It seems a shame that profundity and eloquence tend to spring from either depression or drug use, and neither of these is really what I want. I’m perfectly happy right now, at least I think I am, and it seems I have absolutely nothing to say. I listen to the troubles of my friends, and all I can think of to say is, I wish I could give you some of my happiness. Life is a roller-coaster, so I can only imagine I’m at a high point, perched precariously, and I should probably take one last breath so I can scream the whole way down. When my life does take a turn for the worse, if it does, then perhaps I’ll have something worth saying. I might even come up with decent metaphors then.

Until then, the excitement in my life is finding my cigar cutters, which came about as I tore through my room looking for CDs with operating systems. I also found a ton of replacement razor blades, some more aftershave, and a whetstone. It’s Christmas in August, and I bought my presents years ago.

I find a lot more of my time now has to be devoted to thinking about things that are utterly mundane, like work, paying bills, credit ratings, insurance, and such. I’m starting to get a little scared that I’m entering real life, at least taking my first few steps. I’m starting to feel like being a career student wouldn’t be so bad, if I didn’t have to age and become that 30-something year old in the back of the class that tries to get invited to parties to feel like a college student. Grad school would surround me with people my own age for a while, but they’re academic types for the most part, and I’m not sure that’d be nearly as fun as college has been thus far, so that’s really not an option either. I suppose we all grow old, and either move on or stagnate.

It’s not all that bad though, I do enjoy a lot less stress. I have free time that I hope to soon begin capitalizing on. Maybe that’ll be what I’m saying 30 years down the road, too.

I was reading some of the things I wrote in journals back a few years ago. I was caught up in the questions of what makes us who we are, what our purpose is, and grandiose concepts like that. I asked in one entry whether dreams had an impact on who we are. If we are the product primarily of our conditioning and surroundings, then what we experience defines a large part of who we are. Dreams are something we experience, and thus should probably be taken note of to better understand who we are. Why do I not seem to care as much any more? I am much more worried about becoming financially stable to better support a family. Maybe I’m changing, and maybe that’s not bad. Then again, I’m writing a post about the contributing factors and current status of my own personality, so maybe not all that much has changed.

When I wrote in my journal several months back that meeting this girl had turned my world around, I didn’t really know what was going on, I was quite simply overcome with a new sensation, an emotional intensity I’d never known before. I don’t suppose I’ve really come to grips with that reality yet, that my mindset has changed. I want to please her, and more than I’ve ever wanted to please my parents, even as a small child. I want to take care of her, and I’ve never really felt that much before. I’ve wanted to help people, and even to be a blessing in their lives, but it wasn’t at all this consuming before.

I guess it’s going to take some time to figure out what this change means, or if it’s permanent. Maybe that’s a choice I can make, and I need to figure it out, and make up my mind. Anyway, sleep is critical to thought, I think, so I’m off to bed.