Maybe it's just because I'm feeling a particularly large amount of animosity towards sleep lately. That and eating, actually. I kind of dislike biological necessities in general. They're too time consuming and I've got things to do. Hugantic jinormous wastes of my life. I can't afford to sleep a third of my life away. Life's too short for that nonsense, and there's a whole big world to fix.
The clock will never stop for anyone, even if you smash it's shiny little face in or put a wrench in the gears.
I guess I kind of can't believe it's 2006? I'm not really very excited about it either, which is strange. Normally I'd be filled with optimism and thoughts of a clean slate and new opportunities but instead it feels kind of futile. It's just another day. No day. I don't know where my time is flying off to. I don't remember 2005 feeling like a full year. I think of memories from last spring and it's feels like a long time ago but I don't feel like enough stuff has happened for a full year to be gone. I don't like it. It's disconcerting and redoubtable.
Maybe it's because I have to grow up soon. Or at least, sacrifice a little bit more of my immaturity than I have thusfar. I'm never letting it all go. I'm too obstinate, too easily amused, too silly, too idealistic, too impulsive, too curious, too playful, and too somethin' else.
This year will mark my last full year of school. Mixed feelings about that. I don't want to keep paying for school, and it's not like I have to worry about the sudden cessation of learning once I'm done, what with being a journalist and a shamelessly excessive bookworm. Believe it or not, I love learning. Love it. To a degree that is truly stupid. Still... I'll have to get a job and probably move somewhere and have a loathsome routine* and make a home for myself (maybe even with a husband involved at some point) and I really don't care to do that any time soon. I feel ill-prepared. But, if this year flies by like the last, I won't have a choice. All that will be bogging down my mind when all I really want to do is just play on my panpipes. Yet, right now I feel like I need a change anyway and I hate that I'm so needlessly restless.
I think maybe, just maybe, in general I just want to play forever and right now I'm not playing enough. I've never been a huge fan of responsibilities and obligations unless I have knowingly and willingly brought them upon myself, and I see them coming without my invitation. Maybe it'll be easier to deal with them if I find someone to play with, in the 12-year-old hey-let's-go-build-a-snowman-and-go-sled
Maybe this is just me being ridiculously over-tired because of my stubborn refusal to give in to sleep.
Maybe it's just because it's winter.
But I feel like I'm the only living person in a city of zombies. Like I'm too alive for my own good, because it's fucking alienating.
* To me, the word alone is akin to the most vile thing you could possibly imagine. Actually being involved in a routine, would be like pulling my intestines through my bellybutton, or slowly using a hacksaw to cut off my left leg mid-shin. I'll bet those are some visuals you didn't need. You're welcome.