Seemingly insignificant activities of today slowly shape who we become tomorrow...
I find myself constantly looking to other people for approval, for guidance. What I should be doing with my life I wonder as I read a few more inspirational autobiographies, people who lived it and then also decided to let us all know about it. From Malcolm X to Adolf Hitler, I thank you for letting me know how you gained your integrity and what I may advise myself not to do with my own.
Yes, there are people outside of us that inspire us but what may dwindle inside my own soul's lining could be likened to a loaf of bread in day-old chicken broth. That's as I feel it; that's my today, certain days of my yesterday, and hopefully not written on my tomorrow. I'm feeling my own lack of integrity because I'm not living the life I picture for myself. Or at least I feel like I should have a job right now, specifically one of the ones others have planned for me. Had I planned it myself, surely I would have reached my goals by now.
Certainly, I'm not doing what appears to be acceptable from the outside view. Alas, "seemingly insignificant activities of today slowly shape who we become tomorrow". Today I did nothing. I barely got out of bed unless you count the turkey sandwich or chasing my hyper cat for two minutes before the thunder rolled into my head and my eyes grew heavy. I lugged my computer into my self-constructed, very solitary confinement of sorts. Except to say that the world all seems to be here: my books, my stamp collection, some rocks, and the internet...
Here emerges the impetus for a blog about REAL things instead of my poetry where I feel I can sufficiently hide my heartache and sarcastic spirit between the lines. Within a poem I can hide my goals and turn my inspirations toward their own internal horizons. With this blog I intend to come out of the closet, spirit alive and pulsing forward like a wave of unleashed water over a breached dam. That's me.
Possibly as a result of this blog my thoughts will bind themselves to the socially constructed world that people who are autistic should be more a part of, this world that I dread bare-footed, comforted from my bed. A world-view made up of a reason to go to the gym; perfectly constructed abs; a job where my modesty hides away like a bashful virgin, saving itself for the one chance to divulge secrets of the inner-circle of my dream-job world. My status may be conveyed at a dinner party where I fall into a perfectly fake and equally aesthetically beautiful conversation with a man that I will eventually take home for no reason other than me thinking it's a necessary step toward evolving into something even more haphazardly and wanton.
So, if you can make it through the endless bout of run-on sentences, the ADD-induced branching of thoughts, the poetic-style imagery when ranting, and many-times over ill-educated bantering, you may find enjoyment; you may find yourself here too. This will be real, my struggles to survive in a new city, my thoughts, my (you guessed it) unchallenged ranting. And from it all, my grammar may improve, my thoughts may derive more meaning and my solitude may become a bit more responsibly embarked upon, if it is possible to embark upon one's solitude (I think so); I may arrive at a job which I love and one where I create value instead of sucking the value into my dreary room with the hours and minutes I sleep away.
I won't spend time talking about what it actually is that I do for work, only I may recall an incident or two as it may happen while I'm on the clock. I just need to find my own unique way, to grow into a balance that fuels my productivity, to see/feel my true self coming out of the woodwork. And then when I find a job that is really me, whether the society I have constructed out of fear accepts it or not, I hope to find a sense of peace and satisfaction.
So, follow me along, if you will. Step into my mind until you find a chord of wings with which to navigate a few bars of your own song.
Oh, please, please, PLEASE promise me you'll keep up with this blog! I love what you've laid out in this paragraph: "
ReplyDeleteHere emerges the impetus for a blog about REAL things instead of my poetry where I feel I can sufficiently hide my heartache and sarcastic spirit between the lines. Within a poem I can hide my goals and turn my inspirations toward their own internal horizons. With this blog I intend to come out of the closet, spirit alive and pulsing forward like a wave of unleashed water over a breached dam. That's me."
I love how bold, uncensored, and open your plans for this blog are. And you have amazing stories to tell, girl. Tell us the stories of your dreams, your confusions, and the bizarre and fascinating people you meet. (Like that guy who made the crazy bamboo art or that woman who accosted you with the Princess Diana thing... Oh, PLEASE tell those two stories here!)
THIS is BEAUTIFUL. Do you know what a huge set of golden balls it takes to write a post like this?
ReplyDeleteI'd say the fact that you're haunted day in and day out by your elusive purpose only means that your purpose IS out there, and it's a doozy.
Just because you can't see it yet, doesn't mean it doesn't exist. It only means the time is not yet right for it to be revealed to you.
Get ready, your life is going to start shaking things up.
I should like to say that, having never allowed anyone to "diagnose" my brain, I am free to consider the unchallenged, irreducable mental branches spinning off endlessly to be perfectly normal, desireable products of being alive.
ReplyDeleteI recommend it. Not pretending-you-don't-have-ADD if you really do. But being a grumpy cunt about where you let people tell you, or where you tell yourself, you're being ADD.
The things you say about the operation of your mind, the reasons you give for trying to put them on paper, and the difficulties caused by a forced linear progression of words -- these I identify with intensely, to the letter. But I am not ADD. Maybe it's strange in me, too. I don't know. But I think it is this hard to write, mean it, and direct it. I'm suddenly grumpy at myself for writing a clever response to your clever blog. This shit is really fucking important. You want a sparring partner for unchallenged ranting? I'm dead serious, let me know. I try to order my friends to interrupt me because I fucking need it and no one even knows how to do it. I finally started wrestling my own mind to the ground. Anyway, screw all that crap about "currently in love with you" and any other clever nonsense I wrote. Unchallenged, unstoppable thought? Is there anything more scarce? Anyway, come bash me over the head if it serves you. I won't sculpt another word for aesthetics and you can't take me home. Or whatever. You're a stranger. But I'm out of patience with myself when I don't go hunting the people whose minds interest me.