This Post is about Nothing
Well, I haven't posted in quite awhile. When I say "posted," I mean actually written something of any discernible value. As I garner more and more time with livejournal, I've come to utterly detest most of the posts that spew from whatever cornucopia of degenerate garbage that pretends to be my mind. They only whine. They all serve some selfish and short sighted purpose. For the most part, it serves as a form of mental masturbation.
I'm sure I've written on this subject before in the past. The only time I ever really feel that my journal entries have any merit is when, rather than being a catalog of my daily events, they are a description of my feeling and emotional status. But all that ultimately descends to are words that I could just as well have said to myself out loud in order to achieve the same overall purpose. Still, there is some sense of tactile joy that can be achieved through the process of writing and the act of typing. It is a means of cleaning out the system. Your mind can only work so fast when you are writing. Every thought takes time and effort and, as a result, demands a certain amount of attention and analysis that most other forms of thought often skim over. In spite of all of that, there is still very little reason for me to write these thoughts down for others as few people will actually read my sprawling posts in their entirety and of those, even fewer still will actually care enough to merit the time it took to read it all.
This is generally why I tend to keep a lot of my larger posts private. If I go off on a tirade over whatever object that has caught the attention of my fury for that week, it is generally kept hidden as I feel very little need for people to see me yell at myself. But here I am again, writing these ignoble sentences in order to keep up with my own vanity. Well, now that I have this horrible introduction out of the way, perhaps I can actually get to how I feel this evening.
Truth be told, I feel incredibly blank after writing the first few paragraphs of this entry. I said earlier that writing was a way of cleaning out my system. I suppose that is exactly what happened. I am much calmer now. It is much easier to hear my own thoughts, and to my dismay, there is not much to hear. I am anxious...afraid...calm...reserved...among other things. I sit here and wonder if I really have made any progress at all over the course of these last few months. And when I say progress, I mean in terms of my own mental health. I am no less obsessed about being alone, but I find myself to be somewhat apathetic.
Or is that a lie?
I hope to be apathetic, in any case. I am resigned to what I have now, because, if I wasn't, I would be subject the kind of despair that had previously made me so incredibly weary, or at least as weary as a twenty year old who is preparing to embark on life can be. But this does not mean I have lost sight of what I need or at least would want for myself in the future. Being single is not so bad, I have found out. The pain of love or lovelessness, or whatever emo catchphrase you want to accuse me of, never dulls, but yet, it can become bearable if I condition myself to accept the ache. I know who I am. I know what I want. Furthermore, I have a good idea of what I deserve.
That is not to say that I have some magnanimous conception of entitlement. In truth, I deserve nothing, and I would be content with just living. To be alone for the rest of my life would not be enough of a trespass to turn me bitter. At least, this is what I hope to be true. But love would be nice. Yes, it would be nice. I am happy with my current station. But I am happy in spite of an ache.
See how I descend into poorly planned metaphors? See how destitute this entry is of any veritable thought? Do you see how I use big words to make myself look like a jackass? I suppose I could lower my language, but keep in mind my dear, beloved reader, that this is an exercise for my own sake and that you are just along for the ride. Tonight, I feel contemplative. I feel like thinking in a way that I have not done so in a long while, and the temptation to do so is a cumbrous burden that becomes more and more dangerous with every abrupt scent or furtive smile. See how I begin to talk in images not quite formed? Do you see how my allusions lead nowhere? The frustration of trying to think not about something that I know will pain me dearly is an annoyance that I verily do not want.
Whoo. Exhale. Writing down my own complaint to myself has greatly mitigated the unsettling feeling that had been plaguing me before. I will be fine. It is not so much about pretending that I am not feeling what I am feeling, but rather accepting that I am feeling them and that what little control I have is nothing more than a cruel joke. So I must become comfortable with this sinking sensation that suffuses my stomach. I must not mind it so much. And in the end, I wont. In the end, I will always be okay.
Because, in the end, I will always be here to be okay. At least for as far as I know. And that, in the end, is all that really matters.
Now, do I press "post to guek" or do I make this a private entry?
Hmmm....a couple hundred words with zero organization about absolutely nothing. What a waste of time. Well, I haven't released one of these to the public in awhile. Why not? Here's for old time's sake.
I'm sure I've written on this subject before in the past. The only time I ever really feel that my journal entries have any merit is when, rather than being a catalog of my daily events, they are a description of my feeling and emotional status. But all that ultimately descends to are words that I could just as well have said to myself out loud in order to achieve the same overall purpose. Still, there is some sense of tactile joy that can be achieved through the process of writing and the act of typing. It is a means of cleaning out the system. Your mind can only work so fast when you are writing. Every thought takes time and effort and, as a result, demands a certain amount of attention and analysis that most other forms of thought often skim over. In spite of all of that, there is still very little reason for me to write these thoughts down for others as few people will actually read my sprawling posts in their entirety and of those, even fewer still will actually care enough to merit the time it took to read it all.
This is generally why I tend to keep a lot of my larger posts private. If I go off on a tirade over whatever object that has caught the attention of my fury for that week, it is generally kept hidden as I feel very little need for people to see me yell at myself. But here I am again, writing these ignoble sentences in order to keep up with my own vanity. Well, now that I have this horrible introduction out of the way, perhaps I can actually get to how I feel this evening.
Truth be told, I feel incredibly blank after writing the first few paragraphs of this entry. I said earlier that writing was a way of cleaning out my system. I suppose that is exactly what happened. I am much calmer now. It is much easier to hear my own thoughts, and to my dismay, there is not much to hear. I am anxious...afraid...calm...reserved...among other things. I sit here and wonder if I really have made any progress at all over the course of these last few months. And when I say progress, I mean in terms of my own mental health. I am no less obsessed about being alone, but I find myself to be somewhat apathetic.
Or is that a lie?
I hope to be apathetic, in any case. I am resigned to what I have now, because, if I wasn't, I would be subject the kind of despair that had previously made me so incredibly weary, or at least as weary as a twenty year old who is preparing to embark on life can be. But this does not mean I have lost sight of what I need or at least would want for myself in the future. Being single is not so bad, I have found out. The pain of love or lovelessness, or whatever emo catchphrase you want to accuse me of, never dulls, but yet, it can become bearable if I condition myself to accept the ache. I know who I am. I know what I want. Furthermore, I have a good idea of what I deserve.
That is not to say that I have some magnanimous conception of entitlement. In truth, I deserve nothing, and I would be content with just living. To be alone for the rest of my life would not be enough of a trespass to turn me bitter. At least, this is what I hope to be true. But love would be nice. Yes, it would be nice. I am happy with my current station. But I am happy in spite of an ache.
See how I descend into poorly planned metaphors? See how destitute this entry is of any veritable thought? Do you see how I use big words to make myself look like a jackass? I suppose I could lower my language, but keep in mind my dear, beloved reader, that this is an exercise for my own sake and that you are just along for the ride. Tonight, I feel contemplative. I feel like thinking in a way that I have not done so in a long while, and the temptation to do so is a cumbrous burden that becomes more and more dangerous with every abrupt scent or furtive smile. See how I begin to talk in images not quite formed? Do you see how my allusions lead nowhere? The frustration of trying to think not about something that I know will pain me dearly is an annoyance that I verily do not want.
Whoo. Exhale. Writing down my own complaint to myself has greatly mitigated the unsettling feeling that had been plaguing me before. I will be fine. It is not so much about pretending that I am not feeling what I am feeling, but rather accepting that I am feeling them and that what little control I have is nothing more than a cruel joke. So I must become comfortable with this sinking sensation that suffuses my stomach. I must not mind it so much. And in the end, I wont. In the end, I will always be okay.
Because, in the end, I will always be here to be okay. At least for as far as I know. And that, in the end, is all that really matters.
Now, do I press "post to guek" or do I make this a private entry?
Hmmm....a couple hundred words with zero organization about absolutely nothing. What a waste of time. Well, I haven't released one of these to the public in awhile. Why not? Here's for old time's sake.