If you met yourself on the street, would you fall in love? That is, this person would understand you perfectly, since they actually are you, so would that make them perfect for you? However, the question remains, do people want someone just like them? Sure, this person offers ultimate sympathy, but they cannot inspire you to think differently since they have the exact same thoughts. Even the ultimate sympathy is questionable since they wouldn't understand you anymore than you can understand yourself. This would certainly be a problem for me. I think if I met myself on the street, I would just complain and yell at him.
B
There are certain people that wake up in the morning and smile. They are excited to be part of a grand life for another day.
I am not one of those people.
Is it possible to become one of those people? Can I become one of those people? Will I become one of them? Do I really want to be one of them?
For a long time I've thought that I wanted to be that, but couldn't. I wanted it more than anything else, so much so that I actually stopped wanting anything else. Now, I have come to suspect that it is possible to become that person. The only reason I have not achieved this must be that I don't actually want to wake up with a smile.
[imagine a witty, grammatically correct segue right about...here]
Life go by so fast that I can't enjoy it. At the same time, it drags on in the sense that I wonder just how much longer I will have endure my unstoppable habit of making life worse for the people I know. Dear friends, I wish I could give you the person I want to be. Unfortunately, all I have to offer as consolation is the fact that I despise myself. A pitiful parting gift, to be sure.
Yeah, I decided to strike that last line. I don't want people to get the wrong idea and start calling to ask if I've killed myself.
Perhaps that's a sign of being real with people. When people think you're suicidal, homicidal, breaking up with them, losing your respect for them, or what ever else elicits more than a "that's cool" response - that's when you're having a real conversation.
Be aware, I don't do this for your attention. The attention I receive from myself is already more than I can handle.
Flowers, anyone?
B
The things we do to survive are the very things that will destroy us.
B
Last week I bought an iPod. Only took me five days to break the headphones. That's quite inconvenient considering I wanted it for entertainment while waiting five hours to get into "The Price Is Right" tomorrow.
Five hours! We're required to show up five hours before taping! Five precious hours of my life wasted sitting in a Hollywood parking lot! I wish I was made aware of this before I signed on. Amateurs...
B
It's impossible to be creative when nothing inspires you.
Let's do a case study on that statement. In typical fashion, I'm complaining once again. Moreover, instead of trying to be more creative (or at the very least, humbly accept that I will never be creative) I shift the blame from myself to something so pathetically ridiculous as lack of a muse. Closer inspection reveals another common feature of my complaints, the use of hyperbole. Truly, it is not "impossible" to be creative without inspiration, only difficult.
I'm such a loser.
I just want to be one of those people that like who they are. I don't even care whether or not there's anything worth liking.
I hate the word "like." Wonder if I can go the rest of my life without using it again. I also hate starting sentences with "I." Not much can be done about that, though.
B
I need to start carrying around a notebook so I can remember all the things I think about. The other day I had something to write about, but I forgot. Sorry to be a tease.
I think college may have done something to my short-term memory. Seriously, my lack of recall is starting to become embarrassing. All too often people will ask me what I did yesterday, and I have to think for quite a while (or even ask other people) before I can remember. And, no, I haven't been getting drunk or doing drugs!
Maybe I have a brain tumor. Sure would be great if I was like John Travolta's character in the movie Phenomenon, in which he starts to have telekenetic powers and astonishing learning abilities after developing a tumor. He died after only a few weeks of it, though.
Once, a girl at my high school said I looked like John Travolta.
Maybe I should go to a doctor or something. Yeah, that's it, use all that fancy expensive insurance I have! Now if I could just remember where I put my insurance card...
B