Writing in this blog for the past six months or so has sort of modified the way that I organize my thoughts. Every time I have something going on my head, a little morsel of food for thought, so to speak, I always feel the need to write it down, even in a sentence or so... to record it for posterity's sake. I seem to think it's important, to me, at least.
Lately though, the thoughts keep coming, and I still keep wanting to record them, but then I think to myself- what's the point. Since I can't come up with a reasonable explanation I sort of lose the motivation to write them down. I have a feeling this post is going to end up ironic. Alanis Morissette ironic, I mean.
Earlier today, I was thinking about how I've been complaining a lot. I don't know why, I am quite blessed. So I want to write down a list of the ways that I am blessed in this life, because there are many, many ways that I am blessed and I don't want to take them for granted whilst I bitch and moan the way that I do. I wanted to count my blessings- and I'm thinking to myself, "I should remember to type out a list of my blessings on The Myspace when I get to work." This notepad is at hand.
I always want to record my adventures, too. I don't mind doing it, I like to tell stories, I love to tell stories. But I guess most of the time lately, I feel like I'm repeating myself, or merely regurgitating information. I never got around to telling the story of my camping trip with the guitar-playing 50-year-olds and the one-armed fisherman, but I don't see the point because I already remember the whole story from telling it (in person) to people.
I guess a big part of why I write in this thing is to record things that I know I'll probably forget, but do not think I should. I'd been spending a lot of solo time lately, which lends itself to writing- the kind that makes me think of facing two mirrors toward each other and standing in between. As I try (awkwardly) to emerge from my self-isolation, I find that recounting incidents verbally helps me remember something else- it becomes a story that always changes, which is fascinating in its own respect.
The good thing about having thoughts written down though, is that I have a chance- should I find myself confused (this never REALLY happens of course)- to at least pretend to sort out my thoughts in a pragmatic fashion. This is useful when things feel hopeless, and you need to be reminded that there is always hope, and that everything is progress (thanks, science).
During the whole fiasco with the ex I felt it was absolutely imperative to write. I didn't want to forget how I felt at any given point, or lose sight of why things are the way they are. I didn't want that sort of nostalgia-clouded confusion. I don't know if I thought about this consciously... but the ability to reflect rationally on the situation when necessary is well-appreciated upon retrospect. It's good to remind yourself why you don't need to talk to someone anymore. Sometimes you forget and risk making yourself a bigger fool than you've already proven yourself to be. I am okay with being a fool. I just want to be a fool who learns from her experiences... so that some day I may be a wise fool.
These are all interesting introspective practices- a form of narcissism (maybe?) that I have characteristically indulged in as long as I can remember. I was a prolific self-portrait painter back when I was a prolific painter. I made a point of painting at least one a year because I always thought it was interesting how self-representation changes throughout our life. Thinking about it now though, and proven throughout history by everything from the painting caveman to myspace, infatuation with self-representation is not an uncommon thing. We are all nonparticles trying to prove we exist.
I don't see anything wrong with it, either. Know thyself, and you know the universe.
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notes:
the light storm last night put the fear in me. it was the most beautiful thing i'd seen in a long time.
our furniture is gone and our bathtub is porcelain white. things are about to change in a big way.
some people don't get my jokes. they think i'm being serious and then i come off as either abrasive or retarded.
some people find my habit of laughing when people make fantastic facial expressions unsettling. They think I am laughing at them, but I'm not- I'm laughing because I love peoples' faces and how much they communicate. I wish they knew.
do people think i'm a big jerk? i dunno. maybe i am, or maybe i just question my epistemological perspective to an exaggerated degree. my self-esteem is at a healthy level. my self-doubt is not.
i hope that some day i will remove all this armor... perhaps i will feel lighter
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