A hundred thoughts flying through one's mind, every hour, every minute. I bought giraffe-patterned socks today. I went one full month without shopping, attempting to curb a habit that has been growing steadily, approaching the limits of reasonable spending. A part of me asks, "Who cares? It's my money. I can spend it how I want." The practical side of me insists that I could gain the same satisfaction from shopping around without actually making purchases. Or by looking through my mother's wardrobe to shake things up a bit. Or by rummaging through my old clothes, which after all this time will feel "new". I don't think that's true.
A hundred thought flying through my head every day. A thousand emotions. I have no sense of self control, no self-discipline to speak of. It's easy enough to reprimand someone else for their laziness, to tell someone else that they need to get their act together. And when it comes right down to it, it's pretty easy to tell yourself that, too. I'm lazy. I need to get my act together. I need to apply for jobs. I need to do something worthwhile. I need to stay dedicated to the task at hand.
See? Easy.
It's the doing that, well, just doesn't get done. When that happens, sometimes it's easy to succumb to feelings of hopelessness, uselessness, and other -lessnesses. In those moments when you are not doing anything, how do you define your own self-worth? How do you learn to love yourself for who you are? If I'm not doing anything, what do I have worth taking pictures of? Worth posting to facebook? Worth blogging about? How do I justify my reason for existing? How do I stop myself from asking semi-rhetorical questions?
A hundred thoughts that I can't keep track of, but that I want to write down and think about some more. These half-hashed-out arguments that float around in my head... wait, what was I saying again? Well, they're not really important, I'd simply like to dwell on them a little bit further. I've found that some people are very good at thinking out loud, and many of these people are also excellent conversationalists, or they're good to have around because they know how to fill that awkward silence that most of us are so good at producing. Among those who truly speak their minds, whether or not they've thought about what they're going to say prior to saying it, there are a few who modify their thoughts as they go. They will say one thing, analyze it out loud, then modify their thought process, and to me these people are fascinating. One rarely gets to look into the mind of another human being, but these Public Thinkers, as I'm going to refer to them, offer themselves up to the scrutiny of others as easily as if they were riding a bike or eating a meal. It's not something that they feel they must do in the privacy of their mind, but something that can and ought to be done in an open, public, or social setting.
Not I! I find solace in the fact that few are privy to my thoughts because while some of them are truly abhorrent, several are just plain stupid, a small percentage are good and wholesome, but truly the majority of them aren't of any interest whatsoever. Yet here I am, craving the attention of an anonymous internet audience and raving like a person who has nothing to rave about. For that, I apologize. You see, for a long while I have been wanting to write in this blog, wanting to pen down some of my thoughts and musings, and simply haven't gotten around to doing it until now. As you may be able to tell, my writing voice is not my usual one, though it is slightly giddy which is not unusual. I'm borrowing my voice from the most recent book I've been working on, The Name of the Wind, by Patrick Rothfuss. The narrator has a very lighthearted and humorous story-telling voice, which is rather pleasant. It makes it easier to read, and adopting his style makes it easier for me to write.
With these less-than-worthwhile thoughts, I will leave you, Perhaps Non-Existent Reader. You may likewise rave to me, but it is unlikely that I will read your post, because I'm narcissistic and value my own opinions highly enough to write them down, while others' I value insofar as I may critique them or assimilate them as my own. At least that's how I feel Until Further Notice.
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