I think I'm having trouble figuring out who I am these days. Call it a Mid-life crisis if you will. Every day I awake I feel like I'm in a major slog of limbo. Who am I? What am I going to do? Why aren't you being creative like you promised your 20 something self?
Maybe I'm depressed.
Whoa? You think?
I have all of these ideas floating about my head of what I want to do and should do but in the end, I'm all blah about putting pen to actual paper.
My diagnosis? Laziness. Pure and simple.
This is what I would categorize this space.
Lazy 101. I could teach a course and become the Zen Master expert on this subject.
Speaking of lazy my thoughts are plain old bitter apathy. I sit here and contemplate what I want to share to anyone and no one. Who really cares what I do on a daily basis? Who really cares if I take pictures of my calligraphy
or my daughter's uvula at the dentist's office?
I barely do.
Though I have to say, I have plans for this summer. Art projects, adventures and pure fly by the seat of your pants of non planning. Non planning is something I'm an expert in as well.
A redesign of this space coupled with a redesign of myself.
Speaking of design and space, a question was brought to the table today from Eden. If you don't read her, you should because she is someone I wish I was. Balls to the wall, honest.
She asked, "What is a blog?"
My response haphazardly strewn about:
Honestly, I don't think there should be a category of what a blog is. a blog? a bunch of words, scrambled about into space in which we try to make meaning out of this universe and ourselves. Basically.... to prove we were once here.
Maybe this is why I keep this [space] open. To prove I was here. I didn't give up. I was a human full of mixed up emotion. Both good and bad. I had a voice when I didn't feel like it in my every day existence. Maybe I didn't feel heard like I felt like I should have been while knocking bodies down that corridor of human contact. Like most of us going about our daily cesspool grind.
or maybe I was a total narcissist. Saying, "Hey! Look at me! Aren't I special and cool? Doesn't my verbage mean anything to anyone other than myself?"
In truth, I feel like in living, we are all narcissists. Otherwise, without having yourself in your own corner, this so-called 'living' is a very lonely place and I can think of nothing better than having myself as a cheerleader on the sidelines chanting, "I am the shit. I.am.the.shit."
Because I think I'm the shit. even if I'm wading elbows to assholes in it. and my mom thinks so too.