My 3:00 Demons
Who am I?
Where am I?
How did I get here?
And why is it that these questions of consciousness, these journeys of self-exploration, these episodes of mental masterbation always happen at 3:00 in the morning?
I lay here after two weeks bedridden, barely remembering what the world outside my apartment looks like -- half claustrophobic, half agoraphobic, and fully fucking insane. I wonder how I got here. What enormous cosmic flaming shitball was tossed through the universe to bring me to my current state in life?
I wonder if it is just me. Did I do something to deserve this? Did I piss off some arrogant god who has decided to use my life as his own personal chew toy? Was I a bitch in a former life and now I'm getting payback? Or maybe everyone's life is flaming cosmic shitball residue, but everyone else has learned to deal with it better. Maybe no one has learned to deal with it, and they're all just as miserable as me.
If so, what's the point?
I've always thought of myself as a fairly intelligent person when I'm being modest and a very intelligent person when I'm not. I usually learn quickly. Doesn't take me long to catch on to a concept, to process information, to draw conclusions, but the answer to this question has eluded me for some time. What's the point of it all? Why do we do it? Why do we plow on day after day? Why do we try to make meaning of our lives? Is there meaning to be made or is it all just residue? I think, in my pain-killer addled brain, I may have stumbled on a small answer.
It doesn't matter.
None of it matters. I'm not saying that life doesn't matter, that existence doesn't matter. I'm saying that who we are -- all of our experiences, all of the decisions we've tumbled through, the choices we've grasped -- none of it matters. It doesn't matter because it's all just smoke and mirrors. When all the tricks and all the obstructions are cleared away, it's just you, and you can choose to be whoever you want.
It doesn't matter who you were; it matters who you want to be. Tabula Rasa. Everyone has the right to start again.
No one's life should be shitball residue.
Where am I?
How did I get here?
And why is it that these questions of consciousness, these journeys of self-exploration, these episodes of mental masterbation always happen at 3:00 in the morning?
I lay here after two weeks bedridden, barely remembering what the world outside my apartment looks like -- half claustrophobic, half agoraphobic, and fully fucking insane. I wonder how I got here. What enormous cosmic flaming shitball was tossed through the universe to bring me to my current state in life?
I wonder if it is just me. Did I do something to deserve this? Did I piss off some arrogant god who has decided to use my life as his own personal chew toy? Was I a bitch in a former life and now I'm getting payback? Or maybe everyone's life is flaming cosmic shitball residue, but everyone else has learned to deal with it better. Maybe no one has learned to deal with it, and they're all just as miserable as me.
If so, what's the point?
I've always thought of myself as a fairly intelligent person when I'm being modest and a very intelligent person when I'm not. I usually learn quickly. Doesn't take me long to catch on to a concept, to process information, to draw conclusions, but the answer to this question has eluded me for some time. What's the point of it all? Why do we do it? Why do we plow on day after day? Why do we try to make meaning of our lives? Is there meaning to be made or is it all just residue? I think, in my pain-killer addled brain, I may have stumbled on a small answer.
It doesn't matter.
None of it matters. I'm not saying that life doesn't matter, that existence doesn't matter. I'm saying that who we are -- all of our experiences, all of the decisions we've tumbled through, the choices we've grasped -- none of it matters. It doesn't matter because it's all just smoke and mirrors. When all the tricks and all the obstructions are cleared away, it's just you, and you can choose to be whoever you want.
It doesn't matter who you were; it matters who you want to be. Tabula Rasa. Everyone has the right to start again.
No one's life should be shitball residue.
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