quarter-life crisis?
(new here. blame faust. haha)
Days are passing by like sand in a closed fist. There is nothing remarkable in the passage of my time. The same days greet me each morning as if taunting and waiting for me to get tired of them. Maybe I am, but does it matter?
This seems to be the gist of my life, the entire routine of waking and working and eating and sleeping repeating indefinitely. Of course it’s boring! But shifting from routine seems too unimaginable and tiring and impractical, and thinking of what to fill those senseless times I spend oversleeping or being stuck in my room always comes out with unimaginative adventures of hours upon hours of loitering in malls or watching insipid movies. Even the supposed thrill from hanging in smoke infested bars drinking horribly bitter and expensive alcohol to the beat of music that blows your hearing out of proportion doesn’t cut it anymore. Is this the mark of growing up? Is this the initiation to the real world? Atrophied brain cells and insatiable craving for the life of your dreams that always seems far beyond your grasp?
But then, what do I want? What am I expecting from the seemingly innumerable days I still have left to revel in this indifferent world? Gray and generalized ideas of happiness or contentment or love or peace and all that other textbook answers float to you. But how do you get that? And if you think you’ve got it, are you sure you aren’t just trying to fool yourself out of this vacuum, of this despair?
So, here I am, two years in a senseless routine changing only the time I get to sleep. I’m twenty and tired of life. But somewhere, somehow you realize that it is YOU who make your life. Your decisions shape every hour you find wasteful and stupid. Somehow, that simple realization makes you breathe a little easier. It feels like accepting and swallowing that no matter how pathetic your life is it is your fault and you can amend it. Everything else gets a little easier to swallow. You convince yourself over your own power to change, if not your indestructible routine then the way you view it. Fake it ‘til you make it, the cliché goes.
After a while, the same days still meet you in the morning, but you’ve changed. Carpe diem, they say. You smirk knowing it’s not that simple but you’d get there. You still feel lost and out of place most of the time but then, now you are happily lost and in no hurry to get to another state of mind that you’d also hurry to get out of. Well, anyway, it doesn’t matter.
Days are passing by like sand in a closed fist. There is nothing remarkable in the passage of my time. The same days greet me each morning as if taunting and waiting for me to get tired of them. Maybe I am, but does it matter?
This seems to be the gist of my life, the entire routine of waking and working and eating and sleeping repeating indefinitely. Of course it’s boring! But shifting from routine seems too unimaginable and tiring and impractical, and thinking of what to fill those senseless times I spend oversleeping or being stuck in my room always comes out with unimaginative adventures of hours upon hours of loitering in malls or watching insipid movies. Even the supposed thrill from hanging in smoke infested bars drinking horribly bitter and expensive alcohol to the beat of music that blows your hearing out of proportion doesn’t cut it anymore. Is this the mark of growing up? Is this the initiation to the real world? Atrophied brain cells and insatiable craving for the life of your dreams that always seems far beyond your grasp?
But then, what do I want? What am I expecting from the seemingly innumerable days I still have left to revel in this indifferent world? Gray and generalized ideas of happiness or contentment or love or peace and all that other textbook answers float to you. But how do you get that? And if you think you’ve got it, are you sure you aren’t just trying to fool yourself out of this vacuum, of this despair?
So, here I am, two years in a senseless routine changing only the time I get to sleep. I’m twenty and tired of life. But somewhere, somehow you realize that it is YOU who make your life. Your decisions shape every hour you find wasteful and stupid. Somehow, that simple realization makes you breathe a little easier. It feels like accepting and swallowing that no matter how pathetic your life is it is your fault and you can amend it. Everything else gets a little easier to swallow. You convince yourself over your own power to change, if not your indestructible routine then the way you view it. Fake it ‘til you make it, the cliché goes.
After a while, the same days still meet you in the morning, but you’ve changed. Carpe diem, they say. You smirk knowing it’s not that simple but you’d get there. You still feel lost and out of place most of the time but then, now you are happily lost and in no hurry to get to another state of mind that you’d also hurry to get out of. Well, anyway, it doesn’t matter.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home