Do you ever think you're the only one that gets it, the only one who has real eyes to see, the only one who can feel the hurt that burn and cuts like a knife?
I think most people are swimming in their own self-encased perpetual thinkdoms, where we all think we know more than the person next to us, instead of giving in to the idea that it doesn't really matter so much what we know, but more what we do with it. And more importantly, to realize that the people who stand next to us think the very same thing. So why can't we all get over it and understand that we all live in an ego-driven world where what you do or do not with your time is the most important aspect of living. I think I have been very guilty of not following my own advice, something I dole out with some kind of frequency.
I have moved through life as a ghost at points, painting myself up, masking what really mattered the most, which was the core element of me.
When I was younger there were all these high expectations, the gifted and talented, the countless books, the ...
So I decided to stop writing those pathetic little give-ins anywhere anymore. Things have a way of manifesting when you put all of your thoughts and energies into them. So I have decided not to give in to the obvious difficulties presented to me and just move on. The thing is, my mini-breakdowns are gonna continue to happen, probably even long after I have accomplished what it is I need to do. This is more in sync with the idea that I don't like wasting time, and I have been doing a lot of that.
So I think it is the change that I need the most; in routine, in faces, in my daily reality. New York might be a better place to visit than to live right now. And the complaints people have about Boston primarily involve night life, something I don't partake in too often anyhow.
So I am still working on that and G, my landlord, will be helping me get temp work before I leave, which should rock.
So anyhow, thanks to those who extended their good energy and effort.
I am ok now. A ok.
Off to sneeze and work-
So I was speaking to a good friend of mine about how he refuses to read my journal entries simply because I should be able to tell him what is going on in my life, without him having to read it.
My response was: Well, I wrote it so I wouldn't have to tell you. hahaha.
Another friend of mine commented on liking to read my bme entries because what I wrote about gave him insight into me, and he always knew that if he didn't have time to call me, or things didn't figure appropriately into our lives, that he could read about it.
I wonder what the whole purpose of me writing in this shit is anyhow. No one comments on it. I am not hostile because my words don't hit people with any kind of real force, but because I am like that, a limp flower who isn't really fabulous at anything, but okay at most things.
It's funny. I am one of those people that stands out like a sore thumb when I am out and about, and as J has pointed out, most people do look at me. He commented that he would like to implant thoughts into their ...
