(no subject)

[callmebonnie]

I've been thinking more and more lately about the things that having too much time on your hands bring about. Life, death. Politics, morals. Rules, exceptions. Meaning, survival. Thinking leaves you empty, or hopeless. It's like getting lost in the desert and never knowing if you're heading towards anything. You might get there, but it takes so long you wonder if you've been walking in circles. Some things seem clearer. Some things make sense in a foggy way, in a way that you cant put into words, like the things you find in your dreams but can't seem to make sense of the next morning. A primal understanding, I guess. And in thinking and understanding (or thinking I understand) love and hate are equally confusing but much more real. I feel angry towards the past, and sad towards the future. I never had closure. I never had a sad, poetic, closing line that made things tragic - but okay, because they were tragic. Really, it makes me sick. And I wonder what I'm doing here, with her, with the opposite of the criteria for 'forever'.

Happiness is something I'm waiting to understand. Or maybe I'm waiting for a turning point, or something that gives incentive to everything I've ever done.

What the fuck am I doing?