Would You Like to Play Again?

I think I need to reset myself. It's been a while since I've spent any substantial amount of time alone, and that's not necessarily a good thing. That's not to say I don't adore the people around me; I do. But, being the type of person who doesn't know how to be around others without trying to gain everyone's attention, I tend to get more crass and obnoxious the longer I go without time alone. It's like time by myself allows me a chance to do things that I enjoy as an individual, and doing those things gives me substance. The more time I spend around other people, the more that substance starts to deplete; I use it up having good conversation and making banter. The less I have, the more self-conscious I get about people finding out and, consequentially, the harder I have to try to hide it. That tends to result in my becoming increasingly crude and obnoxious, classless, if you will. Apparently, in my logic, my increased volume will make people more inclined to listen to what I am saying. And I think I hate it. Therefore, I think that I need to enforce a certain amount of alone time every week. Regardless of what others are doing, my homework still needs to get done. There are books to be read and singing to be practised and poems to be written. Neglecting those is not going to make me happier, and it certainly won't make me a more interesting person to spend time with. I don't know whether I want to be better more for myself or more for other people. Whatever the reason, it still needs to happen. 

My Logic

I do sweet bugger all day long. That's code for "nothing". No really, I am a champion procrastinator. I'm sure you already know that though. It seems to be a theme within these blogs. Me whining instead of actually doing anything to resolve the issue. However, I come to you on this fine morning not to complain, but to validate. Because I have officially come to terms with the fact that I'm always going to be the type of person who works best at the last minute, who works best in the dark.

My whole world is awake during the day. The people that I interact with face-to-face are up and about, the Sun is shining (on those precious days when the rain doth not tumble), and there is much to experience. Why would I spend those bright hours doing work? I can do work just as well when the rest of the world is asleep, and then I can do it without missing out on the reading of The Philosopher's Stone happening in the quad.

I can handle being a little sleep deprived. Yes, I know it's rude to doze off in class. Yes, I know that it's not particularly fun to feel like your eyes are too big for your head. But it's manageable. And in return for losing some sleep, I get to spend time with the people around me, get grades that won't warrant my father slapping me across the face, listen to a bit of slam poetry, and maybe even do something spontaneous.

So as I see it, while sleep would feel good, it wouldn't feel as good as it does to be awake.

I'll Take My Data Plan in an I.V. Please

If you want to be somewhere else, be somewhere else. If not, put down your phone, and be where you are. You don't need to check Facebook at dinner. "Nobody's talking to you." you say? Well, maybe they would be if they thought that you were at all interested in what they had to say. Maybe you should actually engage in the conversation, and jump right in there when you actually have something to contribute.

Unless someone close to you has just been admitted to the hospital in critical condition, there is no need for you to be checking your phone for updates while you are spending time with another person. And if that's the case, why are you not at the hospital right now? Get your priorities straight.

Whatever you are texting about, there is a very good chance that it is not nearly as important as you think it is, and that it can wait the twenty minutes it will take you to eat dinner and show the people around you that you actually give a shit about them. If it really can't wait-if you need to solidify plans RIGHT THIS INSTANT OR THE WORLD WILL IMPLODE-then at least try to be discreet. Keep your phone in your lap, type fast, and make up for it afterwards by not gazing around like an aloof asshole, just waiting for your phone to ring or buzz or beep again and distract you from the obviously inferior company surrounding you.

It's called a watch. Checking it when you have somewhere to be is much less obnoxious than staring at the digital clock on your phone.

Too much or not enough

I have this story that I really want to write.

I think that it's a good idea, and that it could be wonderful and unique with the proper touch of a pen. But I don't know how to write it. I don't know how to progress plot in a way that is compelling and I don't know how to think things through and I don't know how to focus on one thing long enough to grow with it and improve it and make it perfect.

I'm afraid that I'll never be able to. I'm afraid, so I don't try. I'm lazy. I'm scared and I can't and I won't.

It's the "I won't" that upsets me the most. Fear can be conquered. Inability can be overcome through education and effort. But unwillingness to try? That cannot be fixed. Wait, typo. What I meant to say was "That cannot be fixed by anyone but me". No person can instill in me the will to try. My parents can pay for my education. A teacher can show me a plethora of ways to approach what I am doing, introduce me every skill they possess. A friend can encourage me and support me and tell me to get over myself and just write the damn thing. But only I am able to want to try. And that scares me.

Maybe once I've gone to school for a while, I'll feel more capable, more worthy of writing something. Maybe I'll stop giving up whenever what I'm writing feels more like a self-indulgent diary entry, and instead know how to start over from a different angle. Maybe I'll be able to differentiate cheesy and pretentious and trite from poetic and deep and true. Maybe I'll write to impress myself, and not anybody else.

Maybe I'll get over myself and write the damn thing.

Seconds turn into years, and then you're all like "Whaaa? Where am I? Why do my fingers smell like soup?"

It is distinctly unsettling to wish your life would go by faster.

It's one thing to have goals for the future for you to work toward in order to make yourself as happy as possible. It's another to wish away what you have right now by continuously thinking that the future will be bring you divine satisfaction, and therefore the present is somehow inferior.

Your life is every second you are alive, not just the memorable moments.

 If you are at work, that is your life right then. Regardless of how mind-numbingly mundane life feels for the duration of that shift, the only way it will be a waste is if you allow yourself to adopt the mindset that you should just "wait for it to be over". That is literally saying that you do not wish to be present for every moment of the oh-so-limited time in which you are bestowed with the privilege of consciousness. You could not possibly be so audacious. You are most likely there to make money so that you can be a functional member of first-world society. You have to be there, for all intents and purposes. That job may not be the first thing you would wish to do with your time. It may not even be on the list. But you are there. And wherever you are, it is important to be present. Smile at people. Tell somebody what you like about them, for no reason other than giving them permission to do the same thing for somebody else. Compliments from people who don't owe you anything are usually the most genuine. Be aware of the thoughts inside of your own head. If there aren't any, think some. Sing songs to yourself. Feel yourself breathe. Whatever you do, don't wish for that time to be over. All of those tiny bits of time that you bide away being dissatisfied add up, and if you're not careful the compost under the sink will get clogged with all of the seconds you mistook for rotton carrots. And then the sink will explode, and your kitchen will flood, and there will be a mess everywhere. And you wouldn't want that, would you?  

Irrationality

I have this fear that, one day, I'll turn my back to my parents, only to find that while I wasn't watching, they transformed into their true selves, two monsters staring back at me, faces identical to those I love but with eyes reflecting gleeful malice like shattering glass in a hurricane. I fear that I have placed my trust in two time bomb spiders, biding their time for years, nearly two decades, crouched in position, rubbing hairy pincers together in hungry anticipation, drooling through their fangs, weaving my infallable reliance on them until they have enough fabric to smother me, capture me, throw a dinner party. Make sure to use the good china. Forks on the left. Use red wine glasses for blood. Charming.

I can't look at mirrors when it's dark out. An irrational brain has convinced unreliable eyes that my face will melt off its bones, that who I see will gesture and blink of her own accord, that she will be the one with dagger cheekbones and hook eyes that pierce with barbs; that she will walk out of her frame, have her own reflection in that mirror. I'm torn between removing my eyes from their sockets as I run out of the bathroom, and forcing them to prove me wrong.

Flicker

The world can be truly beautiful if you catch it at the right moments, like the tiny hint of a smile caught in the reflection of a mirror, the twinkle in her eyes so quick you have to wish on it.

Street lights will go out precisely when you need to see the stars.

When the moment comes, take it, without urgency. Allow it to dissipate at will. It will come back.