Why do our minds decide to grasp onto a another person so tightly? Why can't we just be content with ourselves? Why do we need other people to feel hopeless when we're gone from their lives, so as to serve as a sort of punishment for their wrongdoings? It's sick in a needy and desolate sort of way, and I was utterly perplexed when I awoke this morning to a loud sound outdoors. I lied there, my eyes diverted to the clock immediately as a sort of reflex to check how much more time I could sleep. The noise continued. It awoke me from a dream that illustrated these hazy aspects of love and life, and I am sorry to say the fantastical world of dreamland has escaped me so far in the day. The sentiments were poignant when I first opened my eyes, but they are gone now and I cannot stay confused. I'm in my reality once again and I am proud to say I'm back to the lively, energetic me. The excess drugs have finally been expeled from my system, and things look golden yet again.
But why do I consistently ponder the downfalls of our personalities that hinder us so? It's at par with promising a child candy — when their sweaty palm is out and their eyes glistening for the sweet caramel in your possession, you glint downwards in disdain and give them nothing. It's a result of their very mischievous magic marker drawings on the kitchen fridge that they aren't rewarded, right? Yet what if they don't even realize they have done nothing a "good kid" would do? What if they actually believe they're in the clear the entire time? Why punish them?
It's the anomaly of everyone's personalities that causes the amalgamation of miscommunication and bad karma. We always think what we do is so right, so correct all of the time, that when someone finally enlightens us, we are taken aback and do not realize that we couldn't have been wronger. I find it hard to humble myself. I find it so fucking difficult to not just let things slide.
Sickness has plagued the house. We contemplate never socializing so our final grades aren't in jeopardy, but I somehow have managed to stay in good health. I've kept my sleeping schedule in order so well the past few months that I actually am craving all types of chaos. I want my late night driving escapades to the diner back with hometown friends. I want my hair to be tangled and salty and sticky from the ocean waters. I want to sit on my roof and stare at the green expanse that is my backyard. I wish I didn't write so goddamn haughty and formal sometimes, but how else will I stay in touch with literary classics of the past? Last thing I would want in the world is to dumb myself down for a generation that uses the phrase "lol" to express contentment.
I'm feeling ansty and out of my skin today, with no idea why.
