Time

I often wonder if I am a different person moment to moment.

For example: I’m more naïve when I am running, because I am rushing toward a meaningless goal and pain is temporary anyway, and I always could be going faster–as though I am unnecessarily limiting myself.

Another example: when I am angry, I want to remain angry. I am furious at my future self for forgiving this seemingly all-consuming crisis that probably could have been averted–usually by someone else.

Oftentimes that someone else is a few hours ago–or days, or minutes. But still “me”.

I cannot define myself because I feel as though I change from minute to minute. I can only summarize how I feel in certain situations, and mention what few habits of mine I manage to notice.

I can pretend to be frivolous, as many people in my age group (seemingly) are. But I often feel that their conversations are pointless, temporary, overall irrelevant to the course of the world. I am a hypocrite because I often become paranoid, worrying about time, pain, what I am going to forget, the results of mistakes. A great deal of things–things people who are well-adjusted to the world feel are little to no worry–make me anxious and edgy. Each situation has a great potential to make me upset. Everything is a chaotic mess and I find it difficult to focus with the slightest hinderance to any of my goals.

I want to be a more patient person. I want to make good decisions. I want to be able to remember and accept and understand everything, including myself.

The thing I fear the most, I think, is something I would willingly embrace for some things.

I fear forgetfulness. I fear loss of self. I want to forget some pain, the brief pain, and remember the genuine stuff. I want to remain myself, but only in the moment. Seeing as how that is impossible, I run, or I swim. I don’t think about the fear or anger then. I think about time. I think about death, and I accept it. I try to find little things to hold on to–languages and ideas. Sometimes, I am capable of embracing the temporary suffering–having difficulty breathing, a cramp–because it is meaningless and when I am running I can recognize that; as long as I am not trying for a goal.

Life has no purpose, it is changeable and real and immeasurable. I have found the world, and I live in it. I try to understand. Sometimes I just wish it would last.

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