 |
Mar 3, 2008 - 05:44 PM |
|
 |
Time for Jessykins to do what Jessykins does best: Complain. |
|
|
I am reading this book by Carl Sagan. It's made me think a lot about humanity in general, if not specifically my stupid little life.
I came to the conclusion that what I really believe is pretty fucking depressing. To not believe in a beautiful place we go to after we die, or even that our lives have any meaning whatsoever in the grand scheme of things... well, it makes a lot of it all seem so pointless. I do not believe in God, or heaven or hell, or in reincarnation or anything of the sort, but god damn I wish I did. Hell, I even wish that I didn't find the concepts that most religions are based on so fucking laughable that I could even make some sort of motley belief system, but I just can't.
As I do with most thoughts like these, many of which include my future and remaining time living, I mostly stick to one plan: try not to think about it.
Well, this is my LJ, so I suppose I'll use it to do some more bitching.
Along with these thoughts about my life, I often find myself stuck on one notion: Maybe I am not special. Yes, I have been through and seen horrible things in my life, but what does that mean? I always told myself as I grew up that I wanted to be a writer. That I would somehow make a living off of telling people the stories that are constantly in my head. I am disheartened, however. I do not have faith in my talent. I haven't written anything in a while besides a short story that I haven't finished, simply because I am almost certain that it wouldn't matter. I have no audience, and without an audience I feel as though everything I put down is pointless. A friend of mine told me that writing it should be about doing it for myself. But why? In my head, it's all perfect. On the page it's a half-assed representation of what my imagination can show me. I don't NEED to write for myself, because I see them every fucking day.
I cannot live a boring, normal life. I cannot have a 9-5 job that I work 5 days a week for the rest of my stupid little life. I would rather fucking DIE than live like that. I'd rather put a bullet in my fucking brain than live like my father or my girlfriend or my fucking brother, who has degrees in so many artistic things, is a brilliant painter, and drives a fucking TOW TRUCK for a living.
I'm 23 years old, and every vision of my future makes me want to kill myself. I don't know how to change it. I just know I have to.
So yeah. That's it.
|
|
|
|
|
