(no subject)
there recently appears to be a lack of personal motivation on my part. there is no will or drive for me to perform any specific action of group of actions, either for my betterment or others. no drive or will to do anything, not even at practice it feels. ive lost sight of my goals, and i dont remember my lessons so i cant remember how to accomplish anything that i do remember. i am reflex shooting, im reacting instead of instigating. there is an element of existence decidely absent from my existence, and yet im not missing out on any aspect of the human experience more so than anyone else i know is.
is life just a series of progressively worse and worse mistakes? do the consequences of one action set in motion a chain of events that is eternally irreversible and utterly damning? or does it not particularly matter what individual choices we make, so long as the final makeup of our choice matrices provides a favorable outcome? do i make sense to people, or does it not matter?
upon reflection, it occurs to me that we forget the vast substance of most of our lives. i can no sooner tell you who was at the gym today, even though i was there for almost two and a half hours, than what my room looked like when i was two years old and still lived on the edge of saratoga springs. i almost worry about the makeup of my memories. the only comfort the situation provides is that in the morning, i will not remember what happened, for example, at dinner tonight, and neither will any one else. because, lets face it. in 50 years, no one will remember, care, or be alive to think about it.
i fear im becoming increasingly incoherent. shit.
is life just a series of progressively worse and worse mistakes? do the consequences of one action set in motion a chain of events that is eternally irreversible and utterly damning? or does it not particularly matter what individual choices we make, so long as the final makeup of our choice matrices provides a favorable outcome? do i make sense to people, or does it not matter?
upon reflection, it occurs to me that we forget the vast substance of most of our lives. i can no sooner tell you who was at the gym today, even though i was there for almost two and a half hours, than what my room looked like when i was two years old and still lived on the edge of saratoga springs. i almost worry about the makeup of my memories. the only comfort the situation provides is that in the morning, i will not remember what happened, for example, at dinner tonight, and neither will any one else. because, lets face it. in 50 years, no one will remember, care, or be alive to think about it.
i fear im becoming increasingly incoherent. shit.