Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Everything feels oddly inadequate

I used to think traveling was over-rated and I'm starting to wonder about that. It would be nice to get away. I am starting to feel like I am trapped in a nightmare. Not in a super scary sense. More like a vague horror. Not like how little kids all tend to dream something big is chasing them and wants to kill them - be it a monster truck with sharp teeth or a giant rubber ducky or a tiger escaped from the zoo (a more realistic dream?). Sad, but this blog is the only outlet for me right now and I am going to stay up as late as I can and just write to try and make time feel longer and try to make things make sense. I made a few hurried sketches but by the time I get home from work, eat or whatever, it's too dark to photograph them. Ah, work ... has been discouraging these past 2 days. Where do I even begin to tell about the discouraging-ness of work?

Everything is happening too slowly! I feel like I'll be old before I can ever really enjoy anything. And maybe when I'm old I will have lost something essential where I won't even be able to --- ?

What is it to be 'old' and 'young'? I was thinking about this on the subway. The most frustrating thing is how I think about a certain topic, but when it comes time to try and write it down, there's no way to capture it. There's too many threads and pathways and I don't know how to organize it into one coherent thing. Is it when you stop being able to step outside of a certain system? When you stop being an outsider. When you accept imperfect systems and melt to become a part of them.

It's scary when people start to seem like clockwork. I think I've been wearing a uniform for too long. I don't want to get into that. The whole complaining about work thing. Who really wants to hear it, we all have things we can't stand about our jobs. It's just a part of life. I can't keep creating these Utopian scenarios in my head where I am the focal point and recipient of apologies, appreciations, amazement, and praise.

Maybe being young is to never stop trying to create a world of your liking using existing materials, even knowing that it's been tried and done before, but still believing that you'll be adding something new just because it's you.

I would really like to paint a giant picture again. Even though the last one I painted got stuffed in the garage after I moved out. There's always impermanence. Especially with paintings. Colors fade, papers get dusty, wrinkled, or lost. The Internet preserves it somewhat, but it's not the same as always having the real, original thing in its freshly created condition. Sad as that is, I still want to make a giant painting.

This is a good kind of writing. I am starting to feel better. Sometimes the more I write the more depressed I get until I just wind up deleting everything and going to sleep.

Doesn't it seem like life has all these informal initiations? Like bat mitzvahs, sweet sixteens, signpost parties or whatever. It's like older people don't fully accept someone younger as one of their own until they've been through one of those horrible homogenizing experiences we all have to go through. Like taking the SATs, or worrying about getting into a good school, or getting their first job and having to submit to the de-individualizing application process and dealing with first job hierarchies ie: getting bossed around and being treated like you're stupid, and then the first full time job, and bills and such. It's like before all that, young kids get treated like crap and bossed around by adults out of some secret hidden resentment of their 'freedom' and lack of responsibility.

Goodnight. I need to brush my teeth now because I ate chocolate and all of a sudden I have the urge to fall asleep and hopefully have pleasant dreams like I did last night.
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