It’s getting harder to write.
Not that the spirit is unwilling, although that was the case for years, when the things I needed to talk about most were the exact things I needed distance from. At this point, the flesh isn’t even that weak, but a lack of certainty in which to ground my perspectives has become an obstacle. The biggest sign I’m getting older isn’t the white hair in my moustache, but the recognition that I’ve shed some youthful arrogance that used to feel like wisdom.
Do I let fate reward my bravery with an extra crew member, or give it the chance to fuck me over by killing one? Or do I avoid the choice completely?
It’s easier for me to accept a bad outcome if I remember that every decision is made with the best intentions, and the only goal is survival.
HBO shows and games with consequential choices based on randomized events have been a huge influence on my thinking. Media with mosaics of morality, while characters grow and evolve across several spectrums (along with my opinion of them). Where decisions have to be carefully made with limited information and resources, then balanced against competing interests from foreign spheres of influence. Situations where a person can make all the right moves, and still fail through circumstance.
Continue reading “consider this place”…
It’s in these stories, these moments, these connections, these words, these images, these harmonies, these delightful chilly breezes that foretell the coming of winter where I find a part myself lost for so long.
A general sense of numbness filled my life, but I’m starting to feel again, something I’ve been needing for a while now. It was as if I’d lost a sense of purpose, and I couldn’t figure out how to fix that cause I couldn’t tell what was wrong.
Maybe the fact that I started tapering off my dose of Cipralex (a few months ahead of schedule) is adding to the effect. It’s hard to tell with everything all mixed up, and so much happening at once.
I can’t imagine what things will be like in a few weeks, let alone a year. There’s never been so much uncertainty in my life, but that doesn’t scare me anymore. There’s always a way out. Ironic that I had to lose everything to learn that.
O earth, I will befriend thee more with rain,
That shall distil from these two ancient urns,
Than youthful April shall with all his showers
I lost my life as I knew it, piece by piece, over days and weeks and months. Now things will never be the same. In moments of crisis, everything has been distilled; what’s gone is gone forever, and what remains is what I will carry for the rest of my life.
And as the threads unraveled, I tore myself from the world away, my face unable to bear the burden to others.
I got what I wanted for Christmas.
Piles of it. Sheets falling from the sky, melting instantly on your windshield, forcing the traffic to 20kph on the highway. So much that you have to brush off your car if you leave it parked for more than a minute, but the sky glows orange for you to savour every second.
Not that I celebrate Christmas, but I do enjoy the trappings of the season. The lights and the decorations and the spirit and the snow. I’m just sick of the consumerism. It seems perverse to see all this fancy paper wrapped around a box only to be torn off and thrown away. To see people scrambling to buy things just to have something to give. I’ve got it just right, where I don’t exchange gifts with any of my friends cause I don’t want either side to feel obliged. I’d rather give a present when the time is right for both people, and save my money so it’s something special every now and then. The last thing I want is to be a scrooge, but the older I get, the more I feel like that’s what I’m turning into.
The holidays are the only time I truly veg out. I watch more TV on Christmas day than in the entire year combined, marathon reruns of Dog the Bounty Hunter and Parking Wars and Cake Boss. Shows that are fascinating in short bursts with the right company and snacks, but never good enough to make a point to watch on my own.
I was lucky enough to spend some quality time with a cheap electric guitar. The body was dusty, the strings were dirty, and the intonation left something to be desired, but the action had me feeling like all the time I’ve spent with a stiff steel-string acoustic has paid off. About a month ago I put down a $200 deposit on the nylon-string beauty I’ve always wanted (with the promise that I’d get my deposit back if I didn’t like it) so I could wrap my arms around the body, run my hands across the glossy finish, and feel the fretboard beneath my fingers. Guitar has been my only therapy lately. The only thing I can throw myself into and forget about everything else, the only part of myself that I can tangibly tell is improving, something I need to be feeling right now.
I’ve never been this uncertain about the future, and it’s freaking me out. I already had a feeling 2012 was going to be a new start. My projects would be done by the end of the year, I’d have a nice little break, and I’d be ready to begin again. Now I’m forced into that reality, and life is soon going to be very different. I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle it, but I suspect I won’t have much of a choice.
They always say time changes things, but you actually have to change them yourself.
Many of my relationships, romantic or otherwise, are often approached, at least partially, based on the hope that the other person will change. This change can take the form of something as simple as promptness, as frustrating as tidiness, or as grand as self-centeredness.
Change, synonymous with improvement, has been the basis of my life. It takes a self-awareness of my faults, combined with a desire to change these faults, to improve. Assuming that others are the same way has been one of the biggest mistakes I’ve ever made. When the veil is lifted, and I realize that someone is stuck in their personality, I lose my faith in humanity. For the fraction of people who are conscious enough to know that they need to change, (and I mean this in an absolute sense, where almost anyone would agree that something needs improvement, such as temper or closed-mindedness) only a fraction of those are actually able to do so.
It’s not that some people have willpower and some don’t. It’s that some people are ready to change and others are not.
This means that when I meet someone, I either have to accept or reject them for who they are, because that’s most likely who they’re going to be for the rest of their lives. I have to stop accepting someone based on the hope that they will get better.
Acceptance, which has always been a difficult thing for me, thus becomes the most important thing in my relationships. It also remains one of the most hardest things for me to change.
So should I learn to accept this about myself, the way I should learn to accept things of others?