[I never wanted to click on the orange button below but for the sake of this day being the last for February, I had it posted. It was marginally offensive but I toned it down. Anagram the title. And by the way, there's something hidden in this post.]
Around twenty hours ago, we had to do essays about the change that happened over the school year. I might not have been following the directions like I should, but the topic alone was an incentive for me to put all my efforts into it. I wanted to write something both practical and idealistic, for the sake of me trying to “point out some stuff”.
But I, believing I was the constant and nonchalant (though not the ever-present) variable in the project that is this chapter of life, ended up writing about the changes in other people, completely omitting whatever changes I may or may not have come to terms with.
In a sense, that was practical and idealistic, my choosing to put the focus on other people. With enough freedom of expression, I might stir a little something. But what would that make me, an inanimate observant? A being with a life lesser than everyone else?
I left myself out of my own essay but it doesn't end there. I listen more than I talk and when I do talk, nothing good enough for them comes out. I was having quite a profound conversation with the only person I could really talk to, and I realized I didn’t fit into anybody else’s storyline but mine.
I’m just slowly writing myself off every day, you know?
And I found it genuinely funny (and maybe a little unsound, in the most favorable definition of it) that my life has become a shape with jagged edges, with a perforation in the middle. How that became so, I'm not going to explain. And I don't want to confuse you, even if I know I already have.
I don’t even know if it’s worth getting out of this lethargy, but when I get back my paper for editing, I think I’m going to stop writing about them and start writing about me. Then I guess I’ll devise a way to make my life worth living, without drastically changing into what a newfound friend would consider a "waste."
This is all I have for now. I don't even know what I'll think of it in when the daylight comes on. What I just typed isn't enough to recount the truth but it's 3:37 in the morning and I need to sleep. I don't know why I'm still here in the internet. I'm missing the REM hours of sleep. I'll get back to this soon.
[Whoever's reading this, you don't know who I'm talking about. Or maybe I just typed that because I want to make you think you're wrong. Either way, thank you for your time. This was an incredible waste of time for all of us.]
:D
But I, believing I was the constant and nonchalant (though not the ever-present) variable in the project that is this chapter of life, ended up writing about the changes in other people, completely omitting whatever changes I may or may not have come to terms with.
In a sense, that was practical and idealistic, my choosing to put the focus on other people. With enough freedom of expression, I might stir a little something. But what would that make me, an inanimate observant? A being with a life lesser than everyone else?
I left myself out of my own essay but it doesn't end there. I listen more than I talk and when I do talk, nothing good enough for them comes out. I was having quite a profound conversation with the only person I could really talk to, and I realized I didn’t fit into anybody else’s storyline but mine.
I’m just slowly writing myself off every day, you know?
And I found it genuinely funny (and maybe a little unsound, in the most favorable definition of it) that my life has become a shape with jagged edges, with a perforation in the middle. How that became so, I'm not going to explain. And I don't want to confuse you, even if I know I already have.
I don’t even know if it’s worth getting out of this lethargy, but when I get back my paper for editing, I think I’m going to stop writing about them and start writing about me. Then I guess I’ll devise a way to make my life worth living, without drastically changing into what a newfound friend would consider a "waste."
This is all I have for now. I don't even know what I'll think of it in when the daylight comes on. What I just typed isn't enough to recount the truth but it's 3:37 in the morning and I need to sleep. I don't know why I'm still here in the internet. I'm missing the REM hours of sleep. I'll get back to this soon.
[Whoever's reading this, you don't know who I'm talking about. Or maybe I just typed that because I want to make you think you're wrong. Either way, thank you for your time. This was an incredible waste of time for all of us.]
:D
