On foreseeing a sea change...
It all happens at once...
The older I get, the more I tend to internalize things. It's as if every event that happens over the course of a day is destined to be played back on an endless reel in the theatre of my mind's eye. As night falls, the images loop and loop without fail and, at times, they infiltrate my dreams. I'm often astounded by the notion of time--how a person can change entirely in the course of only a few years, how one's life can transform dramatically in the span of a minute. At my most idealistic moments, I imagine a world in which no one's identity is confined within the duration of any particular phase. Wouldn't that be perfect? We could all live in some free-floating state of consciousness, no longer forced to live in total uncertainty and in the conclusion that our lives can only be understood through the insufferable torment of retrospect. No more "if I'd only known then what I know now," and so on. I'll never be able to accept the status of what is often called the human condition. Why is it that we touch the stove moments after we've been warned that it's scorching hot? Why is it that I can only see myself clearly when staring through the lens of my past--the mistakes, the regrets? It infuriates me. I suppose that if I were a character it'd be my tragic flaw.
I wish I weren't so constantly bothered by the minutiae of my days, but much has happened as of late. More than ever, I feel the pressing need to eject myself from the cockpit of my life in Milledgeville. Thank God for vacations; without them, everyone would've surely committed definnestrstion, if not self immolation by now.
This entry is a decidedly crazy rant. If it didn't so accurately capture my need to get the hell out of town, I'd probably delete it altogether.
The older I get, the more I tend to internalize things. It's as if every event that happens over the course of a day is destined to be played back on an endless reel in the theatre of my mind's eye. As night falls, the images loop and loop without fail and, at times, they infiltrate my dreams. I'm often astounded by the notion of time--how a person can change entirely in the course of only a few years, how one's life can transform dramatically in the span of a minute. At my most idealistic moments, I imagine a world in which no one's identity is confined within the duration of any particular phase. Wouldn't that be perfect? We could all live in some free-floating state of consciousness, no longer forced to live in total uncertainty and in the conclusion that our lives can only be understood through the insufferable torment of retrospect. No more "if I'd only known then what I know now," and so on. I'll never be able to accept the status of what is often called the human condition. Why is it that we touch the stove moments after we've been warned that it's scorching hot? Why is it that I can only see myself clearly when staring through the lens of my past--the mistakes, the regrets? It infuriates me. I suppose that if I were a character it'd be my tragic flaw.
I wish I weren't so constantly bothered by the minutiae of my days, but much has happened as of late. More than ever, I feel the pressing need to eject myself from the cockpit of my life in Milledgeville. Thank God for vacations; without them, everyone would've surely committed definnestrstion, if not self immolation by now.
This entry is a decidedly crazy rant. If it didn't so accurately capture my need to get the hell out of town, I'd probably delete it altogether.