It’s time to start writing again. Words have lost their grip on me. A rapture that once encased my heart and detailed twinges of surfaces motions has sunk to the depth of my lost treasure box. All the desirable “pleasures” of things I partake of with delight. Not the blighted things that ruin my ease and eat at my being. Not those things that I can easily categorizes as ravenous time eaters, laying waste to my existence. -“In an effort to pass time, I lost too much” is a thought that runs rampant through my head when I take the time away from that which is molding (and laying waste to) my mind. It saddens and pains me that I spend so much of the time stuck in the same rutted routine of living, as if life hasn’t truly started yet and I’m waiting for something to come and happen to jumpstart everything. But what is it that I do in waiting (you may ask) nothing that is in the least satisfactory, in my directionless life. Something has to change or nothing will change. Being no master of fate, the only foreseeable thing to alter is I. Not such an easily obtained prerogative. I have tried so many times with a great rate of failure. It is a bitter grapefruit to my being. (I don’t like sour grapefruits, they displease me)
The main thing I attempt to go against foremost is my lifestyle: sleep habits, hygiene, time spent on mindlessness (computer, TV, other sources of mindless entertainment), being more timely (no more procrastination!), building deeper relationships, stemming off laziness
Leaving without so much as saying a word, without leaving any other means of communications, I find it to be a strange action. Then again I don’t know what to entirely expect for the differences in the ways we spent our most informative years of youth. So strikingly different are the two of us… I don’t profess to understand much of anything anymore. Anything less than the feeling of clay and it bends to my will and hands as I mold it into to shape previously foreign to it. Even that is not truly known to me, as the clay resists every action I force upon it as I attempt to find a common ground of compromise that we will end up on. It is not until I make a superior piece that I realize the flaws in its predecessor. Even then, it is only superior until the next piece. There is so much more I want to know, so much more to know, much more than I could ever know. It is the choice as to what I want to invest the rest of my life into getting to know.
“How do you feel when you can’t feel nothing?”-Crystal Castles. Sometimes I feel so detached from anything more than surface emotions. I seldom pause to question whether this is normal or because of some reluctance to attach to anything that could cause me more harm. I don’t like dwelling in this place of unknowing because it stresses and grieves my senses.
-till next time!
P.S. My goal for this is to write at least once a day, if at all possible until I go on my trip to New Zealand.
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