Skip to main content

Can I turn it off now

Can I turn off this mind that's always figuring
Can I quit being interested in every word that's spoken, every bit, every piece, every clue about every human being
Can I stop being obsessed with what it all means
What this part means and this part
It has gotten to the point where I can't be offended by anything anymore because I'm caught up in the cultural ramifications
I can't be interested in anything because I am obsessed with why I am interested
Asking me to fill out an about me and I can just put a <3

Actually that's not true, I am just going through this change
This deep figuring
I thought about deleting this blog weeks ago and all of a sudden I can't stop posting

I am interested in plenty of stuff
I am obsessed with YouTube people
Blogging people
Etsy people
An artist, a musician
I have no idea who famous people are any more
Screen name people are a common subject at my dinner table

I read an interesting article about Gen Y, actually it grouped me in with them, while Strauss and Howe don't, don't agree with all of it, it seems like every time I read real published news it's obviously exaggerated or slanted and I am repelled. I don't know why I was so intimidated about being a real journalist, they need smart, discerning people who can write well.

I share some characteristics with X and some Y, really 50/50. The Y work ethic, I don't quite have that. I like it, but I have the X mentality of never feeling like I can do better, and I better do as well as I can if I want to even survive. Asking my company for a nap room, that's amusing, but my concern is survival, physically and emotionally.

Popular posts from this blog

Snow White and the Prince

I dreamed in darkness, cold and alone. Phantasms shifted around me, frightening me, but I was powerless to escape them or even move, as I was sealed in a casket. I thought of the Queen, my Stepmother, and tears dripped from my eyes as I considered the quasi-poignant moments we had once shared, when we might have been considered to be close, when the Queen had nearly been a mother to me, and the face of love had shone radiantly upon me, before eclipsed again by the storms of Venus. I thought of the huntsman, stung to consider that my only friend had been poised to betray me, to kill me, and again in my mind I felt the horror of his shadow, of waiting while he came behind me, knowing there was no escape for me from a death he would inflict. My heart lifted as images of the Prince entered my mind, his grace atop a white-maned horse, always out of my reach, just beyond the words I longed to speak. If only there had been more time for us to fall in love. He might have saved me from those...

Where does it lie

I look out onto the yellow and brown vegetation beneath my window, at the castle-like buildings far away and wonder where do I lie in all of this? There was a time when I was unfettered. This was a time before I entered the working world, before I was independent. My heart was free as a bird when I was in college. I did not know what happiness I experienced in my creativity because I had never known different. In other aspects of my life I knew pain but my stories, sprung up lately from a gothic mist into an immersing Pre-Raphaelite painting, were a richness and the most beautiful thing I had ever known. That the most beautiful thing I knew to exist happened inside of me made me very happy, even though I didn't know it. Now I know the sun is setting, even though I can't see it, because the bank of brown, twisted trees and shrubs is lit gold, like a reflection from a golden chalice. Slowly, slowly it will fade until everything is a homogenous, uncertain gray. This is the nightma...

The day was described as unseasonably warm

The day is so beautiful, but I do not feel beautiful. I feel like a void. The world will not be any more beautiful if I go into the park and enjoy the sunshine. The birds will still sing whether I go or stay, and this person does not seem capable of feeling any kind of happiness. I have been going through old entries, and find the same things I have always found when doing this. I have the same feelings and interests as I always did, I feel the same pressures and struggles as ever. I have been tagging things, but it is a never-ending task. I have nearly 800 posts in this journal alone, to say nothing of paper journals and other notes on the Internet. I thought I would organize my notes because I do not feel capable of imbibing any kind of information or communicating anything of importance. However, I am tired. I did not sleep well last night. It is as though at some point years ago I lost some sleep, and I have been losing it ever since. I have a strange, lost feeling when I thi...