You know that saying, "if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all"?
Nobody ever told my grandma that. I hadn't seen her in a few weeks, so she'd yet to see my hair...and the first thing she said when I jumped into the pew next to her was, "that's terrible!"
Much like the kid behind me who whispered "your breath smells like fish" to his mom...mind you, this was today, not Friday. And then that poor little Southern deacon with his stuttering over "tuh...tuh-nahm-ee."
See? God can be funny.
Man, I'm fool of excuses. I was about to tell you, as I am now, of how I was thinking of all these decent points about half an hour ago...and yet, here I am, on an empty set of tracks, looking for any sign of a caboose or freight car.
I'm about to be incredibly egotistical and quote myself yet again in saying that the happiest person in the world is the most selfish. I promise you that if you truly find the most selfish, he'll be happy as a clam with a cheshire grin stretching from ear to ear.
Maybe I'll add to that and say that his rival would be the most foolish man in the world.
I guess both are hidden--behind cold and naive bars, respectively. Neither of them truly accept reality, so technically they'd be so-called "happy" in another.
Life is so relative.
Life is living through whatever perspective you choose to live it through. Perhaps a mental disease is really only the disability of that choice. But truly...even if you feel yourself faking it at first, live in a certain fashion long enough, acting like you come from a particular mindset...and eventually, you will be, genuinely.
Part of our problem is our pride, you know? We all think our viewpoint's the best. The optimist boasts about their love for life (or perhaps simply doesn't think about it), the cynic sits at her computer, thinking on how lucky she is to see the reality and darkness of the world. One Eve sank her teeth in that fruit and relished that open-eyed knowledge. The other just through the loincloth on and kept dancing.
And you know, as I always repeat, one's no better than the other, it's always about a balance between the two, as with everything else. It's just a shame that we constantly feel like we understand so much more than another, that our viewpoint is, for whatever reason, so much better.
I am the epiphany of cognitive dissonance, hear me roar (see me squirm). I need to learn the difference between that and balance, myself.
How silly I am for thinking my opinion of balance is more right than yours, of perhaps extreme introverted or extrovertedness.
<3<3<3
You know, our world is full of some pretty average to morally-poor people.
It drives me absolutely crazy to put up with so many crazies, and then ever-so-often, find this perfectly good person. And then you have to watch them beat themselves up all the time for any minor error. Their flaw is that they know not of imperfection. It's hard to do. And when it happens, you just want to laugh, toss 'em a beer, and tell them, "if only you knew."
People truly are too hard on themselves, and it's a difficult thing to watch.
Generally speaking, we're hard on ourselves at the wrong times. I want to make myself stop doing this now so I can read an article for class, but I'm doing something remotely productive that I shouldn't really feel guilty for...yet I know the ways of the snooze button oh-too-well, and my fridge reeks. I need to start getting my ill body into wealthy health, but that hasn't happened either. Hancock in the flesh, here.
It's sad how they're all "deadly," but we bare them all, and it would appear my favorite is sloth.
I hide behind excuses as always. This is where my intestines "pop" in: "I have Crohn's disease and I approve this message." So I pray for a little energy that I say never comes. I've got a thirty-pack of batteries sitting on the shelf, yet to be tested on a corroded childhood memory.
<3<3<3
One thing I didn't mention in my last blog was all the signs that I seemed to get about taking that trip...and one of them was an elderly French woman I sat next to during the Woody Allen lecture. Immediately, I was entranced by her. And here she is at her age, going to sexy-movie-talks and taking classes at a public university in the middle of Arkansas, asking me if I was a "part of that black box" because of my hair (shocked was she to know I was a Psych major). Lady was rad.
I'd like to be her.
Oh, the things we want. The lives we want for ourselves. I have a terrible short term memory, or any term memory at that, but I was just watching Catfish (originally I linked that to the trailer but I hadn't heard anything about the "documentary" before seeing it, and just watched the trailer myself, and I think it severely misleads you, so if you haven't seen the trailer yet, I encourage you to see the movie without it), and I'm pretty sure towards the end Vince says something to do with...how to word this...
He asked his wife what she really wanted out of life, something I addressed the other day as not knowing the answer for myself, and she would tell him the family, the home, security, etc. And she had that. And he would tell her that if it was something different that she wanted and didn't have, then she'd certainly need to chase after it.
I guess that's what all this travel on my own-business has been about lately, along with the urge to turn off my cellphone and hide in my room for a while. I'm trying to find a life to chase after. Something that I can be passionate about, my wittle ittle apathetic self.
Sometimes we yearn for specific events of excitement and sometimes we strive for a certain lifestyle.
I see the differences.
I'm not yet quite comfortable and confident in my own skin, so I reside with the latter and envy the ones who merely want the small movements of change alone. But I know it takes life bringing you those events that will allow you to fall into that lifestyle. Something I've been trying to express lately is simply that...you cannot force life. You cannot force [insert adjective] lifestyles. Life's a river and you just need to jump on in and flow with the current. Doesn't mean you can't develop your own doggy paddle.
But I see it. I see the natural and the forced. There's a separation between trying to take control of your life and trying to control it: don't you know that you're merely a human? Especially if what you're trying to force is creativity, which is a very unique and natural thing that can't be fabricated.
Just post the inspirations on your walls and stumble for more. (That sentence could be interpreted many ways by my generation.)
You'll regret the things you didn't do more than what you did. I'm not saying you need to wrangle those hogs down on your own, but if one comes prancin' up to ya...
Why the hell not?
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