An exercise in futility
It has recently come to my attention that I spend too much time trying to make sense of my emotions.
It's apparently not enough for me to simply think or feel something - I have to dissect the experience to its core elements, pour it into a spreadsheet... and then spend a good while scratching my head to the resulting charts and graphs.
In fact, I spend so much time thinking about how I feel... that frustration typically eclipses the original emotion. Even now, in this very entry, I am dissecting my propensity for dissection... which, as I'm sure you must realize, is quite frustrating.
It's not even that I am, as they say, left brain dominant. No, the truth is that my left brain is overdeveloped from having to hold my right at bay. There are many people and concepts for whom I care VERY deeply. You've seen how embarrassingly patriotic I can be. You've felt my indignation. I'm the very definition of the bleeding heart liberal.
...and you should see me on the rare occasion when I lose my temper.
And yet... and yet... I still feel the need to explain myself! I can't simply allow myself to feel. It all has to be codified, no matter how irrational.
Maybe if I were a skilled poet, or a painter, or some manner of abstract artist, I could find a way to communicate the feeling itself. I could paint a picture, invest it with whatever passion and voila, everyone - including myself - would see it and immediately understand. Great. Fantastic. Now maybe I can sleep.
Aint gonna happen.
It's apparently not enough for me to simply think or feel something - I have to dissect the experience to its core elements, pour it into a spreadsheet... and then spend a good while scratching my head to the resulting charts and graphs.
In fact, I spend so much time thinking about how I feel... that frustration typically eclipses the original emotion. Even now, in this very entry, I am dissecting my propensity for dissection... which, as I'm sure you must realize, is quite frustrating.
It's not even that I am, as they say, left brain dominant. No, the truth is that my left brain is overdeveloped from having to hold my right at bay. There are many people and concepts for whom I care VERY deeply. You've seen how embarrassingly patriotic I can be. You've felt my indignation. I'm the very definition of the bleeding heart liberal.
...and you should see me on the rare occasion when I lose my temper.
And yet... and yet... I still feel the need to explain myself! I can't simply allow myself to feel. It all has to be codified, no matter how irrational.
Maybe if I were a skilled poet, or a painter, or some manner of abstract artist, I could find a way to communicate the feeling itself. I could paint a picture, invest it with whatever passion and voila, everyone - including myself - would see it and immediately understand. Great. Fantastic. Now maybe I can sleep.
Aint gonna happen.