Anhedonia

            Maybe I just need to do more things. Maybe I need to get a new life. But I'm tired. I used to be angry, but even that surge has quelled into a little wave of indifference. Like the life of a manatee. I float. I float in a lake.

            That lake may stretch out to sea somewhere, but I can't see it. I can taste little traces of salt, indications of somewhere with infinite unexplored possibilities. Yet I remain. Floating. Floating. Floating. A bloated ship of blubber with fins that only have the option of going back and forth. It's pathetic, the limited extension, the only form of mobility is paddling my dumb growths of arms and wiggling nearly vestigial tumor of a tail. The only way I could ever free myself from the limitations of my body would be a spontaneous mutation, change of character, some sort of evolution.

Once in a while the waters would be shaken up. Motorboats come and go, scraping me with the blades of their motor. And funnily enough, that is the most excitement that comes around. And in the process of receiving the only passing excitement in my life, I get hurt.

            I used to enjoy frolicking in these dry waters. Seeing what I could discover, excited to eat, excited to sleep, ready to dream. For who knows what could await me in my dreams?

           I am now merely an animal. Doing the things I did before. But automated, coldly mechanical: eating sleeping, walking, thinking, copulating, blinking, lifting, breathing. All these motions seem to meld into a similar gray hue, just like the coating of a manatee. A dull colour, unobstructing murky water, even the colonies of algae on my back prove no uniqueness, only covering like more camouflage. Even if I wanted to get rid of them, I couldn't, for my limbs are far too short.

            And so, I float in this murky water. Barely seeing what is in front of me.

if high school is the best years of my life

I might as well be done with it now

this blows

"High school is closer to the core of the American experience than anything else I can think of."

-Kurt Vonnegut

My ennui is like a sticky residue. Although it is stuck on a surface, it is a surface still deeply embedded. It collects dirt, grime, sticky things, anything, until it build build builds up. I try to rub it off, and as I rub and rub, it collects into a dirty, repulsive ball that turns blacker and blacker as each disgusting layer builds. I fling it off with my fingers, and think nothing of it. Yet there is still that sticky film, however thin it may be, that remains every single time, waiting to grow.

No matter how easy or how difficult it is to clean myself of that feeling, it still resides. Sometimes liberating myself of that feeling is as easy as rubbing dirt off your legs when you sweat. Sometimes I come onto it with an onslaught of cleaners, scrubbing, scratching, scraping, as it sits there: never budging. And I collapse, frustrated and lethargic.

 It never leaves. It does not tell me why. It never speaks to me. It is just there.

I am tired. I have stopped trying to cleanse myself of that plague. Too many years and too many times I have fought this inescapable demon. I sit here, and I let it build up. And I will let that residue build. It will turn gray, brown, black. It will rest as a mound, building and building. Things will stick to it, and never leave. It will entrap things, it will entrap me. It will consume me as a whole, and one day I will find some strange comforting feeling in it. It will become my cave, my dwelling, my cape, my armor. I may never have to leave. My greatest enemy will become my greatest friend, and I cannot wait for that day to come.

The Element of Surprise

I don't know if I want to know when I die. Maybe I'd live life more fully. Maybe I'd count down, drenched with anxiety. But what am I living for now? unless it is death.

Would it be worth living if you know what was going to happen? We live for the element of surprise, that maybe when we’re working in class, perhaps an elephant would fall through the roof. Perhaps a fireman would rush in and tell us to get out. We’d win the lottery, I don’t know. But whether it is living for God, that perhaps we’d receive an extraordinary sign from God, for other people’s reactions, for your own emotions, the mere surprise is what keeps us living. What if you knew exactly what would happen next? Sure you may know a robber is coming and you could avoid it for let it happen (free will is yet another thing to be discussed), but what would be the point? You may live a safe life, or a life dreading what’s to come. The best things come as a surprise. So what then, would be the good things in life if you knew what was to happen? We always have things to look forward to, but it is those unknown  things that make life worth living.

We Want Efficiency

In modern times, our need for efficiency grows as we try to keep up with this fast-paced world. How much more efficient would we be if we ran everywhere (as if we were late)? How much adrenaline would be constantly pumping through our veins? How tired would we be? How much stronger? Stationary work would still be the same (learning in class, doing paperwork). But the time in getting to destinations would be cut by half. Everybody would wear running shoes. How would sidewalks be divided if everyone ran? People would run into each other, a surprise in every turn around the corner, through a door. Running would not create suspicion, crimes may occur more often. The increase in people-on-people collisions would rise. Running insurance would be invented. There'd be tracks on sidewalks for people to run in lines, and people would follow/make rules those comparable to our traffic rules. We'd become cars, afterall, cars are merely an embodiment of ourselves, only faster. And if we ran everywhere we went, we'd be, in short, cars.