An Odd Space
I used to write here.
I spend a great deal of time lamenting the many things I failed to put on paper and the subsequent loss of those memories, the ability to write thoughtfully, all of it. It's one of those nagging "things." When I look here I see I was writing them anyways, and I guess on Facebook or some other medium since. But what is this.
This almost feels private. A graveyard. Are any of you still here? Is this what it will be like at the end of life? Throwing thoughts into the abyss knowing full well the others have lost their passwords to life. (Presumptuous to think I'll be the last to go.)
I kind of like this space though. I'm horrified about some of the things I've put down here, especially the private posts, but reading them encourages me to correct that record. It's incredible how much we change over time.
I worry these days about how much time I have left for further change. 30 feels like a deadline. I'm sure I'll look back on that sentence and ridicule my ignorance, but right now I don't have the knowledge necessary to comfort me. It feels like life needs answers, and while I feel like I've accomplished many things in my life I'm reminded often of the many things I didn't. Those fantasies that are especially susceptible to realty. There are some things that eventually become impossible. They require a person you are not, someone you never became, and probably couldn't be. It doesn't pain me that I never attained those goals, it just reminds me that life is fragile and limited, and leaves me worrying still about the many goals I have for the rest of it, which ones will become a reality, and the others which will certainly be left behind.
antisocial media. I don't need someone to listen to my thoughts.
I spend a great deal of time lamenting the many things I failed to put on paper and the subsequent loss of those memories, the ability to write thoughtfully, all of it. It's one of those nagging "things." When I look here I see I was writing them anyways, and I guess on Facebook or some other medium since. But what is this.
This almost feels private. A graveyard. Are any of you still here? Is this what it will be like at the end of life? Throwing thoughts into the abyss knowing full well the others have lost their passwords to life. (Presumptuous to think I'll be the last to go.)
I kind of like this space though. I'm horrified about some of the things I've put down here, especially the private posts, but reading them encourages me to correct that record. It's incredible how much we change over time.
I worry these days about how much time I have left for further change. 30 feels like a deadline. I'm sure I'll look back on that sentence and ridicule my ignorance, but right now I don't have the knowledge necessary to comfort me. It feels like life needs answers, and while I feel like I've accomplished many things in my life I'm reminded often of the many things I didn't. Those fantasies that are especially susceptible to realty. There are some things that eventually become impossible. They require a person you are not, someone you never became, and probably couldn't be. It doesn't pain me that I never attained those goals, it just reminds me that life is fragile and limited, and leaves me worrying still about the many goals I have for the rest of it, which ones will become a reality, and the others which will certainly be left behind.
antisocial media. I don't need someone to listen to my thoughts.