Tuesday, May 06, 2008

Regime

It really isn't the time for numbers. Especially since I've always said I didn't care about them. I did. Not about them, per se, but about what they represent. 155 really doesn't mean a thing until you put it into context. Nor does 125. Or 106. But every time I read those three numbers, I assign a significance to them.

At least she's supportive this time. I took drastic measures before. Not even really on purpose. Back in the black eyeliner days. I call them that, but I still wear black eyeliner. Just not like that. But I did take those drastic measures, and nobody even noticed. So either they just don't pay attention, or the drastic measures were a futile exercise. Either way, I didn't get what I wanted. So here we go again. I think my body's starting to rebel, started even before I started this madness. Or maybe I'm simply hormonal. It does happen.

So dismiss this, if you wish, as the ramblings of someone who doesn't know what she's talking about. Someone who's only ever walked the straight and narrow. Someone who's never rebelled against anything. Because that's what I'm doing isn't it? Accepting the arbitrary restrictions, not fighting anything except myself, my own needs and desires. Conforming. Means to an end is a common defense. I'm never going to be the means to anyone's end again if I've got anything to say about it. I'm takin my own means, to the end I want. Finally. A little dash of control.

It's cold. I don't care. It's not the reckless, wild "I don't care" of there's something more important, it's just the simple truth. The feeling of nothing more important. I want to be important, I just realized. That's not something I tend to say. It's unseemly. But at the same time, I don't think I can help it. Maybe that's what this bit of karma's for. Because, horror of all horrors, I want to be important. Could be that all these inane motions are the channels I try to go through to be important. Maybe I will be someday. But for now, it's cold, and I really don't care. That one was a little reckless.

Reckless, undue risk, maybe while I'm in this mood I should learn to drive a motorcycle. I've always wanted to. It's not rational, it's not safe. It would piss off a couple handfuls of people I could name without thinking too hard. Maybe that's why I've always wanted to do it.

Sticks and stones. I really wish I knew what that look meant. Before you leap headlong into lake conclusion, it isn't that look. A small, twisted, probably very wrong part of me definitely wishes it was, but it isn't. And I'm not just saying that because if it was, it would shatter too many boundaries and foundations to think about the repercussions. It's just a look I can't figure out. Maybe it's different every time. It might be a question. The "I want to ask but..." look. Can't think of what the question is though. I don't have too many secrets anymore, and the ones I've got are solidly buried under mountains of meaningless trivia. Like an extremely complex calculation, much as I hate to compare myself to math, one of those nearly-endless problems that you have the final equation for but have to go through three or four equations to find each one of the values that go into it. Maybe that kind of equation doesn't actually exist and I'm just rambling. As always, I wish I understood that which I don't.

I would so like to be an optimist. Maybe that's why they say I'm crazy.
That's what I'd like to say to the subtle-as-a-train-wreck kick in the pants. How can you stand doing and saying these things, and drag yourself out of bed in the morning, knowing what you know?

Pascal's wager really isn't my thing, but maybe there is something I can't find. I don't know why some believe and some don't. And I don't have a name for what I believe or don't believe, as the case may be. I guess for now I'm working on the "When I know, I'll know" assumption. Fear or no fear.

Tragedy is when an individual is unwilling or unable to connect to their surroundings and society. Well, maybe this is where I try to connect.

Wireless network found!?

Daydream Believer

1 comment:

Loud said...

There's really only one good question to ask:

What sort of motorcycle?

I don't mean "do you have a brand and model picked out" so much as I'm wondering what the philosophical significance of the motorcycle is to you (if it has any)