I feel like a dull knife. Like I’m no longer sharp. I’ve exhausted it all on projects that don’t really reward me with much other than my satisfaction that they’re done.
Chuck decided that my metamorphosis project, of a worried looking man in a cubicle turning into a hamburger, isn’t good enough to place in the display with a good number of other metamorphosis projects. It’s cool, I guess.
This brings me to why, because that’s the real question, isn’t it? Why do I do these things? Why do I write poetry and post it online? Why do I show my art to anyone? What is my real motivation?
Well, I should be doing all these things for myself, but I’m afraid that’s not the case. I feed off approval. Not just approval, but something more. I want everyone to like me, and like what I do.
Perhaps this isn’t a healthy way to act, but it’s gotten me this far. I’ve had to change myself quite a bit several times in order to be the person I am today. It’s kept me alive, and I’m quite proud of myself (maybe that’s a problem too), but Chuck bothers me nevertheless. I haven’t had many problems with him… In fact, I know I make him sound like a much worse person than he is, however I’m making sure I have lab next quarter with the other teacher.
But I’m just too damned tired.
Nothing ever stops, does it? There’s never any moment when any of us can sit down and say “Life is good. I can stop now, and take a break. There is nothing else on my platter at the moment, no bills to pay, no art project to work on for 10 hours, no argument to have with anyone or anything. I am at peace. I am a static individual for just one minute. I am happy with what I’ve done in my life.”
Truth is, whenever I approach that kind of time, as I’m alone in the night, laying in bed unable to sleep, it’s not extremely restful. I tend to think too much about all the things I should have done that I never did. The things I should have said to people several years ago. The people that I fear I may have offended throughout my life. The pain I might have caused unknowingly. The road to hell is paved with good intentions. I’ve had these regrets throughout my life, and they only hit me when I’m alone. It doesn’t just happen when I’m in bed about to sleep, it also attacks when I’m on my bike, when I’m using the restroom, when I’m walking to school with nothing else to wrap my mind around other than regret.
It’s sad, I suppose. But like I said, it’s gotten me this far. I guess it shows I really care.
The biggest problem I have with people my age is that many of them no longer care. That’s probably the root of all the problems I think they have. They don’t regret things, and they don’t care about what kind of problems they dump on other people with their foolishness.
Problem is: I have just as much foolishness. Whether I’m aware of it five years from now or not.
What a damned fool I am.