The Times Have Changed

I'm not even sure when my last post was, but I do know that my life is very different than it was when I began this blog. I've moved twice. All my family seems very far away. My 'new job' is now my 'old job' and my 'new-new job' sucks. I've given up on the pursuit of animation because it's no longer something I want--I don't think myself a quitter, but I need to find something else that will make me happy. Or at least something I can live with. Unfortunately I have no more ambitions and no definite plans. I tell people I might transfer to a different college in the fall, but I only say that so they'll be satisfied and won't question me. I hate to be questioned in matters of my own life. I hate to be told how to live. Albeit, I don't myself know how I should be living; all the more reason why I don't see how anyon else could have a better idea of how I should be proceeding with life. I suppose for now I just want to do the best I can and continue on my endless search for that mythological dream called happiness.

Recently, my favorite teacher at school died. He was a great man, a hard-nosed man, but a good man just the same, with a giving heart and a genuine concern for his students. I wish his death didn't distress me--I wish I could look at it objectively as the death of someone I didn't actually know well--but truth be told, I care more than I let on. He was a mentor of mine, and he was one of the few people I've met who I honestly believed when he said he cared what became of me. Once he tried to advise me on my future, and although I'm not sure if I appreciated that, his words have stayed with me. If nothing else, they leave me uncertain about the way I am currently living: paycheck to paycheck without goals or purpose, just surviving.

But perhaps surviving is good enough for me. Perhaps it is what is suitable for a wretch like me. A nine to five job with no one to come home to and no career to be proud of, that might be what I am destined for, if destiny does indeed exist.

It's seems silly now to have this blog at all. Why should I think that anyone would be interested in reading my strange and dismal thoughts? In fact, why should anyone be interested in reading anyone else's thoughts, dismal or otherwise? Never the less, I will continue blogging, if only for my own satisfaction. I have always enjoyed composing my thoughts, after all.

My father is far away now, as he always seems to be, and some days I miss his guidance more than others. Some days, I miss him more than I can bear. I don't know if I will ever get past the feeling that I have been utterly abandoned, or if gradually this too will fall away into the abyss of apathy that appears to be devouring my life. Slowly, I care less and less for the things and people around me, and I find myself standing in a very small circle, surrounded by a mere handful of people I honestly care for: my parents, my siblings, and one or two uncommonly close friends. Some days I feel that the rest of the world can go to hell, as long as that small circle of people stays near me. Is it wrong to feel that way, or all we all animals, struggling to survive and hanging on as tightly as we dare to the people who we love?

If only I could percieve this world differently. If only it could appear to me as more than this cold, rainy globe of danger I see before me. The ignorant truly are happiest, for they shall never know the corruption that plagues this race, and they shall never know the heartache of being truly human, being never truly satisfied, born to die in pain.

As things stand now, I am alone, and yet more than loneliness, I feel great anger that, at times, I cannot even direct in the appropriate direction. It seems to spread to every bit of my life, and I want to lash out at everything. My cynicism and my hate thickens as time goes by and life refuses to get better. I hop between the frying pan and the fire constantly, alternating between contentment, irritation and depression. Some day, the fire may burn me away. Or some day, I may burn myself away, and leave an ugly, black scar upon this world.

As if I should be so lucky, that the world would remember me for even the briefest of moments. I am constantly living in a dream, I think--some Disney-concieved fantasy land--where some day what I do and think, my very existence itself, may actually amount to something. It is much more likely that I will pass as billions of humans before me have pass: meaningless and easily forgotten.