"What's it all for?"
It was roughly 8am and I had another hour before the alarm clock rang. I fed the cats because one of them was a squeaky wheel and kept scratching the door and meowing two inches from my ear when he got in and proceeded to paw my head. An hour from my alarm clock ringing and I was somehow stuck on the idea that I was being cheated from sleep, not accepting it could just be an opportunity to live in the world again where things might actually get done . . . I winded up sleeping through the actual alarm and missing class.
My 2nd class was late to begin, my professor was running behind. He pushed it back 20 minutes and for no real reason I still made it 20 minutes late. I had money issues this morning; complications and a loan disbursement paying the wrong bill and it took a little while to resolve. A book I desperately needed did not arrive on time, or so I thought. After writing something angry to Amazon I found out it arrived while I was in my latter class, along with some phone charger I didn't order that came first and got me confused. The charger works for my mom phone and she's gonna keep it.
Somewhere within all the distractions I managed to write a few lines of conversation in this short I've been hovering over for a few weeks now. There are too many contests and projects to be taking this long on a short. I have no rhythm for this yet, it's killin me.
I got a fuggin pimple today, the obvious kind that distorts your face and ruins your symmetry for a while.
I had the epiphany once that it didn't make sense to have faith cause all destinations of that emotional investment lead to voids of meaning. Do it for your family . . . na thats not it. They are getting more distant every year. Do it for love? na. No two people I know have gotten it right, the best of them are in progress of understanding what it takes. Do it for the sake of doing it? Nope. By itself it is fueled by nothing personal. Do it cause you want to do it and its worth doing? Warmer but not quite complete. Do it because you are worth pleasing . . . Well. This is almost it. There is a specific emotional disposition that accompanies this but essentially when it comes down to it there is only one kind of peace, and the truest form of it comes from living for yourself. That means not living for a need, or a habit or addiction or some other type of obligation or misinterpretation of duty, for an institution or survival or any other cause impressed upon you. It comes down to pleasing yourself in whichever way.
Now let me say that with or without law, I'm not comfortable with raping and pillaging. I don't want it done to those I care about or those who care about me. And even if I didn't have to deal with penalties like prison or revenge, I'm pretty sure doing vile things would make it hard to get along in the world. So really pleasing yourself, being the end in your own means really has to do with satisfying your own virtues, performing well to the qualities you hold in highest regard and so forth.
When I sit down to write I still deal with the great conflicts of desire for escape, or the leaps in imagination that lead me astray. I still respond when people want my attention for something and if none of these distractions are occurring it's like I'm waiting for one out of habit. Sometimes the words are forced and I wonder if I even really want to write or be creative at all. There's so little time for it when there are so many other things to do. But.
The barometer of happiness, as I was telling one friend the other day, has to be the mark of a life worth living and one with little regrets. Am I using the moment to the greatest potential of pleasing myself. I may not need to do the most I can do at that moment, maybe what makes more sense to me is to breath and accept the moment of my being. maybe I need to listen to the music in my head or take the time to really appreciate those pair of legs passing me by.
Maybe all good things will come if I can just learn to recognize them when they are there in front of me and maybe the time it takes to write a good story is exactly that.
It's like being my own reason means chucking all the stupid reasons people can develop to feel guilty about things they can't control to aggrandize the conflicts they experience in life in order to give an excuse to everyone about why they aren't harnessing their destiny in some obnoxious, clearly distinct and mostly public way. But should I really care when the only way true development can happen unheeded is when I don't clog it with so much presumptive bullshit?
What's still hard to get away from is how slippery time feels. And so I'm quite happy and still pretty guilty about not working and leaning on my mom for a while till I can rise again. Also I have no idea how to pay her back which is weighing on me some but I try to leave as little a footprint in the house as possible so she doesn't feel tasked having me back in the home. As for what I've done with the time, well I'm progressing through my summer session and quite concerned about where to begin with the fall classes. I also am still trying to find the best way to raise money for the business I've finally found a name for. I just need to trademark it.
And yes, I must begin finishing and editing my shorts . . . and submitting them! God help me get one thing out this summer! This next moment realizing I'm not quite the type to be comfortable with relying on cosmic intervention when the cosmos went through such a great hassle to invent me and everything I'm capable of inherently, I might as well say: I'm submitting something this summer.
Oh God! How? When? What? Who's writing this? and Why?
Because I'm worth it, and life has no meaning without that most fundamental understanding. I bring my light with me and that is why there will always be a way to proceed.