I think that adaptability is a rather underappreciated skill, mostly because it's one not many people possess. Honesty is a hard road; most people do not see their own faults, think themselves infallible to the point where all others are completely marginalized. You can't adapt yourself to being critical towards yourself. Or if are are tuned to be critical, you go over everything with a napalming touch, second guessing your third guesses, accepting blame after blame after blame until the stress weighs you down.
I fall into the latter category, if only because I like the imagine myself as cutting through this rift of time always on the lookout for ways to improve, ways to open my mind, ways to better myself and my experience. It's been over a year since college, and the economy is probably at its worst state for a generation trying to break through that there has ever been. But there is no point to lie; I view the options presented as unacceptable, and as such, would rather be lazy than move forward. Wait it out. Let the economy get better, I think. That rudimentary 30k a year job is out there, like a shining beacon, waiting for you.
Waiting for you to take it to purge your debt in two years.
Waiting for you to live cheaply until I'm in my early thirties, when I will leave the soul sucking and go out like Thoreau wished he could. I'm eying a type writer for just such an occasion, and will learn my way with woodworking tools. Nothing beats the fresh scent of sawdust.
Except the feeling of total freedom.
Over this year, I've grown stagnant. That stagnation has become disdain, onetrackmindedness, any assortment of broken emotive responses that can only be viewed logically from the wreckage it leaves behind. I've been an angry person. Angry at this world. In what was handed to me. In the powerlessness. But most of all, for the fact that it has turned me from the hardheaded, strong willed, intellectually sharp person I had always worked so hard to create to something smooth, something controllable, something that looks at situations where I've been wrong treated but reflected back to myself because...well...who else can you blame but yourself?
I can take the blame for my laziness, for my pickiness, for any number of things. And I've wondered for a time why exactly I come here, why I embrace this part of me, why I always seem to have this effect that, when things draw close, they explode. I've questioned if I ever want to write again. I've questioned whether it would be nice to shove off into the murky deep. Maybe forget the awareness of this and just...move past it.
But I don't want to.
Everything I look at, I can change. I can change it very easily. With a little money, with a little reading, with a little bit of dedication, the dullness of today can be forged into something better tomorrow.
I'm sick of the dull, listlessness of life. I'm sick of the abusive people who pose as friends. I'm sick of feeling myself grow dumber. I'm sick of looking at correspondences as a junkie rather than someone in a position of power. And most of all, I'm sick of the lack of pride I feel looking in the mirror, watching what years of bullshit, nonsensical 'depressions' have lulled me into. Laziness. Outright, outstretched, ignorant laziness.
And I'm sick of it. I'll bleed out if that's what it takes.
I fall into the latter category, if only because I like the imagine myself as cutting through this rift of time always on the lookout for ways to improve, ways to open my mind, ways to better myself and my experience. It's been over a year since college, and the economy is probably at its worst state for a generation trying to break through that there has ever been. But there is no point to lie; I view the options presented as unacceptable, and as such, would rather be lazy than move forward. Wait it out. Let the economy get better, I think. That rudimentary 30k a year job is out there, like a shining beacon, waiting for you.
Waiting for you to take it to purge your debt in two years.
Waiting for you to live cheaply until I'm in my early thirties, when I will leave the soul sucking and go out like Thoreau wished he could. I'm eying a type writer for just such an occasion, and will learn my way with woodworking tools. Nothing beats the fresh scent of sawdust.
Except the feeling of total freedom.
Over this year, I've grown stagnant. That stagnation has become disdain, onetrackmindedness, any assortment of broken emotive responses that can only be viewed logically from the wreckage it leaves behind. I've been an angry person. Angry at this world. In what was handed to me. In the powerlessness. But most of all, for the fact that it has turned me from the hardheaded, strong willed, intellectually sharp person I had always worked so hard to create to something smooth, something controllable, something that looks at situations where I've been wrong treated but reflected back to myself because...well...who else can you blame but yourself?
I can take the blame for my laziness, for my pickiness, for any number of things. And I've wondered for a time why exactly I come here, why I embrace this part of me, why I always seem to have this effect that, when things draw close, they explode. I've questioned if I ever want to write again. I've questioned whether it would be nice to shove off into the murky deep. Maybe forget the awareness of this and just...move past it.
But I don't want to.
Everything I look at, I can change. I can change it very easily. With a little money, with a little reading, with a little bit of dedication, the dullness of today can be forged into something better tomorrow.
I'm sick of the dull, listlessness of life. I'm sick of the abusive people who pose as friends. I'm sick of feeling myself grow dumber. I'm sick of looking at correspondences as a junkie rather than someone in a position of power. And most of all, I'm sick of the lack of pride I feel looking in the mirror, watching what years of bullshit, nonsensical 'depressions' have lulled me into. Laziness. Outright, outstretched, ignorant laziness.
And I'm sick of it. I'll bleed out if that's what it takes.
