Sunday Sunday Sundae

I do not know what I am going to write about tonight, this night, at nearly three in the morning.

The palm of my left hand occasionally hits the mousepad on this laptop and moves the cursor around and clicks it while I am typing and it is really annoying. That is a thing.

I am happy with myself. This feeling annoys me. I feel like I am doing something wrong by being pleasantly pleased with life. What, then, do I need to fix? I am not certain. So, what I am doing writing here? Blah, I will think of something, I swear.

I am a pessimist. I never think good things could happen to me, so I never stick my neck out. I never take a chance without intense calculations regarding risk. I consider this cowardice; it is probably pragmatism. There are quite a few contradictions to this pragmatism in my life I am sure.

Despite my innate pessimism, I constantly offer optimism to others. After all, their life could only be better than mine, right? This idea is silly. I am an extremely lucky person. If you are reading this blog, then you are too. Just by nature of being in a situation where you have the leisure time to read the musings of a kid in college means you have done something right. Whether you did it or you were born into it is meaningless. You live a privileged and leisurely life. By the same token, I know this is true of myself, but refuse to admit it. You cannot shy away from this truth though. If you do, then you are making yourself miserable.

I have plenty to be miserable about. You have plenty to be miserable about. The world has plenty to be miserable about. You have plenty to be happy about. The world has plenty to be happy about. I have plenty to be happy about.

Regardless, without question, we whine. We hide. Why? I doubt there will ever be an answer. I am fine with this conclusion. I should not be, but I am.

My life is not even one third over yet, and that fact terrifies me. The same fact is also the source of unending hope. I can always change; if I work hard now; I could; I can; I should; if this; if that; I could if I want; if. I will probably do none of the things I plan to do. Every plan I make is probably an exercise if futility. That is an okay thing. Should a plan work, that is grand. Should a plan fail, that is equally grand.

What a sequence of events, eh? There must be something in the two of us. How can we just sit here and do nothing? Read a blog, write a blog, sing a song, write a song, do something, do nothing, just the act of sitting is a thing to do! How dreadfully droll and dull.

This whole thing is kind of a train wreck. Vageries aside, every generation thinks it better and worse than the previous, and thinks the next will be far worse and far better. These contradictory ideas are so deep-seated in human thought, at least, Western thought. So, why do I beat myself up for having such oscillations? Ah, what knows! Tomorrow the sun will rise, and tomorrow the sun will set. Is this cycle not the same as our wandering through life? Tomorrow I will love myself, and tomorrow I will hate myself. It's true, I will talk more of hating than loving, but is that not some indicator than in reality I do more of the former than the latter? Woah, that could be misconstrued I think, I am not certain I did everything grammatically sound there. Antecedents are jerks.

So, remember to hate yourself in small doses, and love yourself in equally small ones, okay?