(no subject)
I am sitting at a pub in Stratford-upon-Avon. It's a beautiful day in an idyllic setting. I am certainly not in an office chained to a desk with a mountain of undesirable work laid out in front of me. There is actually nothing in my head right now, not one significant, neurotic, poetic, obsessive thought. In fact I have been this way for a few months now. Am I officially fat and happy?
Was it that easy? Just find a more enjoyable way to make a living and all that existential angst goes out the window? I still worry about day to day things and I still want more out of life. But more and more I fing myself thinking things like "Wow this is a beautiful park!" or "Man that was the best salad dressing I have ever had!" instead of "Where am I going in life?" or "What is the point of it all anyway?"
Is this a good thing or a bad thing. How can contentment be bad? Although it feels vaguly foreboding like that which I used to rail against as mainstream...Well, at least the neurosis is still there...
Was it that easy? Just find a more enjoyable way to make a living and all that existential angst goes out the window? I still worry about day to day things and I still want more out of life. But more and more I fing myself thinking things like "Wow this is a beautiful park!" or "Man that was the best salad dressing I have ever had!" instead of "Where am I going in life?" or "What is the point of it all anyway?"
Is this a good thing or a bad thing. How can contentment be bad? Although it feels vaguly foreboding like that which I used to rail against as mainstream...Well, at least the neurosis is still there...