Even when you know you're wrong you still keep trying.
This has been the story of my life as long as I can remember. Sometimes, actually, quite a fair bit of the time I just so happen to be right. What this translates to is an existence defined by unexpected failures and standard successes. The lack of grasp towards to title of this is why I can never enjoy what I can do. It's just part of status quo of my day to day being. I still remain emotionally detached from everyone serving only myself, which in turn, I like to think, makes everything around me better. I study not to make myself happy but, instead, in the seemingly vain hope of making the world a better place.
This detachment surfaces every once and a while to my conscious mind but only makes itself fully aware after a great deal of stress and sleep deprivation. So here I am, rambling almost incoherently to an audience that couldn't care less about me (I believe), but even though this may seem somewhat nihilistic, it's more of a an printout of a mind's irrational function.
But what am I trying to get at here? Nothing quite so pretentious as saying that I'm somehow more realized than anyone else out there, nor is this supposed to cure all my problems. Instead I like to think of I'm typing as a gentle reminder to myself for later on, when I don't feel so doubtful. Just the reassurance that somewhere in this head you know what's really going on instead of whatever gear it shifts to when being sociable is required.
That's all for now.
This has been the story of my life as long as I can remember. Sometimes, actually, quite a fair bit of the time I just so happen to be right. What this translates to is an existence defined by unexpected failures and standard successes. The lack of grasp towards to title of this is why I can never enjoy what I can do. It's just part of status quo of my day to day being. I still remain emotionally detached from everyone serving only myself, which in turn, I like to think, makes everything around me better. I study not to make myself happy but, instead, in the seemingly vain hope of making the world a better place.
This detachment surfaces every once and a while to my conscious mind but only makes itself fully aware after a great deal of stress and sleep deprivation. So here I am, rambling almost incoherently to an audience that couldn't care less about me (I believe), but even though this may seem somewhat nihilistic, it's more of a an printout of a mind's irrational function.
But what am I trying to get at here? Nothing quite so pretentious as saying that I'm somehow more realized than anyone else out there, nor is this supposed to cure all my problems. Instead I like to think of I'm typing as a gentle reminder to myself for later on, when I don't feel so doubtful. Just the reassurance that somewhere in this head you know what's really going on instead of whatever gear it shifts to when being sociable is required.
That's all for now.
Y'r not alone.