010304

Most of my genius is wasted on discarded post it notes and the
tendency to explain things like the composition of human blood in an
overly complicated manner to twelve year olds. My life is definitley
ruled by fear of the unfamilar, limited by my own inability to take a
chance. Though I have no fear of change and defitinley possess an
ability to adapt I can only do so when I am fully equipped with a
sense of familiarity. Though I haven't found this situation entirely
dehabilitating it is limiting in some capacity.

Today is one of those days when I have an urge to simplify. Perhaps
I'm succombing to the deafening swirl of resolutions which abound or
maybe I just want to simplify. It's a day where I appreciate the
brightness brought by the sun and one that makes me question why I
rush through life when I don't have to. Today I entertain the thought
that if Iived in a library, able to consume words at my own leisure
then I might approach the happiest I am capable of being.

From as long as I can remember I have eagerly digested literature in
any form. From cereal boxes and shampoo bottle labels to Dr. Seuss and
Salinger I have recieved great joy. I'm not ever sure if books were a
means of escapism or some odd sense of structure and solidarity in my
always uprooted life. If I ever have the money or the guts to, I'd buy
a library. You can bet it would be one of those kind of libraries that
rich men who wear smoking jackets in the movies have in the east wings
of their mansions in upstate New York. It would be expansive and un
organized and perfect.

When I allow myself actually grasp this sort of concept it provides
causation for me to question why it is I still push myself to be
something I don't want to be. I know I've probably entertained that
question one point two billion times in the last year alone but I have
obviously not found a satisfying answer. Or maybe I just can't accept
it. I don't know if I'll ever live my life for me.