one more hangover
Almost every sporadic post here for the past few years has simply been a means of making sure this journal doesn't get wiped out due to inactivity. I feel like Livejournal as a whole is probably on the verge of that anyway, but for now I can hold out hope that this time capsule will stay put.
I went through every entry here a while back, reading every comment, remembering times I otherwise would have completely forgotten about. Most of those old memories had been seemingly erased from my brain. But just reading through those entries, the details of every event came rushing back in ways I didn't think still possible. And that's why I keep this thing alive. Nostalgia is a very vital part of my life. It's one of the only things that makes me feel anything deeply anymore, and I will continue to hoard these old memories until the goddamn servers crash.
If this thing IS still around several years from now, I'm not entirely sure I'll read through anything I could possibly put here at the present time with any reverence or fondness. I'm having fun, but my highs and lows are so minimal these days. I'm pursuing things that I believe in and getting better at creative endeavors that actually matter, but even the exercises in growth there become so ho-hum. I'm on a stage most nights of every single week, trying to figure myself out, trying to figure out if what I'm presenting is even worthwhile, trying not to humiliate myself (to varying degrees of success). It's been that way for nearly two years now. The months and years are just blending together these days, which I always heard would happen from the old codgers who seemed determined to crush my optimism, but tried my best not to believe. You win again, old people. It's true. You were right.
I'm not sure what the root cause of all this unfeeling boredom really is. It could be a symptom of simply getting older and not being as full of optimism and awe and wonder. Life makes you jaded and you grow emotional callouses, which I completely understand. Or maybe it's because of the age we live in, where every single thing we think or see or do is posted online on so many social media accounts that we can scarcely keep track, processed through our post-ironic, bored-with-it-all attitudes, and left there with a shrug. We've seen it all at this point. Everything has become so thoroughly unexciting. Most probably, it's a bit of both.
There's not much of a point of this, other than to further ensure that this journal stays put for a little while longer and maybe talk to myself briefly via text because I'm too hungover to open my mouth and make sounds. I lived a better life when I was too poor to drink booze or eat food. Relative "prosperity" has aged me in dog years and wreaked havoc on my waistline. Maybe I just wanted to see if I could still present a long-form thought. Mixed success. And now I'm gonna go spend $90 on headphones because that's what life has become.
I went through every entry here a while back, reading every comment, remembering times I otherwise would have completely forgotten about. Most of those old memories had been seemingly erased from my brain. But just reading through those entries, the details of every event came rushing back in ways I didn't think still possible. And that's why I keep this thing alive. Nostalgia is a very vital part of my life. It's one of the only things that makes me feel anything deeply anymore, and I will continue to hoard these old memories until the goddamn servers crash.
If this thing IS still around several years from now, I'm not entirely sure I'll read through anything I could possibly put here at the present time with any reverence or fondness. I'm having fun, but my highs and lows are so minimal these days. I'm pursuing things that I believe in and getting better at creative endeavors that actually matter, but even the exercises in growth there become so ho-hum. I'm on a stage most nights of every single week, trying to figure myself out, trying to figure out if what I'm presenting is even worthwhile, trying not to humiliate myself (to varying degrees of success). It's been that way for nearly two years now. The months and years are just blending together these days, which I always heard would happen from the old codgers who seemed determined to crush my optimism, but tried my best not to believe. You win again, old people. It's true. You were right.
I'm not sure what the root cause of all this unfeeling boredom really is. It could be a symptom of simply getting older and not being as full of optimism and awe and wonder. Life makes you jaded and you grow emotional callouses, which I completely understand. Or maybe it's because of the age we live in, where every single thing we think or see or do is posted online on so many social media accounts that we can scarcely keep track, processed through our post-ironic, bored-with-it-all attitudes, and left there with a shrug. We've seen it all at this point. Everything has become so thoroughly unexciting. Most probably, it's a bit of both.
There's not much of a point of this, other than to further ensure that this journal stays put for a little while longer and maybe talk to myself briefly via text because I'm too hungover to open my mouth and make sounds. I lived a better life when I was too poor to drink booze or eat food. Relative "prosperity" has aged me in dog years and wreaked havoc on my waistline. Maybe I just wanted to see if I could still present a long-form thought. Mixed success. And now I'm gonna go spend $90 on headphones because that's what life has become.