Return Carriage
I'm not sure what to write. I'm typing with my eyes closed, so if there's any problem with spelling or punctuation, oh well.
I came to a realization tonight that, in order for me to fix the problem with me, I need to stop being not me. Lately, I've been realizing that I'm no longer who I was, and that's a problem, because I'm turning into Sarah and Austin and Josh and everyone who I am not.
The drama of life, about which everyone seems to complain, is a necessity for me. Without it, I'm dry and emotionally abusive. I need to feel sadness and pain. Only feeling happiness or boredom or just... satiation... it's not enough for me. My emotions need to be taxed, or they wither and die.
Catharsis.
A lot of the problem comes down to time and priority. I don't feel like I have time, and I don't understand priorities. It's like the concept isn't there. Time really just exists on the momentary level. I look at the clock, and see that it's two a.m., but that doesn't mean anything with respect to the rest of the day. It's just another moment of recorded existence for me.
Telling time shouldn't happen with numbers. I shouldn't look to an alarm clock to understand where I am in the grand scope of history. It should be relative to the experiences people have. I want to be able to tell time relative to the last time I kissed you. Or the last time I touched your hand. The last time I was angry, or the last time I cried. Only those moments should stand out as periods in a long sentence of experience. Two a.m. isn't anything... it doesn't make sense... two a.m. became a moment when I was alone. That moment is how I need to learn to define my life. Not that specifically, but in general terms of experience.
Section One.
Tomorrow will be a waste. A day of recognition for any woman with offspring, but ridiculous all the same. Recognition for something important enough, but a sham, and an obvious one at that. Mother's Day should exist every day of the year, or never. There shouldn't be one day that forces a child to worship their mother for the sake of guilt or pity. But.
Section Two.
If I ever was a good person, I can't remember it. Lately... I've been nobody. A nobody. But nobody that would be worth anything if anything really mattered. The last time I was good... I cared... cared to be anything worth mattering. This doesn't make sense.
cerr << "maybe... if I tried harder... I wouldn't feel so empty...";
What does anything matter, anyway? If you think about life, there's too much emphasis on existence and success. To exist, I have to be somebody. Somebody known. You can't get through life being just another nobody who never ended up anywhere. Think about it. The guy... a bail bondsman... do you know that he exists? He sits in a little office at the corner of 4th and Court, and passersby never even notice. I thought about going to say Hello, but it wouldn't have mattered.
...
But maybe it would have validated his life. If I sat in a little office my entire life and did nothing more than help people to pay to get someone out of jail, an unfamiliar face walking up on their way somewhere else and saying Hello with no other purpose would be confusing, but full of warmth. That man will likely never do anything more with his life. You don't get the job as a bail bondsman if you've got stellar credentials. Promotions aren't an option, either. Likely, he sits there, or goes to bars, and ends up at home to watch T.V. and sleep. Life should be more than that.
I think that the man who runs a Fortune 500 company should be worth as much as the man who chose never to be employed. And I should be the latter. It would be a wonderful existence if I could simply sit in a small room with a window and watch people walk by.
The impossibility of perfection is what makes life a big hassle. You can never have everything exactly the way you want, because that'd be inhuman. Humanity exists to be imperfect. There's a constant cycle of birth and death, and the only thing that really exists in the middle is a lot of walking in circles. Nobody really accomplishes anything with their life, other than being a replaceable cog in the machinery of society. And that's really all society is.
Section Three.
Marxism advocates the differences in society. Everyone has the private variable Class and EconomicStatus. And you can't really change that. They get initialized by the program... Society, that is... and you go on that way until your function terminates. To have it be any different would be a glitch. Glitches happen, but you're not one. Neither am I. I'm a one of an infinite number of cycles in a loop. while (Society == True){Cog.Spin()} Isn't that all it ever is. A birth, physical growth, and some amount of mental growth dedicated to increasing the ability of functioning efficiently, and beyond that just a long time spent wasting away at a job, bent on earning money so you can keep living day after day. And why keep existing? Because you need to keep earning money, otherwise you won't be able to buy your food or clothes. And without your food or clothes, you wouldn't be able to be alive to keep earning money to buy more food and clothes.
Just a loop.
Humanists would say that there's worth in fulfilling your self. I must admit that feeling emotions is a sort of fulfillment. I've been trained to care, though. If I hadn't, I wouldn't. Maybe I'd care about something else.
What if children grew up knowing what would become of them? Would any of them really care to grow up? Would any of them make it that far? If the only thing they had to look forward to was serving someone else for the rest of their life, who would even make the effort?
I wish I didn't care as much. I wish I were unaware of the emotions that a person can feel.
Chapter Four.
What is life for anything? Not even speaking in terms of humanity, but in terms of any living creature. It's all just fuel to drive the set point of the world one more day. Everything's a constant balance of work and birth and death... but to no end. Something needs to change. Something new needs to happen. How can everyone be so comfortable with the futility of moving on day after day toward no goal? A fly lives to give birth and then dies, the young living to eventually give more births then die. Why should they exist? Does a fly have potential to affect the course of history?
Analysis of futility with respect to life is depressing and a worthless circle. I'm tired of walking in circles, dancing around a point that I've made enough times as it is.
I'm glad this will be cut.
I came to a realization tonight that, in order for me to fix the problem with me, I need to stop being not me. Lately, I've been realizing that I'm no longer who I was, and that's a problem, because I'm turning into Sarah and Austin and Josh and everyone who I am not.
The drama of life, about which everyone seems to complain, is a necessity for me. Without it, I'm dry and emotionally abusive. I need to feel sadness and pain. Only feeling happiness or boredom or just... satiation... it's not enough for me. My emotions need to be taxed, or they wither and die.
Catharsis.
A lot of the problem comes down to time and priority. I don't feel like I have time, and I don't understand priorities. It's like the concept isn't there. Time really just exists on the momentary level. I look at the clock, and see that it's two a.m., but that doesn't mean anything with respect to the rest of the day. It's just another moment of recorded existence for me.
Telling time shouldn't happen with numbers. I shouldn't look to an alarm clock to understand where I am in the grand scope of history. It should be relative to the experiences people have. I want to be able to tell time relative to the last time I kissed you. Or the last time I touched your hand. The last time I was angry, or the last time I cried. Only those moments should stand out as periods in a long sentence of experience. Two a.m. isn't anything... it doesn't make sense... two a.m. became a moment when I was alone. That moment is how I need to learn to define my life. Not that specifically, but in general terms of experience.
Section One.
Tomorrow will be a waste. A day of recognition for any woman with offspring, but ridiculous all the same. Recognition for something important enough, but a sham, and an obvious one at that. Mother's Day should exist every day of the year, or never. There shouldn't be one day that forces a child to worship their mother for the sake of guilt or pity. But.
Section Two.
If I ever was a good person, I can't remember it. Lately... I've been nobody. A nobody. But nobody that would be worth anything if anything really mattered. The last time I was good... I cared... cared to be anything worth mattering. This doesn't make sense.
cerr << "maybe... if I tried harder... I wouldn't feel so empty...";
What does anything matter, anyway? If you think about life, there's too much emphasis on existence and success. To exist, I have to be somebody. Somebody known. You can't get through life being just another nobody who never ended up anywhere. Think about it. The guy... a bail bondsman... do you know that he exists? He sits in a little office at the corner of 4th and Court, and passersby never even notice. I thought about going to say Hello, but it wouldn't have mattered.
...
But maybe it would have validated his life. If I sat in a little office my entire life and did nothing more than help people to pay to get someone out of jail, an unfamiliar face walking up on their way somewhere else and saying Hello with no other purpose would be confusing, but full of warmth. That man will likely never do anything more with his life. You don't get the job as a bail bondsman if you've got stellar credentials. Promotions aren't an option, either. Likely, he sits there, or goes to bars, and ends up at home to watch T.V. and sleep. Life should be more than that.
I think that the man who runs a Fortune 500 company should be worth as much as the man who chose never to be employed. And I should be the latter. It would be a wonderful existence if I could simply sit in a small room with a window and watch people walk by.
The impossibility of perfection is what makes life a big hassle. You can never have everything exactly the way you want, because that'd be inhuman. Humanity exists to be imperfect. There's a constant cycle of birth and death, and the only thing that really exists in the middle is a lot of walking in circles. Nobody really accomplishes anything with their life, other than being a replaceable cog in the machinery of society. And that's really all society is.
Section Three.
Marxism advocates the differences in society. Everyone has the private variable Class and EconomicStatus. And you can't really change that. They get initialized by the program... Society, that is... and you go on that way until your function terminates. To have it be any different would be a glitch. Glitches happen, but you're not one. Neither am I. I'm a one of an infinite number of cycles in a loop. while (Society == True){Cog.Spin()} Isn't that all it ever is. A birth, physical growth, and some amount of mental growth dedicated to increasing the ability of functioning efficiently, and beyond that just a long time spent wasting away at a job, bent on earning money so you can keep living day after day. And why keep existing? Because you need to keep earning money, otherwise you won't be able to buy your food or clothes. And without your food or clothes, you wouldn't be able to be alive to keep earning money to buy more food and clothes.
Just a loop.
Humanists would say that there's worth in fulfilling your self. I must admit that feeling emotions is a sort of fulfillment. I've been trained to care, though. If I hadn't, I wouldn't. Maybe I'd care about something else.
What if children grew up knowing what would become of them? Would any of them really care to grow up? Would any of them make it that far? If the only thing they had to look forward to was serving someone else for the rest of their life, who would even make the effort?
I wish I didn't care as much. I wish I were unaware of the emotions that a person can feel.
Chapter Four.
What is life for anything? Not even speaking in terms of humanity, but in terms of any living creature. It's all just fuel to drive the set point of the world one more day. Everything's a constant balance of work and birth and death... but to no end. Something needs to change. Something new needs to happen. How can everyone be so comfortable with the futility of moving on day after day toward no goal? A fly lives to give birth and then dies, the young living to eventually give more births then die. Why should they exist? Does a fly have potential to affect the course of history?
Analysis of futility with respect to life is depressing and a worthless circle. I'm tired of walking in circles, dancing around a point that I've made enough times as it is.
I'm glad this will be cut.