This blog entry will be unreservedly solipsistic and insular.
Sometimes I get these crazy thoughts that threaten to ruin my life and I struggle to step outside of my head until it blows over. These thoughts stem from feelings of dissatisfaction, and are self-destructive, when really I ought to be counting my blessings.
I've mentioned this to Rum before, during one of our conversations on MSN. We were talking about how Holden Caulfield, in Catcher In The Rye, falls in love with a random friend and wants to marry her just because of something dumb she'd said, then, just as quickly, decides that he hates her forever.
I'm crazy, swear to God I am, Holden says.
One minute I'm insanely jealous of some chick who is dancing with my husband, the next I'm daydreaming about having a fling in Europe. Sometimes I have thoughts of world domination and being a rockstar artist with several definitive books written about me and my art, but just as easily my thoughts turn to how insecure I feel when I'm in the studio trying to cook up some ideas.
It's all not real, of course, those meanderings. I'm happily married. My career is going pretty well, too. Why, just last night over a few mugs of beer, someone important offered me a good project to work on in 2006. If I were to look at my life from someone else's perspective, it sure looks rosy. I have friends and family who would help me out if I needed it badly. I probably wouldn't starve next year because I've been saving up really well.
Ah then why is it such a fight for me to be happy-slash-satisfied? Does the key lie in forgetting?
There's no doubt that I have an obsessive nature when it comes to certain things. I am paranoid and neurotic to some extent. Which is not conducive to my personal pursuit of happiness.
Many people have recommended Bertrand Russell's writings on happiness, however I'm not convinced that he is an authority on the subject as I've never seen a single photograph of him smiling. Furthermore, to write an entire book on happiness seems more like a doldry task.
One might be inclined to comment that I enjoy being miserable. But that's not as disturbing as the thought that I might actually fear being happy. Always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Pessimistic as heck.
I'm crazy, swear to God I am.
Sometimes I get these crazy thoughts that threaten to ruin my life and I struggle to step outside of my head until it blows over. These thoughts stem from feelings of dissatisfaction, and are self-destructive, when really I ought to be counting my blessings.
I've mentioned this to Rum before, during one of our conversations on MSN. We were talking about how Holden Caulfield, in Catcher In The Rye, falls in love with a random friend and wants to marry her just because of something dumb she'd said, then, just as quickly, decides that he hates her forever.
I'm crazy, swear to God I am, Holden says.
One minute I'm insanely jealous of some chick who is dancing with my husband, the next I'm daydreaming about having a fling in Europe. Sometimes I have thoughts of world domination and being a rockstar artist with several definitive books written about me and my art, but just as easily my thoughts turn to how insecure I feel when I'm in the studio trying to cook up some ideas.
It's all not real, of course, those meanderings. I'm happily married. My career is going pretty well, too. Why, just last night over a few mugs of beer, someone important offered me a good project to work on in 2006. If I were to look at my life from someone else's perspective, it sure looks rosy. I have friends and family who would help me out if I needed it badly. I probably wouldn't starve next year because I've been saving up really well.
Ah then why is it such a fight for me to be happy-slash-satisfied? Does the key lie in forgetting?
There's no doubt that I have an obsessive nature when it comes to certain things. I am paranoid and neurotic to some extent. Which is not conducive to my personal pursuit of happiness.
Many people have recommended Bertrand Russell's writings on happiness, however I'm not convinced that he is an authority on the subject as I've never seen a single photograph of him smiling. Furthermore, to write an entire book on happiness seems more like a doldry task.
One might be inclined to comment that I enjoy being miserable. But that's not as disturbing as the thought that I might actually fear being happy. Always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Pessimistic as heck.
I'm crazy, swear to God I am.
posted by foray at 12:54 AM
2 Comments:
I wonder if true happiness really exists as a state or if the best we can expect in our lives is just moments of it.
If you're crazy so am I. I find as an obsessive and depressive type of person that the only choice is get busy or get crazy. And by busy, I simply mean engaged in something that I can be passionate about, ie. something that takes me out of my own head.
I need to make stuff. Often however I am just plain lazy.
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