Right. I can't paint. And I definitely don't find it relaxing. Back to creating pictures with words.
So let's see. Something about writing while sleep-deprived - I meant to do that one ages ago. Finally, it's coming up. Promise.
But next time will be about perspective. Probably not the way you think though.
It's been a rough autumn. November certainly wasn't what I was hoping for and now once again find myself wishing it was five years ago. It's hard living your life backwards. It's not like I haven't tried to break away from it but setback after setback just makes me want to go...back. The indifference of the world around me used to be something I was quite comfortable with. Now I just feel lost in the shuffle. If I was supposed to have things like a car and house and a longterm relationship with someone "stable" by now I guess I'd be disappointed. Instead I'm just...curious. For so long I didn't want to believe it's those things that truly make you happy. You can't pick and choose your beliefs though, not really. You can fool others but you can't fool yourself. Trust me on this one, I've spent a long time trying to prove otherwise.
The sequel? It's in my head. Why not on the page? It comes back to that living backwards thing again, I think. I'm supposedly so much wiser now but that certainly doesn't have much to do with happiness. Can't go back. Everyone knows that. If this was something someone was writing going back wouldn't be necessary anyway - the thing the protagonist wanted and missed would somehow show up again and he'd have the chance to make amends. Choosing beliefs? Well, I always wanted to believe in redemption. Maybe I still can. Just not my own redemption.
I don't look my age. I don't feel my age. Years ago I fell in love with an age, or at least the idea of one and now every day I get further and further (farther and farther?) away from it but at least I have my books and games to live in. Probably not the best course. But what can I do? Everyone over thirty makes me sick.
I realize this isn't my usual style of writing for this blog and that this bizarre post out of no where probably smacks of desperation. And maybe emotional distress. I haven't kept a journal in years and don't see myself ever going back to one. So using the blog as one isn't a crime. It's just not what I intended. But I think I'll have to start trying things differently. What was it Einstein said? Trying the same thing over and over and expecting different results is the clearest definition of insanity? At this point it may be some comfort to learn I'm not sane. At least then I could be special.
So for Xion, Kairi, and of course, the originator of this obsession for the aesthetic, Anne, this is cole.
