So little makes sense So much of the Time

There is a cloudy haze to the human life, somewhere between knowing and experiencing.   There is the knowledge to plan ahead, but then there is the physical state of the present that counteracts all painstaking agendas.  I’m convinced this is where people get lost.  I’m convinced, also, that it’s impossible not to be lost if you are corporeal.  Of concern is the looming threat of death that sits invisibly in the corner of youth until the growth of adult perspective coats the lens so that the reaper is no longer a camouflaged figure.  I see it on a daily basis and drink my cup of coffee uncomfortably in its presence.  I fear I’ve irreversibly damaged my life with the choices I have made.  It is only unfortunate, then, that we do not get a do-over.  We are stuck where we built ourselves mistake after mistake.  The wisest of people take their cup half full, and understand every choice was necessary.  I follow suit, but sometimes it really does weigh on my fragile chest.  And I am permanently deficient for it.

 

Nutrition, I realize, is an important detail to overlook.  The body can only make from what materials you give it.  Starve it out, I learned, and the grave present is detectable in every breath.  I breathe it in on days when I wage war on my bones.  So I elect to eat better.  I think I’m going to give it a real try this time.  Vitamins and the whole nine-yards.  And maybe the haze will lift some.  These days it obstructs the best of times.

I’m torn between being a common girl and being a solitary animal. I have become friendly with a new person.  However, I’m uncomfortable with the regression to adolescent activity that I feel it to bring.  It feels adolescent.  It feels far too youthful.  It feels like moving backwards when it shouldn’t.  Perhaps he is teaching me to be human as human is defined in my native culture.  However repulsive or backwards, it is good to fit in.  It is good to be this way.  I think I isolate my mind too much.  I isolate it and I starve it and hope to hone it into something remarkable.  But no!  I best embrace I am a young girl not capable of all she claims.  I best take it slow.

Sometimes I think it is bad to express strong thoughts such as these.  In a moment, I will again be in a mood to post cute cat pictures and show the world what I have known to be popular appearance.  I worry when I crowd the digital profile that is me with too much negativity and introspection, that I cannot also be of good social standing.   Hierarchy is not just for herds of kangaroos.  Hierarchy is for all.  And where I fall on a pecking order matters, in the primitive brain.  In the part that is less confused about what I am.   That part cares not who I am with, but that it benefits my well being .  That part does not care what I eat, but that I am fed.  That part does not care that I take home a paycheck, but that I have room to exercise my natural tendencies. It also apparently cares that I am thought of well in these pursuits.  It’s not logical.  Or maybe it’s supremely logical.

But for all of this and more, so little makes sense so much of the time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The Trick of Perspective

I could be an average girl of 21.  I very easily could.

This is my lingering thought.  I have pursued affection, but it doesn’t find me compatible.  So I play with fish in my bedroom.  But that would be a given any way you look at my life.  It’s a near constant.  In the equation of Heather, F is the constant “fish”…..

 

Okay, silliness aside, I’m getting at something here.  I see the merit in being an average girl.  Doing…girl things.  I find myself at a crossroads as of late.  My unconventional situation has made a lot of other things inconvenient.  Friendships, love…..

What cannot be grasped of a girl who loves to keep fish?   Compared to one who loves to ….

Well, what is the comparison?  Truly, every girl is different.  But a lot of things get lumped into the “girl” category.  This includes everything from obsession with looks to disgust with bugs or an unusual adoration for babies.  I could care less about my looks most days.  I love bugs!  And human babies…well, not my cup of tea, but all right.

 

So I don’t find myself distinctly “girly”…and neither do a lot of others, evidently.  And the more aware I become of this contrast, the more I silently abandon people.  But I need them!  I need people.  At least every once in a good while.

 

Should I cry out, I find people do not always feel as harshly towards me as I perceive.  In fact, people enjoy my unique qualities.  9 times out of 10.  That still does little to soothe my countless evenings alone.  When I read of people who are just the best of friends.  but how?  When will that be me and another human?  I hope soon.  Then I recall.  The best thing to love is yourself.  I love me.  I have real things to focus on.  And the positivity I’m dumping down the drain with a frown!  So….sad.  I feel at once aware of too much.  Too much or not enough?

 

What does it take to function, I wonder.  When the irrational fear of death plagues every waking hour.  The only thing of searing certainty is that I’m drawn to keeping aquariums and animals.  Quite possibly because their inner workings are not hard to follow.  From this perspective, I do not see myself bringing much upon the world.  Fish keeping is such a silly thing to devote to, when the hobby itself serves little to human advancement.  It doesn’t nourish us.  It doesn’t house us.

 

I see benefits, when I’m not clouded.  It keeps me well, and maybe that’s enough.  But purpose is not something I feel deeply.  Maybe fleetingly.  Maybe the trick of perspective is that tomorrow I will be a new me.