agendaless
The title to this blog post is a lie. I have an agenda. It is 22384093248.231 miles long. And it gets longer everyday, especially when I can only move 2.2 inches an hour.
But that's beside the point.
My lack of agenda resides solely in this blog post. Usually when I write I have a specific thought I need to get off of my mind. Or I'm bothered by something. Or I want to send covert messages to people. Or there's something I want to say, but when I try to say it, no one listens. Most often I just want to laugh or cry, and writing is the only way I can do so without completely embarrassing myself (and maybe that is even a lie. I'm not sure of much of anything anymore).
But all of this doesn't really matter.
I honestly don't know why I'm writing (okay, that's a lie, too. This post does fall under one of the above categories - it's actually developed meaning as I've started writing it (which again defeats the purpose of my title. Oh well)), but it does feel good to try to be something worthwhile for just a moment. For the bajillionth time in my life, I've gone out and lost myself. And this time, I've lost myself really well. I can't find me. And it's the most frightening feeling in the world.
But that's a silly thought.
Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. And maybe it's time to put the active search for finding me at the bottom of my agenda. Worrying and stressing and hurting and regretting have been the only tools I've had to help me on my search. So far they haven't gotten me much of anywhere.
But that must be put aside.
And maybe it's time to move on, to dig inch by inch until I finally reach the bottom of my agenda.
But that's beside the point.
My lack of agenda resides solely in this blog post. Usually when I write I have a specific thought I need to get off of my mind. Or I'm bothered by something. Or I want to send covert messages to people. Or there's something I want to say, but when I try to say it, no one listens. Most often I just want to laugh or cry, and writing is the only way I can do so without completely embarrassing myself (and maybe that is even a lie. I'm not sure of much of anything anymore).
But all of this doesn't really matter.
I honestly don't know why I'm writing (okay, that's a lie, too. This post does fall under one of the above categories - it's actually developed meaning as I've started writing it (which again defeats the purpose of my title. Oh well)), but it does feel good to try to be something worthwhile for just a moment. For the bajillionth time in my life, I've gone out and lost myself. And this time, I've lost myself really well. I can't find me. And it's the most frightening feeling in the world.
But that's a silly thought.
Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. And maybe it's time to put the active search for finding me at the bottom of my agenda. Worrying and stressing and hurting and regretting have been the only tools I've had to help me on my search. So far they haven't gotten me much of anywhere.
But that must be put aside.
And maybe it's time to move on, to dig inch by inch until I finally reach the bottom of my agenda.
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