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Maisma before/after
Last night I approached the thought that I would just like to have one day where absolutely nothing happens. Just one ordinary day, like any other, with no climax, or revelation. No conflict or chaos. Just one day, beautiful in its drear, where I can right myself and regain equilibrium.
This made me think of "Our Town" by Thorton Wilder, specifically the scene where Annie(?) wants to come back from the dead to live one minute of one day. The magnitude of the beauty is overwheming, something only 'philosophers and saints' can only appreciate.
And somehow I arrived at the conclusion that this (after years of providing me with inspiration) is actually quite depressing. Perhaps it was the fact that I was rooting for monotony.
Oh, no, that's not it. It was the passage of time. The fact that, whereas I wanted to dwell for years trapped in special moments, now I clutch and grab at the ebb of time so much so that even the most ordinary of days is something that I would gladly hold.
And like a puff of smoke, its impossible.
When I was six and seven years old, in the first and second grade in parochial school (a mindfuck in itself), I would go to the other classrooms to pick up the attendance slips. Inevitably, I would make it to my brother's classroom, see him, and I would break down into tears.
Yeah, me.
The teachers came to the conclusion that I was stressed out by feeling that I had quite a standard to reach to meet the fillial expectations set my brother.
They were so wrong.
I was overwhelmed by the thought that things would never stay the same. That the happy world that I lived in with my brother and I playing all day, unaware, happy in isolation would be soon gone. My mother would grow old and no longer make dinner. Dad would no longer come home from work. It would all soon be changed, and forevermore gone. And I would cry. I thought this when I was six years old. A little boy. I have told no one of this.
Not much has changed since then, apparently, except that I am absolutely incapable of tears.
There is a positive reframe possible, being that I am so enamored with life, that even the least inspiring moments are treasured and adored.
But with my emotions short circuited as they are from the past few weeks, dating back to April 16th, when the crunch began, and life went from a temporal fugue to a concentrated emotional assault, temporal and emotional have since then become confused.
What would suit me well, is a bunch of marijuana. I would right now stone myself into blissful numbness. Been smoking pretty regularly the past few weeks, but in small quantities. Very small. I have discovered, that while I can smoke a hell of a lot, I don't need to do so to get stoned.
What I am after though, is quite the blaze. Not just a a couple of oneeies or a bowl. I'm talking about a stoning of titanic proportions. Smoking until I forget to keep smoking. Smoking until I forget I am currently in the middle of smoking. Smoking until its all a haze.
Numb.
I'll figure it all out.
Enough of this melancholy bullshit. Its bringing me down.
*(I just managed to make myself laugh.)*
reframe:
Things aren't bad. Not really. Comparisons to unreal standards are surefire ways to make life suck. After all, there is no way for things to stay the same. I need to focus on the positives, and regain a broader perspective to life.
...oh, and I cross referenced this with my entry on my affective cycle. Right on schedule, motherfucker. Time to break the cycle.
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