If you ask what this is, it's probably an intro phase to my writing binge. This is a stream-of-thought post. I am emptying my Recycle Bin.
Is it only me, or am I always kind of late for most of the important things going on?
Or is it only me who, when I see what's on the plate, would rather go and do whatever else?
I started getting up extremely early, and I would finish most things before dawn, but essentially, I was really bored.
Most challenges are no longer a challenge if you do them long enough.
All my daily rituals started to annoy me, to be honest; maybe it’s time for something new.
I was never comfortable being indoors, but most of my favorite spots don’t actually include a place, but a time I want to be at that place. I don’t really know if that’s normal or not, but I enjoy it and can’t think of anything else that makes me truly feel in the right spot.
The majority of people from my past are somewhere else at this point, or dead. I have little to nothing left from the memories, and the ones I have probably won’t mean much in a few years.
I am just going through the motions and evaluating what to leave and what to delete.
I am deciding which memories will stay and how I will remember people I once knew.
I don’t know which period or decade I could choose that meant anything to me, so I’d rather say I will live in the future instead—no matter how bleak or possibly horrible that future could be.
They say there are alternative futures that have a chance to happen, or will happen. In that case, there are also multiple versions of the past—alternatives we can choose at will and pretend are the only one.
For most of my contacts, I use the word acquaintance, because whoever used that doomed word friends turned out to be absolute shit—or worse.
I have very good relations with my neighbors, a nice family, and I don’t make many issues for the rest.
I stopped making decisions based on logic a long time ago; most things are neither logical nor rational. People are highly irrational beings, and anything related can only exist in that shadow.
Everyone has their own story, and it’s so important that my own got lost in all that noise of everyday murmur; I guess I value absolutely none of it because I can’t connect—it’s not relatable.
I don’t like all that mental state debate; it’s flogging a dead horse—there is no motion in any direction. Things are the way they are; they don’t require a label.
I know, yes, this is such a bland, obvious statement, but is it really? Try to engage. You will see the core of the issues. And suddenly, you are the villain.
I don’t have moments when I am emotionally or mentally drained; I just disappear into some undisclosed space—back rooms.
People started to ask me how I’m so positive, optimistic, always so energetic... while they have so many issues and problems. And they want to share all that garbage with you. Back rooms.
Or call it whatever you like. A place that doesn’t really exist and makes most people really damn uncomfortable.
I don’t have a favorite season—some people like summer, some are crazy for fall. I have an issue with all of them. Too cold, too hot, indecisive, and clinically insane. Here, those are the seasons from my perspective.
I think this—the nighttime in between winter and spring.
Plants get confused, people are shut away in their houses. Saturdays and Sundays are very quiet.
And now, for the closure - what was I doing all this time?
It’s amazing how well things go once you embrace silence.
I chose to do things I love and engage skills that are truly mine, not something I once wished to be long ago.
It’s surprising how things become easy.
