Some Assembly Required
I am not, as they say, insane. Not within the realm of the oh-so-delicate framework of this society. I function, I speak, I think. And yet, as time moves forward I find my own thoughts gently mimicking the framework of this society, becoming, namely, delicate. And it is not so much that my mind is so torn, or else worn down; it is not so much that it is failing to operate, it merely seems to have spread so thickly atop the subjects of my hitherto life that it has lost any traceless hope of focus. It matters not that every iota of my will may be bent upon that pinpoint of future recognition; either my will be weak or my mind be strong, but the result is the same: chaos.
It is shocking, is it not, to find that one's entire world may be subject to the state of one's mind? As my thought and intention swirl endlessly as a tilt-a-whirl inside my brain, the very ground before me seems to crumble in anticipation. The events of my life seem suddenly to have taken on a morbid theme; a depressed waltz to a slow and morose march. My eyes seem to have been veiled in cobweb. But alas! I know this to be a fallacy; this downtrodden attitude is but a mere misfortune of my mood. Still though, it is not without evidence. If my life takes on a dismal view, it is nothing to the physical extremities my body has adopted. Insomnia and anemia take their turns in deciding my rest cycle; hunger and thirst; loss of hunger; skin tone discoloration (I need tell you that no persons have taken the liberty of striking my nose, verily, not as of yet; it is merely a physical sign of lack of sleep); and the mark of a, shall we say 'full', schedule has caused the lid under my left eye to twitch randomnly for the past five days. This, of course, leaving me with the satisfaction of knowing that though I still dwell within the realm of sanity, it will not last long.
Ah yes, it is all, I believe, a detail of age. I am getting older, and I feel the carefree days of my childhood (had they been carfree) swiftly floating away from me, and at the same time I feel the weight of my future crashing heavily upon me. The question, of course, is the heaviest of all; if one is not careful it could crush one's spirit into pulp: What am I to do with this future? 'Future', obviously, meaning the span of time from the present until one's death; the 'future' that some refer to as the planning of events and goals within that span of time is the colossal bag of millions of miniscule screws that comes inside the box that has printed on its front "Some assembly required."
That is the challenge of it; trying to assemble one's life from beginning to end with nothing but a booklet of instructions written in Japanese, Korean, Russian, French, and Aborigine, but heaven forbid English. Yet it is required of all, and I feel that the teetering line between sane and insane is subjective. Not from individual to individual, but the context of the word. For instance, I very much believe that the words 'wise' and 'insane' are interchangeable. This may sound farfetched, but apply it to this sentence: "We all grow up to become wise." also to this one: "Bobby commit suicide; he was insane." and you may begin to understand.
It is shocking, is it not, to find that one's entire world may be subject to the state of one's mind? As my thought and intention swirl endlessly as a tilt-a-whirl inside my brain, the very ground before me seems to crumble in anticipation. The events of my life seem suddenly to have taken on a morbid theme; a depressed waltz to a slow and morose march. My eyes seem to have been veiled in cobweb. But alas! I know this to be a fallacy; this downtrodden attitude is but a mere misfortune of my mood. Still though, it is not without evidence. If my life takes on a dismal view, it is nothing to the physical extremities my body has adopted. Insomnia and anemia take their turns in deciding my rest cycle; hunger and thirst; loss of hunger; skin tone discoloration (I need tell you that no persons have taken the liberty of striking my nose, verily, not as of yet; it is merely a physical sign of lack of sleep); and the mark of a, shall we say 'full', schedule has caused the lid under my left eye to twitch randomnly for the past five days. This, of course, leaving me with the satisfaction of knowing that though I still dwell within the realm of sanity, it will not last long.
Ah yes, it is all, I believe, a detail of age. I am getting older, and I feel the carefree days of my childhood (had they been carfree) swiftly floating away from me, and at the same time I feel the weight of my future crashing heavily upon me. The question, of course, is the heaviest of all; if one is not careful it could crush one's spirit into pulp: What am I to do with this future? 'Future', obviously, meaning the span of time from the present until one's death; the 'future' that some refer to as the planning of events and goals within that span of time is the colossal bag of millions of miniscule screws that comes inside the box that has printed on its front "Some assembly required."
That is the challenge of it; trying to assemble one's life from beginning to end with nothing but a booklet of instructions written in Japanese, Korean, Russian, French, and Aborigine, but heaven forbid English. Yet it is required of all, and I feel that the teetering line between sane and insane is subjective. Not from individual to individual, but the context of the word. For instance, I very much believe that the words 'wise' and 'insane' are interchangeable. This may sound farfetched, but apply it to this sentence: "We all grow up to become wise." also to this one: "Bobby commit suicide; he was insane." and you may begin to understand.