(no subject)
I don't know how to describe what I'm feeling, so I won't bother trying.
I have been thinking about my hands, among other, slightly more consequential things, a lot lately. My hands are the most valued part of my body. Don't read into that.
My right hand has been beaten up lately because of punching things that aren't meant to be punched. I didn't realize how dependant I am on my hands. I speak with them more than I speak with my mouth.
I am not good with words. It doesn't matter what I say; it matters how I move, look, and sound when I say it. My hands fly around when I speak as if independent of my body, but they're not. My hands have more of an idea of what it is I'm trying to say than my mind does. I should follow their lead, instead of fruitlessly trying to articulate things that can't be articulated. Language is so far from adequate almost all of the time, and there is something terribly tragic about that.
I expect too much from myself. When I say that, I don't know what I mean. I suppose that I expect too much from my mind. I treat it like a cottonball. I throw it against the wall, stomp on it, expect things from it that it can't possibly do. I try to mold it into some kind of constant shape and end up permanently ripping little cotton whisps off of it, halfway hoping that they weren't important peices.
I had a really rough day today. I was just driving home, and all I wanted was to get here and get in bed and fall asleep, but of course that has been unsuccesful.
Regardless, driving home, I was struck by how badly I want everything to be different. I want complete and total change. I have no idea why it came on so suddenly, but it did and I was intrigued by it. I was considering letting my car drift off of the Falmouth bridge into the Rappahannock, but that's not big enough. Not the kind of change I'm looking for. Later on the ride home, I was considering going out and buying a chain saw and a flamethrower and wreaking real havoc through suburbia, but that's not the kind of change I want either.
I know that I want to stop feeling like a stranger in my own head. One person I'll never be able to escape from is me, no matter how hard I try. At this point, I'm not even sure which me I'm running from. Everybody has about a thousand different personalities millling about inside their heads; that's why it's so hard to make decisions, even about the tiniest little things, because there's constantly a fight to the death going on between all the little people in there, all trying to get their way. I think most people have one personality that usually wins over all the others, and thus they consider that personality to be the closest to who they are overall.
I don't seem to have that one dominant decision-maker anymore. God only knows what's going on in my head half the time. I feel completely insane.
I wish I lived in an era where things mattered. Perhaps I romanticize history, especially the dark and tragic periods, but I wish I lived during a time when revolution was rapid, intellect was developing at a rocket speed, and people were fighting and working and changing the world on a nearly daily basis.
I'm incredibly lonely. I feel like I should be darning socks, as a tribute to Eleanor Rigby.
I have been thinking about my hands, among other, slightly more consequential things, a lot lately. My hands are the most valued part of my body. Don't read into that.
My right hand has been beaten up lately because of punching things that aren't meant to be punched. I didn't realize how dependant I am on my hands. I speak with them more than I speak with my mouth.
I am not good with words. It doesn't matter what I say; it matters how I move, look, and sound when I say it. My hands fly around when I speak as if independent of my body, but they're not. My hands have more of an idea of what it is I'm trying to say than my mind does. I should follow their lead, instead of fruitlessly trying to articulate things that can't be articulated. Language is so far from adequate almost all of the time, and there is something terribly tragic about that.
I expect too much from myself. When I say that, I don't know what I mean. I suppose that I expect too much from my mind. I treat it like a cottonball. I throw it against the wall, stomp on it, expect things from it that it can't possibly do. I try to mold it into some kind of constant shape and end up permanently ripping little cotton whisps off of it, halfway hoping that they weren't important peices.
I had a really rough day today. I was just driving home, and all I wanted was to get here and get in bed and fall asleep, but of course that has been unsuccesful.
Regardless, driving home, I was struck by how badly I want everything to be different. I want complete and total change. I have no idea why it came on so suddenly, but it did and I was intrigued by it. I was considering letting my car drift off of the Falmouth bridge into the Rappahannock, but that's not big enough. Not the kind of change I'm looking for. Later on the ride home, I was considering going out and buying a chain saw and a flamethrower and wreaking real havoc through suburbia, but that's not the kind of change I want either.
I know that I want to stop feeling like a stranger in my own head. One person I'll never be able to escape from is me, no matter how hard I try. At this point, I'm not even sure which me I'm running from. Everybody has about a thousand different personalities millling about inside their heads; that's why it's so hard to make decisions, even about the tiniest little things, because there's constantly a fight to the death going on between all the little people in there, all trying to get their way. I think most people have one personality that usually wins over all the others, and thus they consider that personality to be the closest to who they are overall.
I don't seem to have that one dominant decision-maker anymore. God only knows what's going on in my head half the time. I feel completely insane.
I wish I lived in an era where things mattered. Perhaps I romanticize history, especially the dark and tragic periods, but I wish I lived during a time when revolution was rapid, intellect was developing at a rocket speed, and people were fighting and working and changing the world on a nearly daily basis.
I'm incredibly lonely. I feel like I should be darning socks, as a tribute to Eleanor Rigby.