This journal is read at your own peril!
I’m just writing without thinking again. I can’t find the last file that involved me doing this. No editing, no pausing, or backspacing, it’s just writing. I never really know what to write about. I just pour my thoughts onto the page. This would be the equivalent of me beating around the bush, as I suppose the true purpose of this exercise is to test my writing skills. I think. Either that or it is to delve into my psyche or something.
Anyways, I’m upset at the moment. I always get this way. It’s a shame. I’m wondering if this is how I’m supposed to feel at this point in my life, and I think it is. There is a lot of uncertainty in almost everything I do. Things are changing constantly, and I like that, but not every change is good. I keep reaching for things that look warm and comforting. I want to just curl up in a giant quilt and watch the storms subside in the secure warmth of my room. I want to have this tumultuous period in my life just pas by like a bad dream, but unfortunately I have to live it every day and deal with it. I just need to learn how. I need to learn how. I do know how. I think I know how. I’m not too bad about dealing with things, really. I have my moments of weakness, but also my moments of strength. My father is proud of me to a degree, but he doesn’t know everything. It’s true, I cut some corners. I don’t know why, I’m not proud of it. I get by and I generally remain liked by all, but I wish I could be better.
I’m honest, but I wish I was more honest. I’m straightforward, but I wish I was more straightforward. I want to see a psychologist. I want to talk to someone who knows what they’re talking about, who knows and understands exactly who I am. I need someone like that. I don’t need a girlfriend or people or anything, I need a professional to give me rational advice. I need it badly. I need to hear what I tell myself constantly from the mouth of someone respectable. I am too logical.
I over analyze everything, they say. I think it’s the truth. It’s not a blessing, but it’s not a curse. It… my cat is meowing again. Why doesn’t she just be a good girl and stop? Maybe if I sit here and will her to, she will. Maybe if I just try to reach out to her with my words and mind. Try to comfort her, explain to her why she can’t come inside anymore, that she has to be a big girl and live outside like she used to. It’s okay, Strider, I’ll feed you and love you still. That won’t change, but you can’t come inside. I can come outside and play with you, though! So just be a good girl and go to sleep. I put a little house for you out there that I’m sure you’d like if you gave it a chance.
She stopped.
That’s either remarkable or coincidental.
I feel better for writing already. This is a necessary exercise for me, I think. I need to vent and unwind onto the page. If I don’t drain my head, it gets cloudy, poisoned, stagnant, uncomfortable and tight. I feel like I can’t breathe. So many things happening. Yet good things! God, good things around the corner, I just have to be patient and faithful. I don’t want to screw up anymore. I don’t want to be dissatisfied with myself. I want to have good habits and good values. I want to enjoy working hard every day, I want to be a disciplined man. I want to be able to do the best job I can at everything I do.
I hate people who covet money, who tell me to cut corners, who tell me to lie, who tell me to cheat, steal and swindle my way through life. I’ve had people I love tell me these things, and it hurts, because I have to stand up to them and say they’re wrong and I refuse. They get frustrated with me. They don’t understand why I always try to play by the rules and avoid hurting people. They don’t understand why I place so much faith in society. Maybe I’m just stupid and naïve, maybe I deserve what I get. Maybe I deserve to have all my possessions stolen, my life taken away… but that wouldn’t be my life. I would like to think that I have the ability to live free of material wealth. To go from day to day journeying inward, absorbing nothing but experiences.
I would kill for that opportunity, but I feel so shackled by society, so shackled by what I’ve grown to know so intimately. Shackled is an appropriate word for this, not an appropriate word for my previous entry, in which I unintentionally insulted someone I respect, and for that I am truly sorry.
Wouldn’t it be marvelous if I could just walk out my front door and never stop living? Just walk and walk and walk… stop at a door when I get hungry, do chores for food and shelter. What a fantastic vagrant I’d be! A modern day adventurer. I should learn things, too. I should learn everything a man on the road should learn… how to defend myself, how to build a shelter, find water, find food, everything a survivalist should know!
I know how to do many of these things to an extent from experience, though.
I just want it all to disintegrate… down, down, one way down. Thrash the strings and belt it out, inevitable. Building on those ruins, day to day, history is a broken record with a bad sense of humor, and I’m teetering on the edge of my own skewed perception (enlightened as I think it to be.)
Anyways, I’m upset at the moment. I always get this way. It’s a shame. I’m wondering if this is how I’m supposed to feel at this point in my life, and I think it is. There is a lot of uncertainty in almost everything I do. Things are changing constantly, and I like that, but not every change is good. I keep reaching for things that look warm and comforting. I want to just curl up in a giant quilt and watch the storms subside in the secure warmth of my room. I want to have this tumultuous period in my life just pas by like a bad dream, but unfortunately I have to live it every day and deal with it. I just need to learn how. I need to learn how. I do know how. I think I know how. I’m not too bad about dealing with things, really. I have my moments of weakness, but also my moments of strength. My father is proud of me to a degree, but he doesn’t know everything. It’s true, I cut some corners. I don’t know why, I’m not proud of it. I get by and I generally remain liked by all, but I wish I could be better.
I’m honest, but I wish I was more honest. I’m straightforward, but I wish I was more straightforward. I want to see a psychologist. I want to talk to someone who knows what they’re talking about, who knows and understands exactly who I am. I need someone like that. I don’t need a girlfriend or people or anything, I need a professional to give me rational advice. I need it badly. I need to hear what I tell myself constantly from the mouth of someone respectable. I am too logical.
I over analyze everything, they say. I think it’s the truth. It’s not a blessing, but it’s not a curse. It… my cat is meowing again. Why doesn’t she just be a good girl and stop? Maybe if I sit here and will her to, she will. Maybe if I just try to reach out to her with my words and mind. Try to comfort her, explain to her why she can’t come inside anymore, that she has to be a big girl and live outside like she used to. It’s okay, Strider, I’ll feed you and love you still. That won’t change, but you can’t come inside. I can come outside and play with you, though! So just be a good girl and go to sleep. I put a little house for you out there that I’m sure you’d like if you gave it a chance.
She stopped.
That’s either remarkable or coincidental.
I feel better for writing already. This is a necessary exercise for me, I think. I need to vent and unwind onto the page. If I don’t drain my head, it gets cloudy, poisoned, stagnant, uncomfortable and tight. I feel like I can’t breathe. So many things happening. Yet good things! God, good things around the corner, I just have to be patient and faithful. I don’t want to screw up anymore. I don’t want to be dissatisfied with myself. I want to have good habits and good values. I want to enjoy working hard every day, I want to be a disciplined man. I want to be able to do the best job I can at everything I do.
I hate people who covet money, who tell me to cut corners, who tell me to lie, who tell me to cheat, steal and swindle my way through life. I’ve had people I love tell me these things, and it hurts, because I have to stand up to them and say they’re wrong and I refuse. They get frustrated with me. They don’t understand why I always try to play by the rules and avoid hurting people. They don’t understand why I place so much faith in society. Maybe I’m just stupid and naïve, maybe I deserve what I get. Maybe I deserve to have all my possessions stolen, my life taken away… but that wouldn’t be my life. I would like to think that I have the ability to live free of material wealth. To go from day to day journeying inward, absorbing nothing but experiences.
I would kill for that opportunity, but I feel so shackled by society, so shackled by what I’ve grown to know so intimately. Shackled is an appropriate word for this, not an appropriate word for my previous entry, in which I unintentionally insulted someone I respect, and for that I am truly sorry.
Wouldn’t it be marvelous if I could just walk out my front door and never stop living? Just walk and walk and walk… stop at a door when I get hungry, do chores for food and shelter. What a fantastic vagrant I’d be! A modern day adventurer. I should learn things, too. I should learn everything a man on the road should learn… how to defend myself, how to build a shelter, find water, find food, everything a survivalist should know!
I know how to do many of these things to an extent from experience, though.
I just want it all to disintegrate… down, down, one way down. Thrash the strings and belt it out, inevitable. Building on those ruins, day to day, history is a broken record with a bad sense of humor, and I’m teetering on the edge of my own skewed perception (enlightened as I think it to be.)