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Back in Lake Jackson for New Year's. Yesterday was both infinitely better and infinitely worse than days other than it. It was great to see people, but it just made me realize how I can't own them, and I'm about to leave them anyway (and it'll be even worse if I'm not). I hate the concept of being owned, but I keep discovering the reality is less objectionable than I would think.
And there's that postulate, Nia knows, of small doses being worse than withholding good things entirely, because then you just miss it. I really despise living that way, but that seems to be how it is.
It's not enough, or it's too much. That doesn't mean I can stand to give it up; I'm not that strong. I can't admit it's not going to happen, that I will eventually have to go without it, because I'm not strong enough (or cynical enough, perhaps, or pragmatic enough) to give it up early. I will flail about in obstinate draconic practicality to increase it. What is that? Holding on to your dreams? Or deluding yourself? It's in my sigquote at Flat Lake: "When is a legend a legend? When is a myth a myth? How old and disused must a fact be for it to be relegated to the category 'fairy tale'?" That's my naive, so-open-minded-my-brian's-gonna-fall-out, McCaffrey viewpoint.
And yet, isn't that the purpose of youth? Spend yourself, pursue your passions, get all of the really dumb stuff out of the way before you know better? Go for it?
It, of course, is a confusing and self-contradictory subject, comprised of basically anything I decide I want. Independence, friendship, dependence, free time, idyllic solitude, idyllic companionship... The ability, basically, to dictate my own activities.
This is both infinitely and not at all desirable, because I know I wouldn't make the best use of myself if left to my own devices. I can't be trusted. I'll read fourteen chapters of a new book and a whole Discover magazine, rather than work on the only application I was able to stir myself from laziness to acquire. Future? What? Why bother? I know why, but I just don't. My motivation seems to come and go. At least there's a concrete one to make an effort in that particular example... most of the rest of them are worse. I never really let myself go unless there's absolutely no chance I'll be caught, which is in itself an abhorrent way to live. I know that snitching sugar hurts no one but me, that cheating is an idiotic practice, and merely undermines one's own surety of the material, that it's not a good idea to get personally involved to a point that I'll be overcome by the intensity, or that it would incapacitate me if it was curtailed. I usually manage by strength of will and pride to refrain from anything really damaging, but there have been major slips at isolated points in time. It's really the pride that does it; I don't want to be fat, I don't need to cheat, I don't need or deserve to be loved, and I don't care.
But sometimes I try, anyway. Not very often, but once is enough, yes? Lose the ketosis and it takes another month to get it back, and meanwhile you've gained ten pounds and had sever dizzy spells and your vision may be irreparably damaged... Get caught copying and get kicked out of school... Need I even mention the repercussions of badly-considered affairs of the heart?
I sometimes think a priveleged existence is hell compared to a hellish one... As a starving child in Somalia, you don't have a lot of chances to fulfil your potential. As an upper-middle-class smart kid, it's awful of you not to take them.
I could take the time I have to be a kid, and use (or refuse to grow up during) it. Or I could be sensible and refuse creepyteenagerhood. I'd be a much better person, but would I regret it later? This is the time to do the stupid stuff. There isn't enough of it. I'm not done yet.
And there's that postulate, Nia knows, of small doses being worse than withholding good things entirely, because then you just miss it. I really despise living that way, but that seems to be how it is.
It's not enough, or it's too much. That doesn't mean I can stand to give it up; I'm not that strong. I can't admit it's not going to happen, that I will eventually have to go without it, because I'm not strong enough (or cynical enough, perhaps, or pragmatic enough) to give it up early. I will flail about in obstinate draconic practicality to increase it. What is that? Holding on to your dreams? Or deluding yourself? It's in my sigquote at Flat Lake: "When is a legend a legend? When is a myth a myth? How old and disused must a fact be for it to be relegated to the category 'fairy tale'?" That's my naive, so-open-minded-my-brian's-gonna-fall-out, McCaffrey viewpoint.
And yet, isn't that the purpose of youth? Spend yourself, pursue your passions, get all of the really dumb stuff out of the way before you know better? Go for it?
It, of course, is a confusing and self-contradictory subject, comprised of basically anything I decide I want. Independence, friendship, dependence, free time, idyllic solitude, idyllic companionship... The ability, basically, to dictate my own activities.
This is both infinitely and not at all desirable, because I know I wouldn't make the best use of myself if left to my own devices. I can't be trusted. I'll read fourteen chapters of a new book and a whole Discover magazine, rather than work on the only application I was able to stir myself from laziness to acquire. Future? What? Why bother? I know why, but I just don't. My motivation seems to come and go. At least there's a concrete one to make an effort in that particular example... most of the rest of them are worse. I never really let myself go unless there's absolutely no chance I'll be caught, which is in itself an abhorrent way to live. I know that snitching sugar hurts no one but me, that cheating is an idiotic practice, and merely undermines one's own surety of the material, that it's not a good idea to get personally involved to a point that I'll be overcome by the intensity, or that it would incapacitate me if it was curtailed. I usually manage by strength of will and pride to refrain from anything really damaging, but there have been major slips at isolated points in time. It's really the pride that does it; I don't want to be fat, I don't need to cheat, I don't need or deserve to be loved, and I don't care.
But sometimes I try, anyway. Not very often, but once is enough, yes? Lose the ketosis and it takes another month to get it back, and meanwhile you've gained ten pounds and had sever dizzy spells and your vision may be irreparably damaged... Get caught copying and get kicked out of school... Need I even mention the repercussions of badly-considered affairs of the heart?
I sometimes think a priveleged existence is hell compared to a hellish one... As a starving child in Somalia, you don't have a lot of chances to fulfil your potential. As an upper-middle-class smart kid, it's awful of you not to take them.
I could take the time I have to be a kid, and use (or refuse to grow up during) it. Or I could be sensible and refuse creepyteenagerhood. I'd be a much better person, but would I regret it later? This is the time to do the stupid stuff. There isn't enough of it. I'm not done yet.
