So I finished school for the semester. That leaves one to go for those scoring at home. Yippee.
After that hellacious stretch I got a vacation in Tennessee, and now that I'm back from that, I'm settling into a schizoid-esque reclusion.
So I'll hang out for a while, go with the flow, entertain myself, run around, listen to Rome, and all together live a nice solitary life.
As I've grown older, much of my desire to write down my thoughts has been subdued. Now I'm perfectly satisfied having them and keeping them in my mind. Is this maturation, or something more heinous?
It's hard to say right now, but I guess at the very least I've "calmed down" a bit. Or just become more apathetic. I just don't get joy from the same things anymore. And I don't feel the same in certain settings.
Am I trying to mold myself into the supposed professional that I'm contracted to become? Doubtful. I usually don't let such scenarios have an effect on me. So I guess it's something of a more natural and ingrained metamorphosis.
Atleast I haven't lost the gift of rambling about nothing in particular.
One thing that hasn't changed is my tendency to go on late night scavenger hunts through the internet looking for something that will help me define myself and my life. This is usually done through perusing some quotes or philosophies, and then writing something related, i.e. now.
A little self-examination never hurt anyone. And if you perused the 4+ years of this xanga, you'll notice plenty of instances thereof sprinkled between the idiosyncratical humor.
Occasionally, I'll find something to
define myself as, but nothing comes out of identification, so in the end, there's really no point. Not to mention, I like to think of myself as more than just a label - as conceited as that may be.
Maybe one day I'll have that lightbulb moment where everything will come into focus, but I think everyone would like that.
In the end, it's really nothing that a night of sleep won't cure. Temporarily, at least.
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