A Journal of Sorts
time flies when there's no time to pay attention to it there was so much to say this day just like every other day but it is gone forever and you wouldn't understand this is not what was planned at least not here... the journal time has been sacrificed for a lot of reasons... probably the first reason is there's nobody in daily life inspiring writing today... nothing in my daily wanderings leads me anywhere near journalling or written creativity... beyond this, there's no space to call my own, no less a writing space... borrowing electric outlets and chairs and such in crowded space where much distraction pulls every which way but towards the writing doesn't help... I've even picked up a pen and scribbled some, but I'm not sure where I put those writings at the moment... the car or one of my bags, I hope... otherwise more words are lost... nobody mournes the losses anymore... at least not here... and the sharing matters less and less to me... I feel a light mist of complacent melancholy these days instead of the deep agony of hunger and dark cloud of depression over not sharing... is it an egocentric smile or a different form of madness that allows me to rise above the broken glass of shattered dreams and unfulfilled desires these days... it wouldn't be maturity, would it?... it feels like a good thing because it feels good (well, on the positive side of the scale... kind of like the feeling of resolution to live as well and as happily as possible even after losing or watching someone you love die)... giving up on humanity?... accepting the obvious reality that the time passed is now the past and can not be lived again, so the dream is severely truncated at best if it ever comes true... alas and sigh and all... and while the deepest dream is still to share everything with someone who cares enough to understand everything (or at least always try to), you can't always get what you want (or something like that)... I miss music too... physical discomfort is the primary obstacle... no place to write in the usual comfortable positions (prone and desk-chair)... and no privacy to write in any position anywhere except for brief moments (cuz there's no time to go anywhere)... this is the most draining thing of all... working 100 hours a week, no comfortable sleep or rest place, no space of my own, haphazard eating habits, no workouts or runs, and a lack of creative inspiration (not just music, but oh, it's been so long since I've renewed my fluids) are all reasons to be tired... so much is missing, but not writing is the main drain... the brain rejuvenates through written expression... it's the second best way I know (the best way requires another person who understands and we've already semi-lamented and sorta shelved that subject today)... so the world misses out on the me I could be now... and maybe forever (or at least through this lifetime)... maybe I'm just too far ahead (or behind) the times... or maybe the worth I feel and see in me is not the reality in the universe after all... it's mine though, so it doesn't really matter after all... I can smirk if I want to even if nobody's around to share the smile J |
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