Happy umbrella.
This is one of those days. The weather is as grey as my mind, and this morning it rained for the first time this year. Getting up was as much of a struggle as the eating of breakfast and leaving the house, and the first thirty minutes of school was an eternity of desperate boredom. Now I’ve got almost three hours before school starts again; I really don’t see the point of these “free hours” in the middle of the day. I could have been home doing something useful, like packing. I need to wash clothes and clean up my room, but instead I’m sitting here without anything to do. I hate doing nothing, it’s not very productive. I might not look like it (since I spend most of the time doing completely useless things), but I am very inclined towards activity. I must keep my mind active, keep on thinking, keep on doing something. And now… Nothing. Except LiveJournal and perhaps Myspace. I could go out in the hall and be social, but I’m too tired. I’ll probably be leaving soon anyway, my conscience is troubled by the fact that three people who wants to do their homework are deprived of the possibility to do so because of my need to post useless information on my blog. I’m at the library, I hate to write when I suspect that people are watching. And I’m a paranoid person, I always suspect that people are watching me, for reasons I wouldn’t know. I do not find this interesting myself, but I still imagine all eyes to be on this page and the words I’m writing. It’s disturbing, especially since my Reason is desperately trying to calm the Chaos down.
”Stop thinking like that, you idiot!” it says. “Nobody’s watching you write!” Another thought constantly scraping against the inside of my head, is this:
I’m writing for pleasure. Who here writes for pleasure? People around me browse Wikipedia for articles on chemistry and Galvanian elements, they write science journals and some are even playing “SameGame” for hours to an end. I don’t like SameGame, it’s silly. And not to mention, too advanced for my brain. Too many different colours and little squares. Right now Sunniva entered the door, sat down next to me and started writing a self-evaluation journal for her French teacher, and the told me she was writing it like a fairy tale. I wish I bothered doing such things. I constantly evaluate my brain, though. I find pros and cons in every decision, and whenever I react a certain way to a certain event, I try to find out why. Especially if I react in a bad way. (I do that a lot.) The last brain-related conclusion I made, was that my starving need for attention should be strangled whenever it surfaces, because it emerges from memories of a time when I didn’t get any of it if I didn’t work very hard for it. Previous to the understanding of this, I understood that my anger towards everything is caused by the need to defend myself; It’s easier to get angry with the TV for not working, than being angry with myself for throwing it on the floor before jumping on it. I’m really angry nowadays; the last thing that felt my wrath was my umbrella, which for some reason refused to open when I went to school today. Then I calmed down, and realised that I needed to press the little button a bit harder. Then it opened, and for just some seconds, I was moderately content with the situation. Now it’s lying here next to me, still soaking wet and the opening mechanism is broken. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have been so rough on it, but I’m happy that it still works. I think it is a happy umbrella.
Can umbrellas be happy?
Now it’s snowing, as if somebody is mocking my need for new shoes. I only have these old converse-copies, and they are letting in water. My feet are constantly moist when I walk outdoors, and I feel like one of those little individualistic retards who claim to be punks and has to wear converse shoes at all times. I’m not like that, but when I look at myself in the mirror, I start feeling like one. It troubles me. I even have those narrow-legged pants, just like them. Not that I’m trying to be prejudicial here, I don’t have to try. I am. I am a bad person, I laugh when I see people who wear clothes and hair styles I don’t like. But hey, at least I admit being a prejudicial bastard. I need my old shoes back.
Perhaps I should do something else now.
”Stop thinking like that, you idiot!” it says. “Nobody’s watching you write!” Another thought constantly scraping against the inside of my head, is this:
I’m writing for pleasure. Who here writes for pleasure? People around me browse Wikipedia for articles on chemistry and Galvanian elements, they write science journals and some are even playing “SameGame” for hours to an end. I don’t like SameGame, it’s silly. And not to mention, too advanced for my brain. Too many different colours and little squares. Right now Sunniva entered the door, sat down next to me and started writing a self-evaluation journal for her French teacher, and the told me she was writing it like a fairy tale. I wish I bothered doing such things. I constantly evaluate my brain, though. I find pros and cons in every decision, and whenever I react a certain way to a certain event, I try to find out why. Especially if I react in a bad way. (I do that a lot.) The last brain-related conclusion I made, was that my starving need for attention should be strangled whenever it surfaces, because it emerges from memories of a time when I didn’t get any of it if I didn’t work very hard for it. Previous to the understanding of this, I understood that my anger towards everything is caused by the need to defend myself; It’s easier to get angry with the TV for not working, than being angry with myself for throwing it on the floor before jumping on it. I’m really angry nowadays; the last thing that felt my wrath was my umbrella, which for some reason refused to open when I went to school today. Then I calmed down, and realised that I needed to press the little button a bit harder. Then it opened, and for just some seconds, I was moderately content with the situation. Now it’s lying here next to me, still soaking wet and the opening mechanism is broken. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have been so rough on it, but I’m happy that it still works. I think it is a happy umbrella.
Can umbrellas be happy?
Now it’s snowing, as if somebody is mocking my need for new shoes. I only have these old converse-copies, and they are letting in water. My feet are constantly moist when I walk outdoors, and I feel like one of those little individualistic retards who claim to be punks and has to wear converse shoes at all times. I’m not like that, but when I look at myself in the mirror, I start feeling like one. It troubles me. I even have those narrow-legged pants, just like them. Not that I’m trying to be prejudicial here, I don’t have to try. I am. I am a bad person, I laugh when I see people who wear clothes and hair styles I don’t like. But hey, at least I admit being a prejudicial bastard. I need my old shoes back.
Perhaps I should do something else now.