Bleh
It seems like such a waste that during the hours in which I’m the most awake, the most interesting, the most imaginative, the most energetic, everyone else has gone to bed. That idea seems to betray some hidden idea of mine that anything I do without witnesses is useless, or a waste of my time or talents. I suppose most of what people do is for the benefit of others, but J.D. Salinger seems to get along quite nicely without any contact with other people. Does that count, though? After all, he does write books which other people read and admire, thus counting as witnesses to his activities.
Definitely the point of living is not to make a lasting impression on others. What’s the point of impressing other people whose purpose is only to make their mark on other people? Is it only humanity’s ever-present need for immortality that brings up this idea of leaving one’s mark upon the world?
I think I would rather just appreciate and accept whatever fun, happiness and enlightenment I can get from life without cutting my stay on this ball of clay any shorter than it already is. Maybe that just means that I have to use my flowing imagination and effervescent energy to amuse myself. Only myself? Maybe that’s where this “waste” I originally imagined comes in; I feel this expenditure of my most interesting self to be ... selfish; a waste because I can’t share any overdramatic epiphanies with other people, thus expanding their own amusements.
Hmph! What arrogance has been uncovered with tonight’s rash of insomnia! We find that I’m not pitying myself for being so alone at such a late hour, but that I pity the world for not sharing my genius. Which is worse? Pity for anyone can’t be a good thing.