Uh... yeah...
Dear Almanac,
Would you believe that I was well on my way to dreamland, but I had forgotten to turn down the volume of my phone’s ringer, and to my misfortune, it went off, notifying me of a new email I received. Needless to say, the email I received was absolutely pointless, and not worth getting startled out of my journey into blissful sleep, but what’s done is done. Now I lay awake in bed, envious of Prieto who, despite spending 90% of his day sleeping, is carelessly sleeping once again to his heart’s content next to me. I wish I had the power of a cat to sleep regardless of noises, or however many hours I had already slept throughout my day.
That’s beside the point of writing this entry, however. Right now I am just… well, I’ve had a lot in my mind. But before I continue, my beloved Almanac, please keep in mind that this entry will be incoherent at best. Right now I doubt I have the energy to write anything that makes sense. At any rate, returning to the topic at hand: I’ve always had a lot on my mind, but I keep wondering if what’s happening to me is that, as the days go by, the more complicated my life becomes. I wonder if I’m the one that’s complicating it, or if this is something that everyone goes through. I used to think that, all things considered, I knew all I needed to know given my age, and the things I had experienced to date, but that is no longer the case anymore. Or, well, that statement is not necessarily accurate. You see, it wasn’t that I knew all I needed to know; it was more that I knew a lot of things, and although there was a lot more that I could learn, I really wasn’t that much in hurry to learn them. Is that what you call blissful ignorance? I don’t think so, but there may be some truth to that. Like I said, I don’t expect to make much sense when I’m sleep deprived and my mind is swirling with God knows how many different thoughts a second. The point is that as of late, I haven’t been as complacent as I used to be. On the contrary, it’s been nearly impossible to satiate this sudden hunger for knowledge, and just… I feel like I want to digest so many things, but… I’m just one person… with one brain that can only handle so much. What’s worse, I want to veg out as much as I want to learn; I want to sleep as much as I want to read; I want to run as much as I want to sit. At this point, my life seems to make little sense, and this frustrates me to no end. I try to be pragmatic about things, but I end up frustrating myself even more because, even if I’m being practical, my impatience is hell-bent on not allowing me to appreciate my efficiency in getting things done. I think of the adage (if it can even be called that) my drill sergeant used to say when I was in basic training-“Slow is smooth, smooth is fast”-but his wisdom has been failing me lately, and it sucks! It sucks absolute balls.
This state of chaos-when looking at it from a rational perspective, I suppose-seems absolutely ridiculous, and well… pointless. How can I desire sleep so much but want to read pages on end, or how can I run mile after mile when I just want to sit on my ass all day? What’s worse is that I don’t want to make up my mind about what I want to do. I know what the better option is, and I know that if done in moderation, a lot of things in life are possible, but lately I’ve been making the worse choise: doing nothing. Sleeping and sitting down to think about the things I want to do, but don’t will myself to. And given this problem, the sensible part of me urges me to be reasonable, to continue following the system of living my life that I’ve been following up to this point because it is effective, because I’ve accomplished a great deal with it so far; because if I continue with it, I will continue to succeed in my endeavors and so on and so on, because if I don’t, then I’ll turn out being the kind of person I have no respect for: an absolute nobody with nothing to show for. However, the irrational, rebellious side of me has something completely different in mind. It is tired. It has had enough of routines, of lists, of goals, of rules, of living in a constant state of repression because the bigger picture is what matters in the long run, and because routines, lists, goals, rules and whatever is what makes me function like a semi-normal human being and stop me from being that nobody that I would hate to become. But this rebellious side of me is persistent. It claims it just wants to live. It just wants to be free. It just wants to act without having to consider the consequences of whatever actions it may indulge in.
Then I realize that, whether I’m willing to admit it or not, I’ve always been in a constant state of chaos. The difference is that I’m good at suppressing it; I’m good at pretending this problem doesn’t exist, or at least keeping it somewhere in the back of my head where I don’t have to think about it. After all, who cares, right? As long as I get where I want to be, the problems can take a back seat, because shit needs to get done-the big picture is what’s important! But… do I even really want to be where I think I want to be? I like to think I know where that place and/or state of being is, but ask me right now, and I’m guaranteed to sit back, and think of a response for hours on end, and still not come up with a solid answer, and that’s because I really don’t know. I only have bits and pieces of dreams… bits and pieces of passion… but never the whole… thing… I guess. It’s disappointing when I face this reality. It’s… so dejecting and, well, depressing and pathetic. I really do try not to think about it this way. I tell myself again and again to not think about it this way, that the fact I have nothing should in fact encourage me to find what that dream and passion is. Sometimes it works; I believe my own words, but deep down inside, a part of me tells me that I’m just lying to myself, that I know better, and thus I can never truly be content.
I am not giving up, however. Even if for that one split second I wonder if my life really has any meaning only to stop myself from considering this thought any further, I know there is something out there for me that I must do, that I am here for a reason beyond what I have planned for my life. I know I have a purpose, even if I haven’t figured it out. If I don’t figure it out, if I reach old age still trying to find out what that is, then it is not a life in vain. Despite the frustrations that rebellious side in me awakens day after day, I at least know that it is there for a reason, if anything but to keep me awake, even if lazily awake, it is there to keep me on my toes, and not let my life pass me by.
I’m not giving up. Come what may, I’m not giving up.
Would you believe that I was well on my way to dreamland, but I had forgotten to turn down the volume of my phone’s ringer, and to my misfortune, it went off, notifying me of a new email I received. Needless to say, the email I received was absolutely pointless, and not worth getting startled out of my journey into blissful sleep, but what’s done is done. Now I lay awake in bed, envious of Prieto who, despite spending 90% of his day sleeping, is carelessly sleeping once again to his heart’s content next to me. I wish I had the power of a cat to sleep regardless of noises, or however many hours I had already slept throughout my day.
That’s beside the point of writing this entry, however. Right now I am just… well, I’ve had a lot in my mind. But before I continue, my beloved Almanac, please keep in mind that this entry will be incoherent at best. Right now I doubt I have the energy to write anything that makes sense. At any rate, returning to the topic at hand: I’ve always had a lot on my mind, but I keep wondering if what’s happening to me is that, as the days go by, the more complicated my life becomes. I wonder if I’m the one that’s complicating it, or if this is something that everyone goes through. I used to think that, all things considered, I knew all I needed to know given my age, and the things I had experienced to date, but that is no longer the case anymore. Or, well, that statement is not necessarily accurate. You see, it wasn’t that I knew all I needed to know; it was more that I knew a lot of things, and although there was a lot more that I could learn, I really wasn’t that much in hurry to learn them. Is that what you call blissful ignorance? I don’t think so, but there may be some truth to that. Like I said, I don’t expect to make much sense when I’m sleep deprived and my mind is swirling with God knows how many different thoughts a second. The point is that as of late, I haven’t been as complacent as I used to be. On the contrary, it’s been nearly impossible to satiate this sudden hunger for knowledge, and just… I feel like I want to digest so many things, but… I’m just one person… with one brain that can only handle so much. What’s worse, I want to veg out as much as I want to learn; I want to sleep as much as I want to read; I want to run as much as I want to sit. At this point, my life seems to make little sense, and this frustrates me to no end. I try to be pragmatic about things, but I end up frustrating myself even more because, even if I’m being practical, my impatience is hell-bent on not allowing me to appreciate my efficiency in getting things done. I think of the adage (if it can even be called that) my drill sergeant used to say when I was in basic training-“Slow is smooth, smooth is fast”-but his wisdom has been failing me lately, and it sucks! It sucks absolute balls.
This state of chaos-when looking at it from a rational perspective, I suppose-seems absolutely ridiculous, and well… pointless. How can I desire sleep so much but want to read pages on end, or how can I run mile after mile when I just want to sit on my ass all day? What’s worse is that I don’t want to make up my mind about what I want to do. I know what the better option is, and I know that if done in moderation, a lot of things in life are possible, but lately I’ve been making the worse choise: doing nothing. Sleeping and sitting down to think about the things I want to do, but don’t will myself to. And given this problem, the sensible part of me urges me to be reasonable, to continue following the system of living my life that I’ve been following up to this point because it is effective, because I’ve accomplished a great deal with it so far; because if I continue with it, I will continue to succeed in my endeavors and so on and so on, because if I don’t, then I’ll turn out being the kind of person I have no respect for: an absolute nobody with nothing to show for. However, the irrational, rebellious side of me has something completely different in mind. It is tired. It has had enough of routines, of lists, of goals, of rules, of living in a constant state of repression because the bigger picture is what matters in the long run, and because routines, lists, goals, rules and whatever is what makes me function like a semi-normal human being and stop me from being that nobody that I would hate to become. But this rebellious side of me is persistent. It claims it just wants to live. It just wants to be free. It just wants to act without having to consider the consequences of whatever actions it may indulge in.
Then I realize that, whether I’m willing to admit it or not, I’ve always been in a constant state of chaos. The difference is that I’m good at suppressing it; I’m good at pretending this problem doesn’t exist, or at least keeping it somewhere in the back of my head where I don’t have to think about it. After all, who cares, right? As long as I get where I want to be, the problems can take a back seat, because shit needs to get done-the big picture is what’s important! But… do I even really want to be where I think I want to be? I like to think I know where that place and/or state of being is, but ask me right now, and I’m guaranteed to sit back, and think of a response for hours on end, and still not come up with a solid answer, and that’s because I really don’t know. I only have bits and pieces of dreams… bits and pieces of passion… but never the whole… thing… I guess. It’s disappointing when I face this reality. It’s… so dejecting and, well, depressing and pathetic. I really do try not to think about it this way. I tell myself again and again to not think about it this way, that the fact I have nothing should in fact encourage me to find what that dream and passion is. Sometimes it works; I believe my own words, but deep down inside, a part of me tells me that I’m just lying to myself, that I know better, and thus I can never truly be content.
I am not giving up, however. Even if for that one split second I wonder if my life really has any meaning only to stop myself from considering this thought any further, I know there is something out there for me that I must do, that I am here for a reason beyond what I have planned for my life. I know I have a purpose, even if I haven’t figured it out. If I don’t figure it out, if I reach old age still trying to find out what that is, then it is not a life in vain. Despite the frustrations that rebellious side in me awakens day after day, I at least know that it is there for a reason, if anything but to keep me awake, even if lazily awake, it is there to keep me on my toes, and not let my life pass me by.
I’m not giving up. Come what may, I’m not giving up.