Sometimes, I’m tired of seeing all the pointlessness and sorrow of reality. I don’t want to try to express myself in words and hide how I’m actually feeling. I don’t want to look at or hear or talk to other people when nothing feels legitimate or honest or relevant. I don’t want to continue feeling that I can’t help people.
What I want is to watch people being happy, to distract myself. I would like to simply see some people who are seemingly content so I can feel that there is something that is simple and happy. I’d enjoy forgetting all the stress of thinking too much about people and life. I’d like to see people who are ignorant and without pain, but who are not stupid, dangerous, or dogmatic. Just briefly unaware, at least. I want to see what people feel, even though it’s hard. It takes time. In reality, I couldn’t do that, because people notice stares. I don’t want to make people uncomfortable. I want to relax from being so self-centered and afraid of the world and desperately wanting to be helping without doing anything. I want to be understanding.
This is not very organized. I’m tired; I had swim practice this morning and it was exhausting. I have to deal with people again. I’m having what a lot of people enjoy calling an “existential crisis”. I don’t care what things are called. I care that I can never fully express my thoughts and emotions, and that I will never fully comprehend another person. It scares me. I am going to die. Me. Really. Everything I do won’t matter to me in the end.
Dreams are a nice way to forget about mortality, about morals, about empathy and people, about everything. It’s forcing you to accept a reality that you don’t consider, but it isn’t a dangerous dogma, and it goes away when you wake up. It’s like a delusion-for-rent, with no consequences, generally. We humans get quite a deal.
Swimming hard prevents you from focusing on other things, especially if you’re clumsy.
I love poetry. I occasionally write it, think it’s wonderful, read it again, and discover that I was incorrect. I don’t generally love reading the poetry of others. Haikus are fun but too short to fully experience. I don’t want complex literary allusions, because I’m well-read enough to get some of them, like Poe in Lolita, but not all of them, like everyone else in Lolita. However, Wisława Szmborksa’s poetry never fails to be absolutely fantastic. I wish I could read in actual Polish so I knew what she really means. I have a good translation but I wish I were able to connect with the lovely stories she tells with greater ease.
I’m tired. I feel kind of world-weary. I want to not have to see people because they’re so complicated and bizarre. It makes me sad and frustrated to try to connect with people–even the ones I am related to.
I can’t help anyone.
It’s nice to know that sometime soon, I will forget this feeling, and I will find some hilarious or amusing distraction to kill the pain.