anxiety ; late night ramblings
okay honestly it's 1.14am now, not 'night' per say (woaw okay boncafe grounded coffee powder is really strong huh...)
but my mental state is of night - so yar night.
look how i'm freely "entering"
like
that.
without having to worry about GLITCHES - INSTAGRAM JUST FIX THAT DAMN BUG.
anyway.
i was looking at my wallet and the first thing that pops up is the McCafe devotee card- hahahah i'm totally NOT a devotee of MCCafe i'm just a obsessed-with-instant-gratification-typical-consumer. I'm the willing victim of consumerism. the consumist culture. the consumist cult. coz collecting stamps is so damn exciting it's like you'll find the light at the end of the tunnel and that light is the free drink itself. NOT. WORTH. IT. (in the economical POV because you're totally trying to alter your price elasticity- making the prices of your drinks less elastic by being a habit-forming good, also attempting to create perceived brand loyalty [i.e. choose mccafe coz i want the free drink over the Starbucks nearby whom i'm a massive fan of], well, also to gain some sort of market power by building your reputation due to the increased demand of your good --> my consumer surplus/ welfar is utterly minimized)
sigh. what is the point of this i don't even know.
i think microblogging and bite-sized narratives so acessible all over the interwebs are debilitating to one's capacity write, to focus, to process information, and to handle complexity.
the negative externalities have certainly outweighed the convenience it sought to provide.
i have anxiety issues when it comes to reading and writing - two very important activities that i prized as my most constant hobbies/pastime/flair (no not really) even as I grow through the years... i feel unexplainably worried/ anxious/ frazzled when i realise i suck at writing (like real stuff, not like tweets or journaling coz obv these are all spontaneous and poorly articulated) or i suck at concentrating when reading/ processing written content.
distractions distractions distractions.
life is so filled with distractions.
whenever i think of reading, this image of 8/9 years old me sitting on the living room couch late in the night reading even as the whole family was already fast asleep fills my mind.
i was a reader but not anymore. now i'm just an information consumer with a short attention span and low tolerance for extended information coz my lymphic system (isit?) that is directly linked to my brain's pleasure centre is begging with hoarse bleatings for instant gratification due to the immediate satisfaction i get from having my curiosity satiated.
i hate this part of me.
the saving grace.
that calms me- theatre.
i think it's like the only entity which requires all the stuff that is essentially difficult to be sustained - hardwork, concentration, extended focus, long periods of repetitions - that i can easily commit to without complaints or the need for immediate pleasure. i'm so focused on creating that perfect piece of theatre nothing distracts, and the process is highly enjoyable, which tires me out of course but the fatigue is one of jubilance not exasperation/ boredom.
sometimes i try to think of it as a... transferable process? like isit possible for me to transfer this attitude/ mindset/ state of mind/ capacity to when say... i'm studying for As, i'm reading something/ writing something. A large part of me is convinced that yes, I can do that but another part of me is almost convinced that it will not be possible because i'm simply not bothered enough to want to train my mind to that extent, you know? these other entities don't matter as much to me as theatre does and because theatre is the entity that holds i don't see the need to fix the other things because there is no larger significance there. i don't know man. the self is the worst at understanding the self. my mind is a squashed up mess of thought traffic with neon signs flashing by as the streams of mind cars speed by ocassionally hearing the buzzing noises on the road desperately trying to get the cars to stop and sometimes they do but most of the time they don't and when they don't they realise their at the edge of the cliff and it's too late to stop because they are falling...
falling...
then they are gone.
but my mental state is of night - so yar night.
look how i'm freely "entering"
like
that.
without having to worry about GLITCHES - INSTAGRAM JUST FIX THAT DAMN BUG.
anyway.
i was looking at my wallet and the first thing that pops up is the McCafe devotee card- hahahah i'm totally NOT a devotee of MCCafe i'm just a obsessed-with-instant-gratification-typical-consumer. I'm the willing victim of consumerism. the consumist culture. the consumist cult. coz collecting stamps is so damn exciting it's like you'll find the light at the end of the tunnel and that light is the free drink itself. NOT. WORTH. IT. (in the economical POV because you're totally trying to alter your price elasticity- making the prices of your drinks less elastic by being a habit-forming good, also attempting to create perceived brand loyalty [i.e. choose mccafe coz i want the free drink over the Starbucks nearby whom i'm a massive fan of], well, also to gain some sort of market power by building your reputation due to the increased demand of your good --> my consumer surplus/ welfar is utterly minimized)
sigh. what is the point of this i don't even know.
i think microblogging and bite-sized narratives so acessible all over the interwebs are debilitating to one's capacity write, to focus, to process information, and to handle complexity.
the negative externalities have certainly outweighed the convenience it sought to provide.
i have anxiety issues when it comes to reading and writing - two very important activities that i prized as my most constant hobbies/pastime/flair (no not really) even as I grow through the years... i feel unexplainably worried/ anxious/ frazzled when i realise i suck at writing (like real stuff, not like tweets or journaling coz obv these are all spontaneous and poorly articulated) or i suck at concentrating when reading/ processing written content.
distractions distractions distractions.
life is so filled with distractions.
whenever i think of reading, this image of 8/9 years old me sitting on the living room couch late in the night reading even as the whole family was already fast asleep fills my mind.
i was a reader but not anymore. now i'm just an information consumer with a short attention span and low tolerance for extended information coz my lymphic system (isit?) that is directly linked to my brain's pleasure centre is begging with hoarse bleatings for instant gratification due to the immediate satisfaction i get from having my curiosity satiated.
i hate this part of me.
the saving grace.
that calms me- theatre.
i think it's like the only entity which requires all the stuff that is essentially difficult to be sustained - hardwork, concentration, extended focus, long periods of repetitions - that i can easily commit to without complaints or the need for immediate pleasure. i'm so focused on creating that perfect piece of theatre nothing distracts, and the process is highly enjoyable, which tires me out of course but the fatigue is one of jubilance not exasperation/ boredom.
sometimes i try to think of it as a... transferable process? like isit possible for me to transfer this attitude/ mindset/ state of mind/ capacity to when say... i'm studying for As, i'm reading something/ writing something. A large part of me is convinced that yes, I can do that but another part of me is almost convinced that it will not be possible because i'm simply not bothered enough to want to train my mind to that extent, you know? these other entities don't matter as much to me as theatre does and because theatre is the entity that holds i don't see the need to fix the other things because there is no larger significance there. i don't know man. the self is the worst at understanding the self. my mind is a squashed up mess of thought traffic with neon signs flashing by as the streams of mind cars speed by ocassionally hearing the buzzing noises on the road desperately trying to get the cars to stop and sometimes they do but most of the time they don't and when they don't they realise their at the edge of the cliff and it's too late to stop because they are falling...
falling...
then they are gone.