Wednesday, July 22, 2015


Knowing that my hormones are responsible for the crash doesn't make the impact any less painful. Kind of like knowing that the reason you got a sunburn was because you ran out of sunscreen. It still burns.

And so I am trudging through today, in this small but very significant portion of my life (approximately 6.7% of my procreative years. Yes, I did the math). I am plodding and plummeting and climbing back up and wondering why I can't just bring the dirty dishes to the sink, even though I didn't make them messy, so why didn't those who used them do it? In the midst of a full-on brain rant over the dishes, I brake everything to freak out over why it matters. WHY? Why do I care? I don't. I don't give a fuck if the house is a disaster, even though I DO, but "not really." Because, in the end, there isn't a score card for the dishes or the laundry. There isn't a prize for anything. Not academics or careers, or any sort of accomplishment we feel we can tack upon the wall and display for others to gush over. THIS IS IT. I was born alone, I'll die alone, and if I fall, only I can pull myself up. Alone. Alone.

Well, Fuck.

Haven't written on this blog in a regular fashion in over 2 years. Why? Is it middle age? Am I that predictable? Is being predictable BAD? DOES IT REALLY MATTER IF IT IS? The time I've wasted over wondering if I was good enough/funny enough/smart enough is mind-boggling.

I have so many things in my head. Posts about love and choices and equality and justice. Points that I want to make, even if only to my future self, about the Big Questions and revelations I try to hold onto, before they no longer matter. The Big WHY of life... Why are we here? Is it really as simple as "just because"  or is there some greater purpose? Is my life a long list of pre-determined situations and choices or as random as the splatters of paint thrown upon a wall? Which is more desirable? And if I was allowed to know the truth between the two choices, would I REALLY want to know? Which is a more depressing thought: that all that I do and am is at the whim of some omniscient being or that no one and nothing in the universe is able to account for the world within my mind?

Best part of this onslaught of hormonally charged questions is the knowledge that it is NOT unique. It is not particular to me as an individual but rather to all who are blessed with the ability to think beyond ourselves. Human existence is a blessing and curse. We are able to ask "Why?" but not ever able to receive a solid answer until the moment we die. And then? Will there be an answer or only silence?


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