Just the blahs...
meaning this isn't suppose to make any sense

I don't think anyone ever really goes through their day satisfied with it. Or at least not consistently. Or is it just me? This being never satisfied with the conversations you've had, or the never being satisfied with the conversations you didn't even start. They say everyone has a certain emotional reaction to everything, and over time with consistent exposure, that reaction dwindles. Things change. I can live with that. But it's how they change that I have a problem dealing with. Is that what growing up is then? Unraveling to "a mess of sadness". Nowhere to go but down...a scary thought...but I hope not. Being negative about things hardly helps...but it sure as heck beats faking a smile.

The tock keeps ticking
The tock keeps ticking

As a kid, growing up seemed like such a wonderful thing. And it probably is, if we didn't find so many ways to mess it up. Growing up seemed like freedom. To me it meant finally knowing everything there is to know, getting to do all the things I wanted to do, going around the world, staying up late and finding out once and for all what the fuss was about with R-rated movies. Well if that's what the grown-up list is, lets just say I've covered 2 out of 5...and knowing everything there is to know isn't one of them. Truth be told, I know less of things nowadays than I ever have. Or is it I've just lost a sense of clarity, the kind that children have? Then maybe that's what they call innocence...and then maybe I can understand why it's so precious to lose. All for the sake of growing up? I think it's better to just call it growing old.

As a kid growing up, my parents tried to raise me to be as competitive as possible. To be the best that I can be, and to them that probably meant to be better than any other kid. Although I think it would be fair to mention that they mostly intended this kind of attitude in the field of academics(the others fields being sports, art competitions...actually any form of competition, debates, declamations...etc). I always had to win(which didn't happen). There's much I can say about how this really couldn't be too good for the child but I don't really intend to talk about the sins of parenting. But I do want to talk about what my mother always told me back then, that I should always have the "fighting spirit!" And she always said it with much energy, and though I was the quietest of her sons, I think I was the most receptive to her battle cry. And boy did I love a good fight(in the figurative sense of course). I lived for it. And it wasn't about achievement. It was more about desire. Knowing something to be right and true and being willing to fight for it, or towards it. There is nothing that can make you feel more alive.

However, somewhere over the course of time, I stopped hearing the words. At some point, I gave up fighting. I gave up desire. I stopped being the fighter. One day, I woke up feeling spent up and used. Without dreams, I was reduced to the walking dead. I often wonder if a crazy man would be sane enough to realize he's crazy. But I think it's a tragic truth that no matter how messed up we are, we would always have just enough intellegence to rememebr just how far we've fallen. I would weep about if I could, but there doesn't seem to be enough strength left in me to be even honest with my sorrow.

....

"The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation."-Henry David Thoreau