I have not
I wrote a lot, but I do not deem it sufficient or important. So I have not published a post in about two weeks.
Every now and then I forget what I do and want to do. I would compare it to a computer crash. You wake up one morning and all the beautiful pages of your bachelor thesis are gone for good.
These kinds of experiences occur on a regular basis:
“Yesterday there was a plan. Today there is nothing and a little bullshit left.”
“Have a nice day!”
In these times, when the dice decide to be loaded and not grant me the gift of fucking memory, I retreat back to a quiet, little site.
My bubble, my own world. The place where everything is in my grasp, under my control, where my heart and head are still or already able to play for the same team.
As this happens, lethargy and apathy become overwhelming. Every little or large thing, important or not, can not evade evolving too trivial to be even worth noticing. Why should I notice, if it exists in my realm and at my complete mercy? Puny and futile is what they are.
Notwithstanding I often ask myself:”Why do matters exist, that my head is allowed to ignore in their entirety?”
I originally should not be able to evade these tasks, problems or gestures. Some are inherently important to my well-being and existence. Even so they are, I could not give a shit and fuck about them.
An example of my stupor.
For over a year now, I have not opened a single letter. Not one.
I see the address, the sender and know what it is about. What it means or and this is in most examples the case, what the framer of said letters want from me.
No secret was ever lifted for me by ripping up an envelope. There is a very blatant problem due to this and I am fully aware of it.
I have no true, factual oversight of external claims that might be laid to my wealth or person. That is somehow unsettling for others, but mostly generates a life comparable to a mutilation of a treasure hunt. A lot of uncertainty. Uncertainty is at least a teeny, tiny bit exiting.
Just because I know, doesn’t mean I care. I do not care for many reasons
None of these letters are for example ever hand-written. They are manufactured for a reason. A hand-written message would imply personal involvement and commitment. In matters firms or private persons regard the information of my person as absolutely vital, few want to be involved personally, therefore I chose to do the same.
You do not bother to use your hand to postulate your concerns?
You will understand. I can not squander the usage of my eyes to gaze at your triviality.
This is where I stop today. When you are the one beating the trail you need to walk, there is no excitement in turning around and retaking the steps of this pathway without former hindrances.
Even writing seems so indifferent and mediocre. I would love to call it boring, but that would mean attributing other aspects a more favourable description. Until things change, I have one and a follow-up question.
One has to do some things and others one chooses to. Who defines what one has to and what one chooses to?
Follow up: How does one become employed to decide such stuff?