(cons & pros)
[Sunday] heralded the surprise arrival of Nicholas Everett. I won't say much, for he is an enigma who deserves his mystery, but I enjoyed his visit immensely. We sat upon a hill and took in the scenery, and thanks to his company credit card we ate food that tips the mind over the edge of sanity into a blissful land of moonshine and camphor. I miss the boy. "Well I guess I brought Portland with me then." Enough said.
[The last two days] have been spent attempting to do something meaningful but failing. I want to know where my resolve disappears to. I know it's not fair to whine about my life like I don't have any control over it; it's a situation born of sloth and poor routine. I understand how I got myself into this shifty mess. How to wrench the stick into a higher gear is another story. It's as if sometimes I see myself from a different perspective doing what I do, and it is easy to see what I should and could be doing. But I can yell at my self all I want and it hardly ever seems to make a difference.
One thing that's been bugging me for months. I have intensely obvious and childish thoughts on an almost regular basis. If anyone were monitoring my brain for signs of intelligence they would give up after about an hour. I hardly ever think consciously about my life or take real time to reflect upon my actions (or inactions). But again, I don't know how to make it better. I'd like to think when I was in Battle Ground that I had an intelligent rapport with my self most days. Yet as I've grown up and moved away the relationship has either broken down or disappeared altogether. And then I have to worry about whether other people will realise that what's really going through my mind is completely mundane and then whatever comes out is something else, and so my train of though is interrupted constantly by hobos getting in the back, construction on the tracks, and robberies of all the valuables the passengers carry inside.
I think the above paragraph is a pretty good example of what I'm talking about. It's an illustration that I don't have much of an idea of anything, and it's becoming readily apparent as I interact with more and more people that do have their ideas about the world and where they fit in. (Here's an afterthought: Or maybe it's that I just love self-analysis. The real problem is that every aspect of said analysis is not grounded in reality. Maybe? Maybe not.)
[Wednesday] has become stressful in 15 minutes. But I'll attempt to circumvent the stress I've so expertly handcrafted by running out into the world and just trying to be. I don't have to be intelligent if I don't want to. I think the problem though is that I do. And then there's that chasm between wanting and being that I've yet to attempt to bridge.
When I smile today it will be you I'm thinking about.
[The last two days] have been spent attempting to do something meaningful but failing. I want to know where my resolve disappears to. I know it's not fair to whine about my life like I don't have any control over it; it's a situation born of sloth and poor routine. I understand how I got myself into this shifty mess. How to wrench the stick into a higher gear is another story. It's as if sometimes I see myself from a different perspective doing what I do, and it is easy to see what I should and could be doing. But I can yell at my self all I want and it hardly ever seems to make a difference.
One thing that's been bugging me for months. I have intensely obvious and childish thoughts on an almost regular basis. If anyone were monitoring my brain for signs of intelligence they would give up after about an hour. I hardly ever think consciously about my life or take real time to reflect upon my actions (or inactions). But again, I don't know how to make it better. I'd like to think when I was in Battle Ground that I had an intelligent rapport with my self most days. Yet as I've grown up and moved away the relationship has either broken down or disappeared altogether. And then I have to worry about whether other people will realise that what's really going through my mind is completely mundane and then whatever comes out is something else, and so my train of though is interrupted constantly by hobos getting in the back, construction on the tracks, and robberies of all the valuables the passengers carry inside.
I think the above paragraph is a pretty good example of what I'm talking about. It's an illustration that I don't have much of an idea of anything, and it's becoming readily apparent as I interact with more and more people that do have their ideas about the world and where they fit in. (Here's an afterthought: Or maybe it's that I just love self-analysis. The real problem is that every aspect of said analysis is not grounded in reality. Maybe? Maybe not.)
[Wednesday] has become stressful in 15 minutes. But I'll attempt to circumvent the stress I've so expertly handcrafted by running out into the world and just trying to be. I don't have to be intelligent if I don't want to. I think the problem though is that I do. And then there's that chasm between wanting and being that I've yet to attempt to bridge.
When I smile today it will be you I'm thinking about.