maybe the doctor was right....
Sometimes I wish I could go back and just pick out the good habits I had and leave the bad ones behind. I suppose that's what life is: a series of decisions in which we're constantly playing catch-up to sift through the good and bad of the past. The only problem is, in order to sift through and find those good parts, we have to endure bad parts and pain. But, again, that is life. I don't know. I just reread that and I think it reeks of the pseudo-intellectualism of a 17 year old.
Has the world changed or have I changed?
Though I often find myself using that quotation as of late, I also find, finally, that it is a false dichotomy. Thank god, maybe I'll progress past 17 after all. But I digress.
I'm wide awake thanks to indigestion and bad decisions. The indigestion is actually a result of the bad decisions, but I felt like I made more bad decisions than simply overindulging on pizza. I also drank, unfortunately. I say unfortunately because though I enjoy alcohol consumption --and I find that many of my generation enjoy it as well (something about being in our early 20s and finally legal, I imagine)--- I know it is ultimately wrong for me. Not because I'm secretly wishing to be a teetotaler, not because my alcohol problem is actually alcoholism (though if you check the tags I do label it that), but because of how it mixes with my medication.
I just reread that paragraph. Though it is not the clearest of prose, it certainly packs a whallop of a point.
No, I don't have even a bad, ill-suited quotation for that.
It is hard to maintain a journal that is public. considering all the past readers I have had, and that the majority of them do not comment, this very well could be read by 2 people or 2 dozen people. No, I'm not trying to narcissistic-ally inflate my readership; I know that people I have had difficulty with in the past have read this and though I have it clearly labelled as 15-01-10, there are people that may not read this until 2011 or later. So, at the end of the day, 2 dozen people may read this time-sensitive message sooner or later. Or, perhaps, it will sink into internet obscurity. Hard to tell.
Note to self: be glad you don't export this to your facebook anymore. Facebook has become a dangerous place.
I suppose, what I'm getting at, is my mind is on Communism again. No, not wanting to practice it, necessarily.
I recently saw the films Comrade X (1940; King Vidor) and Ninotchka (1939; Ernest Lubitsch). Though they were clearly propagandistic films that dealt with Communism in a rather light-hearted manner, I felt moved by both pictures. I also found the leading ladies quite attractive, but I digress.
Look, I'm tired, and rather than let this prose reach a natural conclusion, I'll go ahead and bungle what could have been a good message:
I don't necessarily believe in privacy, but when it comes to matters like discussing my alcohol consumption, I do get worried that someone will get the wrong impression because of the tags and I'll be labelled a lush and lose my job or something. PHEW.
A one sentence paragraph, finally, that encapsulates what I was trying to say to begin with: maybe the doctor was right...
Has the world changed or have I changed?
Though I often find myself using that quotation as of late, I also find, finally, that it is a false dichotomy. Thank god, maybe I'll progress past 17 after all. But I digress.
I'm wide awake thanks to indigestion and bad decisions. The indigestion is actually a result of the bad decisions, but I felt like I made more bad decisions than simply overindulging on pizza. I also drank, unfortunately. I say unfortunately because though I enjoy alcohol consumption --and I find that many of my generation enjoy it as well (something about being in our early 20s and finally legal, I imagine)--- I know it is ultimately wrong for me. Not because I'm secretly wishing to be a teetotaler, not because my alcohol problem is actually alcoholism (though if you check the tags I do label it that), but because of how it mixes with my medication.
I just reread that paragraph. Though it is not the clearest of prose, it certainly packs a whallop of a point.
No, I don't have even a bad, ill-suited quotation for that.
It is hard to maintain a journal that is public. considering all the past readers I have had, and that the majority of them do not comment, this very well could be read by 2 people or 2 dozen people. No, I'm not trying to narcissistic-ally inflate my readership; I know that people I have had difficulty with in the past have read this and though I have it clearly labelled as 15-01-10, there are people that may not read this until 2011 or later. So, at the end of the day, 2 dozen people may read this time-sensitive message sooner or later. Or, perhaps, it will sink into internet obscurity. Hard to tell.
Note to self: be glad you don't export this to your facebook anymore. Facebook has become a dangerous place.
I suppose, what I'm getting at, is my mind is on Communism again. No, not wanting to practice it, necessarily.
I recently saw the films Comrade X (1940; King Vidor) and Ninotchka (1939; Ernest Lubitsch). Though they were clearly propagandistic films that dealt with Communism in a rather light-hearted manner, I felt moved by both pictures. I also found the leading ladies quite attractive, but I digress.
Look, I'm tired, and rather than let this prose reach a natural conclusion, I'll go ahead and bungle what could have been a good message:
I don't necessarily believe in privacy, but when it comes to matters like discussing my alcohol consumption, I do get worried that someone will get the wrong impression because of the tags and I'll be labelled a lush and lose my job or something. PHEW.
A one sentence paragraph, finally, that encapsulates what I was trying to say to begin with: maybe the doctor was right...