, and succeed alone, and sit alone, it only feels like one day more of waiting. I think we really are that selfish, and I think that's okay. That's okay that we want more and that's okay that we feel like someone else is fucking us up because nobody who wants to keep going on living wants that much weight on their shoulders.
It's like I spend my entire day wedged between two feelings, one of longing for someone to notice me and the other is hoping that people don't notice my faults. It feels like self-consciousness is like wearing faults on your sleeves. That when people look at you, they can read you like a book and they can sense your fear and your anxiety and they are completely turned off by it.
So I wear an invisible suit. And I live my life entirely hoping that someone was born to break it, or at least to try. And they'll find me. Soon. We're all victims of something at some time.. but nobody likes to hear a victim so we all just "shhh" until that comet hits. Close your eyes, put your arms out, and feel your way out until someone grabs you and tells you to open your eyes.
I should try not to be so introspective at this time of night.
As I look at these words they start to become kind of a white wash and melt together, making no sense to me whatsoever the second time through. The only thing keeping me from deleting them is really just pure laziness, or because I need to.
I can't think of any reason that people would want to know what my life is like from my perspective - and I'm not a nearly good enough writer to even make my perspective come completely to life. At times I think I make my life look more like a rerun of I Love Lucy... except I'm single and don't have that many friends.
People tell you that no human is perfect, all of us our flawed. But it's like we purposefully choose not to believe that we aren't perfect beings sometimes so that we can live, if even for just a moment, in our heads' version of our great life. Like when you meet someone really interesting for the first time and first start hanging out together - you see all these qualities and all of their talents within seconds of meeting them. But after a month or so those talents fade to the background, and as unfair as it is, you can really only see their flaws for a certain time. I think that we should keep people in limbo as "an acquaintance" until we get past that flaw stage, and all of their talents and flaws become one person who is still unique and valuable to your life. I suppose that's really unfeeling of me in retrospect. The thing is, I'm so sensitive inside but I have this hard and scratchy surface that I use as armor to protect me from befriending the wrong people, having a bad experience, getting hurt.. I fix little parts of myself. Like an inchworm. In some ways I started from nothing, actually I was negative nothingness: I managed to fuck my life up before it had really started with a momentous event. My enlightenment. Or at least, one of them, because I'm pretty sure that I'll have more - because we all change from day to day, month to month, or in years. When we're ready. Or when we're given a chance.
I say that I am an inchworm, but really I feel like I'm only inching along on one path, when I'm meant to be straddling two. It's like you have two sets of lives, and your happiness depends on the existence of both of those roads at the same time in your life without any potholes or roadside robbers. I wish someone would acknowledge how hard it is to even keep on one of those roads, and how sometimes you can't even get on foot on the other road because it actually depends on something that is out of your control. Out of your control... CONTROL. I have control over how much responsibility I take in my life, how much advice I give, how many times I smile in a day. I think inside I want to believe that I have control over my happiness too... so I'm choosing to feel like I'm partially empty inside.
I'm not unhappy, I don't know. I don't really know what actually eating down happiness feels like. I think I get tastes of happiness, like at the ice cream store with those little spoons. Enough to tell you that feeling that way is just good. It just feels good.
So I get this taste of happiness and then I work so hard to feel it again. But it's like you can only really control half of that happiness. The other half, when you're young, it's timing and circumstance and the orbit of the moon and the sun and stuff that like. Because we're all waiting around for something. Somehow it all comes down to the fact that we all want validation for what we have accomplished. Some people want to know that they have made a difference after they recycled all of those bottles, others want to see the smile on someone they made laugh, but at one time or another we just want someone else that we respect, that understands or at least tries to get our struggle to succeed here and there in our life. And loves us for it. Because every day that you wake up alone, and succeed alone, and sit alone, it only feels like one day more of waiting. I think we really are that selfish, and I think that's okay. That's okay that we want more and that's okay that we feel like someone else is fucking us up because nobody who wants to keep going on living wants that much weight on their shoulders.
It's like I spend my entire day wedged between two feelings, one of longing for someone to notice me and the other is hoping that people don't notice my faults. It feels like self-consciousness is like wearing faults on your sleeves. That when people look at you, they can read you like a book and they can sense your fear and your anxiety and they are completely turned off by it.
So I wear an invisible suit. And I live my life entirely hoping that someone was born to break it, or at least to try. And they'll find me. Soon. We're all victims of something at some time.. but nobody likes to hear a victim so we all just "shhh" until that comet hits. Close your eyes, put your arms out, and feel your way out until someone grabs you and tells you to open your eyes.
I should try not to be so introspective at this time of night.
As I look at these words they start to become kind of a white wash and melt together, making no sense to me whatsoever the second time through. The only thing keeping me from deleting them is really just pure laziness, or because I need to.
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