(no subject)
I often think it would be easier if I never left the house. If I had some kind of source of money in the family like some people I know, I'd probably never go anywhere. I'd be happy to wither away. I'm not the kind of person who will go out of her way to not get hit by a car if it means slowing down the things I'm doing with my life. I don't so much care if I die, not like anything great is going on. I don't know. I still like some people. I'm sure Omar would be really upset if I just went "fuck this riding slowly down 41 shit, I need to go to work" and promptly got smashed by a SUV in all my bravado.
I was thinking about that earlier today. Would God reward me for shameless bravado that nobody else sees? I don't wait for cars when I ride my bike. I don't give a fuck about the people in their two-ton steel carriages. I'm not saying I like, purposely ride out into traffic, but I don't wait for green lights. I ride down the side of 41 through construction, uphill, at night. I try to keep my tires on the little white line that defines the edge of the lane. If I went farther to the outside, I'd hit the curb, which is currently under construction and full of holes, and if I go farther towards the inside, I'll get smashed up rather soundly by the passing cars. Would God clap for me if I decided to live life to the fullest, get my ass going, and raced across a Fruitville intersection, only to end up a smeared remnant of whatever waste I was in the first place?
Where does the boundary between stupidity and courage lie? I've spent a lifetime trying to be safe and secure in a situation that constantly fights safety and security by all its names. Nobody was backing me up, and now that people want me to be safe, I've gotten the point where I sometimes think I don't care about safe things at all and maybe it'd be really cool to get hit by a truck, because for a few seconds, you're flying through the air and you know you'll probably be on the nightly news if you die in a cool enough way.
I worry that you'll all think I'm suicidal, but that's not the case. I think less about killing myself now, and have thought very little of it for the most part since I came to Sarasota. It's not even that I care absurdly little for my life. There are a lot of good people in my life, and if I bust out and do something SUPER AWESOME with what life I have, who the fuck can beat that? Ivy Leaguer becomes an upper-echelon corporate manager of International Relations. We totally weren't fucking expecting that. Some poor kid nobody knows is the nation's foremost expert on America's blooming Internet culture. That's fucking SWEET. Maybe that's the kind of thing I'll do with my life.
I'll be that person America doesn't like to talk about loving because it's kind of a shameful thing to be proud of, but secretly they will all send me candy and Christmas Cards in the middle of July.
I was thinking about that earlier today. Would God reward me for shameless bravado that nobody else sees? I don't wait for cars when I ride my bike. I don't give a fuck about the people in their two-ton steel carriages. I'm not saying I like, purposely ride out into traffic, but I don't wait for green lights. I ride down the side of 41 through construction, uphill, at night. I try to keep my tires on the little white line that defines the edge of the lane. If I went farther to the outside, I'd hit the curb, which is currently under construction and full of holes, and if I go farther towards the inside, I'll get smashed up rather soundly by the passing cars. Would God clap for me if I decided to live life to the fullest, get my ass going, and raced across a Fruitville intersection, only to end up a smeared remnant of whatever waste I was in the first place?
Where does the boundary between stupidity and courage lie? I've spent a lifetime trying to be safe and secure in a situation that constantly fights safety and security by all its names. Nobody was backing me up, and now that people want me to be safe, I've gotten the point where I sometimes think I don't care about safe things at all and maybe it'd be really cool to get hit by a truck, because for a few seconds, you're flying through the air and you know you'll probably be on the nightly news if you die in a cool enough way.
I worry that you'll all think I'm suicidal, but that's not the case. I think less about killing myself now, and have thought very little of it for the most part since I came to Sarasota. It's not even that I care absurdly little for my life. There are a lot of good people in my life, and if I bust out and do something SUPER AWESOME with what life I have, who the fuck can beat that? Ivy Leaguer becomes an upper-echelon corporate manager of International Relations. We totally weren't fucking expecting that. Some poor kid nobody knows is the nation's foremost expert on America's blooming Internet culture. That's fucking SWEET. Maybe that's the kind of thing I'll do with my life.
I'll be that person America doesn't like to talk about loving because it's kind of a shameful thing to be proud of, but secretly they will all send me candy and Christmas Cards in the middle of July.