i've been told i have to write one of these.now, i have just begun the post and i already have a vital question. what the heck am i supposed to write here? how i've spent my day? just like any other, except i got flowers. how i feel today? not different from yesterday. so i take it that the only thing left to do is... draw a line and sum up. and i hate that. i am a chronic sufferer of high expectations so i always screw up, no matter how high i've reached it's never high enough, and the worst part is i don't even know how high i want to get.
that being cleared... i'm 25 and i feel like i'm 52. i feel i have seen it all and god knows i haven't. i feel like nothing can surprise me and if something extraordinary happens, i'm likely to greet it with a raised eyebrow and spoil everyone's fun about it. there's this romanian poem that goes 'i don't shatter the world's corolla of wonder'. well, i do, with every thought i think. i imbue every thought with pessimism and sarcasm just so i can be prepared. and then i get the satisfaction of i-told-you-so's or of sighs of relief.
i shatter the wonder of each new day with my sarcasm and my lack of faith. in god, in the world, in truth and justice, in people, in myself. interactions tire me to exhaustion - from the paper vendors, to people at job, to family, to close friends - i only pay enough attention to throw in two lines. i don't really care about what they say, what troubles them, what they ask of me. i just want to lie down and be. just like that - standing still in space and time. i've built a double scale of appreciation of people and things according to that. on the one hand: anything that doesn't bother me in any way - good; anything that interferes with my stasis - bad. on the other hand, i know that this is so fucking wrong and such a waste of life and breath. and the part of me that knows that has another measure of value: anything that lets me indulge in this slug-like existence - bad; anything that kicks my ass into movement once in a while - good.
and i want and don't want to get out of this. and if i force myself to think, t
o really think things over i come to the same results over and over again. and i go back to my shell and yet again start counting time. hours till i go home, days till my next day off, weeks till the holiday, years till retirement. and i realise i am counting my given days away, counting myself nearer to death and... god, i'm only 25. happy fucking birthday.image: bloddy-earth
1 comment:
can't say i don't understand how you feel. and that's exactly why i hope you wont feel like this in the future. you have things you like. hold on to them.
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