A nauseous 5am rhythm,
It's interesting, the way success is gauged. Some follow the belief that a lucrative career determines success. For others, it's a proper upbringing, or marriage and children in that order, or the careful balance of work and play. I guess the midlife crisis rate in our country is what really puts all that into perspective; it seems as though the decisions we make early in our lives don't always pan out the way we imagine them when we're little, or even when we reach early adulthood. The idea of success and happiness shifts and evolves so many times throughout the course of life, and that's what makes it really difficult to stay focused on what really makes a difference when we're staring meekly into the bright light of our hospital rooms, dying of old age or emphysema or whatever other hereditary means to an end we've been designed with.
I really don't understand a lot in this world. I'm easily confused, lost, and frustrated. Time and time again, I find myself engaging in conversation with somebody who carries an air about them that indicates their faith in the way things will pan out for them, and this always makes me uncomfortable. I start to feel like a ball of dust kicked beneath a carpet, or an old sputtering lemon rusting over in a landfill somewhere off the coast of a busy city landscape. I'm not sure of anything, really, and I don't know if this puts me at an advantage or if I represent a very small percentage of the population that just doesn't 'get it'.
It just seems like the natural order of things depends on following gut feelings and worrying about the repercussions later. Cavemen didn't shoot out of their wombs with spears or slingshots, and a hell of a lot of them were devoured by their dinners. I guess these primitive ancestors have a leg up on me because not only was I born without common sense or will power, I still haven't evolved enough to understand that the best way to outrun your dinner is to build up your leg strength and stamina. I smoke cigarettes, which puts me at an immediate handicap, and I'm an insomniac with a bad diet who doesn't know when to call it a night and get some damn sleep. Wooly Mammoths would be all over my ass if it wasn't for that, you know, extinction thing.
I still enjoy remembering the first time I looked through a kaleidescope, and when I would collect newts on rainy days, and the bundle of years I spent claiming ownership over clearings in the woods and naming them 'Rocky Mountain I, II, and III'. A psychiatrist or a self-absorbed family member could look at the cliffnotes of my childhood and deem it unfit, tell me that I am a product of my environment, and even scoff at my weakness to the impression those short years of my life had on my character. Truth is, the newts and clearings played a bigger part in influencing me than the three years I spent as a toddler dreaming about what life must be like when you're wanted.
Most likely, I'll be lost and confused and frustrated for the rest of my life. I will always struggle with composing myself in a family setting, or biting my tongue in aggravating situations, or carrying out plans that lead me to acquiring the ability to maintain a level of stability in any area of life...and when that look sneaks onto my face that indicates just how confused, or lost, or frustrated I really am, I'm probably just thinking about where I can get Madelynne a kaleidescope, or when she will be old enough to hold a newt without eating it, or what she will name her 'Rocky Mountain'.
I really don't understand a lot in this world. I'm easily confused, lost, and frustrated. Time and time again, I find myself engaging in conversation with somebody who carries an air about them that indicates their faith in the way things will pan out for them, and this always makes me uncomfortable. I start to feel like a ball of dust kicked beneath a carpet, or an old sputtering lemon rusting over in a landfill somewhere off the coast of a busy city landscape. I'm not sure of anything, really, and I don't know if this puts me at an advantage or if I represent a very small percentage of the population that just doesn't 'get it'.
It just seems like the natural order of things depends on following gut feelings and worrying about the repercussions later. Cavemen didn't shoot out of their wombs with spears or slingshots, and a hell of a lot of them were devoured by their dinners. I guess these primitive ancestors have a leg up on me because not only was I born without common sense or will power, I still haven't evolved enough to understand that the best way to outrun your dinner is to build up your leg strength and stamina. I smoke cigarettes, which puts me at an immediate handicap, and I'm an insomniac with a bad diet who doesn't know when to call it a night and get some damn sleep. Wooly Mammoths would be all over my ass if it wasn't for that, you know, extinction thing.
I still enjoy remembering the first time I looked through a kaleidescope, and when I would collect newts on rainy days, and the bundle of years I spent claiming ownership over clearings in the woods and naming them 'Rocky Mountain I, II, and III'. A psychiatrist or a self-absorbed family member could look at the cliffnotes of my childhood and deem it unfit, tell me that I am a product of my environment, and even scoff at my weakness to the impression those short years of my life had on my character. Truth is, the newts and clearings played a bigger part in influencing me than the three years I spent as a toddler dreaming about what life must be like when you're wanted.
Most likely, I'll be lost and confused and frustrated for the rest of my life. I will always struggle with composing myself in a family setting, or biting my tongue in aggravating situations, or carrying out plans that lead me to acquiring the ability to maintain a level of stability in any area of life...and when that look sneaks onto my face that indicates just how confused, or lost, or frustrated I really am, I'm probably just thinking about where I can get Madelynne a kaleidescope, or when she will be old enough to hold a newt without eating it, or what she will name her 'Rocky Mountain'.