We all try to define ourselves. You can find this exampled in a friend's Facebook interests & likes. Yeah, I'm not even talking about when we fabricate a short essay under the About Me section. We relate to others by finding things in the world that we enjoy, and perhaps that someone else has heard of. Many try and find things they think others will not have heard of. But someone always has.
Maybe we want someone to know our deep devotion for emotional lyrics in songs, so we list Hawthorne Heights, or maybe we want to show intelligence and being well-read, so we put Camus. I hope we know I was at least half-joking, and your job's to figure out who or what. It's not like I had a point anyways; I'm typing with my eyes closed.
I don't know. We try and have conversations based on opinions, without going primitive on the opposition, or perhaps we're too lazy so we have an opinionated conversation on the opinions of someone else. So we talk about Marx, or pretend that we've read him. We all have these beliefs, and if smart/dumb(?) enough, we are easily swayed, and anyone can argue for anything, truly. Everything has an argument set for it and there is no answer except for that it's all the answer. I guess that's why we choose a number of things to describe ourselves. I guess that's why we stand for something, so we'll have somewhere to start. You know, those who do not stand for something will fall for anything, but perhaps those who aren't particularly standing for a particular something are waiting til the topic comes up, are waiting to fall for something, because they can see there really isn't a precise answer, so what precisely is the point?
Truthfully(,) not so abstract, I could think of many a good reason to be a minimalist, and many to be a hoarder of wonderful things that I personally enjoy and especially of that I think others might. To have a few classic reads (or is it a few great unread?), or to have a stocked coffee table alone? I could argue for either. Same with abortion, but with both things, I lean more, I guess, to a certain way.
There's never really one answer, but I guess we do all tend to have our own Jiminy.
I mean, we're all terribly different, and all so very alike. So does that naturally make us more alike?
Upon further inspection I realize I stopped culturing myself, my self, a long time ago. I really stopped looking for new bands or new reads, and even when I find myself stumbling for them, I mark them for later and continue on like the ant I am. Or is it a bee?
I realize the likes that seem to be large trends in my age group, the dropped names, and whereas I used to would know them, I can only merely recognize them, and while others might would be ashamed and while I have no control really over what I'm typing, I've lost interest and don't particularly care, and I wouldn't say it in a depression sort of the way, but that I've simply stopped looking to define myself, even though I'd like to. Why is that?
Did I make myself more free by perhaps "becoming" more of a sitter, a thinker, a waiter? Actually I lost what I was really trying to say. You know I don't edit these. I ceased being able to describe the things I was strongly into (back in high school?), things that "made" me individual, if so. Say something about yourself, asks potential boss? Well, I'm an avid DC fan, utterly obsessed, and I go to the beach (it's the city lake) every Sunday to read and I got my bachelors in English and I know I'm going to cook this same one delicious dish my mom taught me a long time ago every other weekend when my friends come over and they bring a new foreign film with a festival five stars and I wear my snuggie every morning when I curl up with my coffee and read the Onion.
But no, not really, that's not me at all--in fact, that's not even a good description of a person, but it's even better than I could give of myself, which would sound a lot like: I mostly spend my day...
if it's summer, A. Getting up, ready, leaving far too early for a job I'm too burnt out on, waste various time doing completely nothing with the other bits, perhaps a bit of articles and comics on the ole StumbleUpon and a good many lost thoughts that are probably for the best before bed and repetition all over again.
or, if not, B. Getting up, ready, leaving far too early for a class I'm too lazy to actually read for, having one of the few same conversations with college friends, homework procrastination and typical completion, waste various time doing basically nothing with the other bits, perhaps a bit of articles and comics on the ole StumbleUpon and a good many lost thoughts that are probably for the best before bed and repetition all over again.
That's me, and I'd almost say there's several me's I'd like to be with many an interest at hand, but I'm not really even so sure if that's so true anymore.
Sometimes our passion defines us. So if I don't have one, perhaps I have no definition, much like my face, although not fat, lacks definition, but not freckles. I guess a point would be that I no longer feel accomplished at the end of my day, even as a fourteen year old when I got to read a shit ton of fanfiction before Zzz. I no longer feel satisfied with what I was "excited" to get on with earlier in the day. It's a checklist.
Lord help us all, I found an answer. You may not have taken a word of this, and I'm sure when I wake up tomorrow after this time lost, I won't understand it either, but here's what it came down to: My life is a checklist. I'm really bad with the physical ones, but I'm a success at playing them out. I'm just ready to move on to the next item of the day in pure robotic form without taking any enjoyment, any rosy scent from it.
I've been saying I went from getting super excited about ideas to not even wanting to do them because they wouldn't fulfill expectations, and that usually came true if I went through with them anyways.
It's not that I lost any excitement. I've still got it. It's not really even the motivation and lacking energy I've been blaming it on. I'm constantly ready for the next thing, and that's why I can't make it through even a well-written semi-lengthy paragraph, it's why I was just scrolling through short films that were under ten minutes long when there were probably some much better twenty minute ones.
Wow, I've been turning my life into a job, just the responsibilities, just the packing list for the dorm, not the living in it. And lots of bad analogies, I've been turning my life into lots of bad analogies. My co-worker may call me hipster Socrates for the few wise things I say, but I say a lot of stupid shit. Whew, I really need to slooooooooow down, I'm even typing too fast, I'm always read for the next line...although that could potentially have something to do with biological brain links working a bit faster than my fingers. It's called buffering. I guess this is what they meant, the whole stop and smell the roses, the coffee, whatever. It's not even that I couldn't be happy with what I currently have, but that I'm just not bothering to enjoy it, always ready for the next life event. Fuck waiting for next semester, for waiting for a decent guy, for waiting til 21, for waiting til next year's summer plans or being graduated or living on my own.
I guess there I have it. Fucking enjoy tomorrow when you wake up, shithead. You only get to live it tomorrow. You can live the next fucking tomorrow the next fucking tomorrow.
Hell of a paradox the above paragraph was. I realized it as I type, like I realize I could potentially be living in the past as I think about that. I'm really going to enjoy going to sleep right now.
The title you were waiting for? I thought of something clever halfway through that I was going to insert here and now lost it. I guess that's what they mean by live in the moment.
