One of the chief conflicts of my being is my sense of alienation. On a rational level, I want alienation. My brain tells me that I need detachment to properly analyze situations and people. I need to not get clouded up by blind emotion and do ridiculous things, or allow ridiculous things to happen to me. But on an emotional level, every now and then I get this sinking feeling that my life is stupid, pointless and boring, and it’s all because I’m too intellectual to indulge in anything resembling emotional intimacy.
I don’t want to descend into utter cynicism and bitterness. I don’t want to suspect everybody all of the time. I don’t want to live my life on the defensive. But the idiocy of optimism is so clear to me sometimes. Sometimes I just want to be angry and justified. I want to tell the story of how the world jilted me, and how I think everyone and everything can go to hell. I want to be fucking righteous and filled with rage.
And then I remember how much I love life. I remember how giddy it makes me to squish my toes around in mud, or pet my dog, or initiate someone into the pen15 club. I don’t want to be righteous, I just want to be. And I don’t need all of that rage and bitterness and cynicism.
It’s easy to take cheap shots at rural life and simple pleasures and all of the usual goals. But those are the things which make men happy. When I grow up, I want a family, and a steady job, and to own my own house with a little land and a dog. I want to bake cookies and decorate for Christmas.
And then I think that I couldn’t be happy with any of those things. And it makes me question my humanity. What does it mean to be a moral being? Somehow I suspect that there has to be some tension to it and a little discomfort, too.
posted by Sarie @
3:55 PM
>Comments: 0
