No subject.
I really don't know what I sat down here intending to write. I'm listening to AJ being an elitist about video games - seems pretty silly to me. But AJ has to be up in arms about something, usually. I think it's like his safety valve - he argues with people all the time so that the people who actually piss him off don't seem as big or bad.
I don't think I have a real safety valve. I have plenty of mechanisms to delay, or slow down, my insanity (metaphorically speaking), but nothing to really release it.
Maybe I just don't know what releasing is supposed to feel like. Maybe the things that I see as mere escapes are, in reality, coping mechanisms.
Maybe. But I have the feeling, a strong feeling, that I simply don't know what the hell I'm talking about 90% of the time. Even when I'm talking it's usually about something really mundane, or it's a reaction to something someone else has said.
But on the other hand, the 10% of the time that I spend actually talking about challenging issues that I care about, I never get anywhere anyway. So what's the better evil? Is it evil at all?
Someone as sharply critical of oneself as me really shouldn't expect to ever be at peace. There will always be questions, there are always questions, and there have always been questions.
It's to the point where I don't even know what I am if those questions were removed from the picture entirely. My whole identity has become structured and inured with the idea of self-doubt. Perhaps it's just angst. I don't know. There's no one I can really comfortably talk about this to. There are people that I feel really emotionally close to, and there are people that I would feel comfortable talking about anything about. That's no issue.
The issue is actually broaching the subject with them. You see, even with people that I have established comfortable connections with, there is still real life. Mundane, moronic, day-to-day problems still arise. And these issues are so many millions of times easier to bring up and talk about and work through than my own Big Questions.
It's funny how loneliness can be so universal. Apparently, we're all in the same boat, but that boat is miles and miles and miles across and we're all far away from each other on it.
Oh well. I could really go for some weed right now. Weed just makes all this shit disappear for the duration of the high.
It'd be nice if every able-bodied person in the world who wasn't doing something really intense, could get high at the same time. There's a pleasant thought.
That's all I got.
I don't think I have a real safety valve. I have plenty of mechanisms to delay, or slow down, my insanity (metaphorically speaking), but nothing to really release it.
Maybe I just don't know what releasing is supposed to feel like. Maybe the things that I see as mere escapes are, in reality, coping mechanisms.
Maybe. But I have the feeling, a strong feeling, that I simply don't know what the hell I'm talking about 90% of the time. Even when I'm talking it's usually about something really mundane, or it's a reaction to something someone else has said.
But on the other hand, the 10% of the time that I spend actually talking about challenging issues that I care about, I never get anywhere anyway. So what's the better evil? Is it evil at all?
Someone as sharply critical of oneself as me really shouldn't expect to ever be at peace. There will always be questions, there are always questions, and there have always been questions.
It's to the point where I don't even know what I am if those questions were removed from the picture entirely. My whole identity has become structured and inured with the idea of self-doubt. Perhaps it's just angst. I don't know. There's no one I can really comfortably talk about this to. There are people that I feel really emotionally close to, and there are people that I would feel comfortable talking about anything about. That's no issue.
The issue is actually broaching the subject with them. You see, even with people that I have established comfortable connections with, there is still real life. Mundane, moronic, day-to-day problems still arise. And these issues are so many millions of times easier to bring up and talk about and work through than my own Big Questions.
It's funny how loneliness can be so universal. Apparently, we're all in the same boat, but that boat is miles and miles and miles across and we're all far away from each other on it.
Oh well. I could really go for some weed right now. Weed just makes all this shit disappear for the duration of the high.
It'd be nice if every able-bodied person in the world who wasn't doing something really intense, could get high at the same time. There's a pleasant thought.
That's all I got.