(aka: unrelated post title…sorta)
Some things about living.
Last night, I was explaining to Lindsey that I want people to look at me and think to themselves, wow, she looks exciting! I am always wondering how people can look exciting…I mean, I have tattoos. I kiss my lady in public. But, what else is there? Sometimes, I think that I am moving too fast for people to even see me, let alone formulate an opinion about me.
I used to cross my arms hard over my chest. My mother told me she never worried about me being kid-napped, I looked so tough. Now, I still do that thing… that thing where I intimidate people by staring too long. Where I move so quickly, no one can see me. I’d like to call it a compulsion: the itch to constantly move. I’d like to say it’s ADHD. But, I’ve never been tested. I don’t take any prescriptions. I thought the other day how people just want to sit still with me for a few minutes. But, those minutes feel like hours. My brain strains and screams, you’re wasting time!!!
The moment I stop doing what “needs to be done,” I panic. The reason I stare so hard at people (that’s how Ashley and I made friends, even) is usually 1 of 2 reasons: either I know right off the bat that somehow you figure into my life and I want to know how, or I think you look interesting and want to read your mind. (What about you, Christopher Newgent? **awkward stare buddies 4lyf!)
Anyways, what this all boils down to is that today on the way to work I had an existential(sorta) crisis where I thought that I’m just gonna keep going, keep going, kinda feeling miserable, and then one day I’m going to forget what I’m even doing everything for…I mean, right now, I wonder why I’m doing so many of the things that I am. I used to whine about being tied down. How I hated the idea of not being able to pick up in the middle of the night and disappear. Obviously, right now, I can’t do that. I can’t leave Ball State. Or my friends and loved ones here. That ties me down. But, I’m not fighting it like I thought I would. I’m just chugging through. Is that a good thing? Should we all just push through what we don’t want to do, be a bit miserable but be accomplished none the less? Or, is it best to just do what you want, when you want. How do we live like our writing predecessors in today’s culture and pace?
We really can’t.
I mean, think about it: If you expatriate to Costa Rica, what will your mother say? If you drink absinthe every night and smoke pot all day only to stare at your type writer, how do you pay rent? If you hate work and sleep in a few times more than you should (Ahem…I did) then how do you keep your resume clean?
It just seems to me that this need to feel excitement, be enlightened, look like the most thrilling person on the planet, all of this is just a waste of time in today’s culture. But, just because it’s been proven to be wasteful doesn’t mean it is, entirely. What are we missing out on, by living more like 9-5ers rather than real live poets?