Paper Journal: On Time
Dec. 7th, 2013 04:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
howeverbriefI haven't written in my paper journal since the beginning of August. Before that, it was sometime in June. I don't seem to make as much time to privately chronicle the daily ins and outs of my thoughts or activities much anymore. It's not just here. It mostly feels like I'm constantly not giving myself enough time to get it all done, partially because my life has changed pretty dramatically in the last year. Hell, this slow change has probably been happening for longer than that, but like many other things in my life, I can't pinpoint an exact date to blame and draw on. I suppose that's life, or a convenient excuse. Maybe both.
Before I go too into musing, I wanted to share what I wrote the other night. I had wanted to write a much longer entry here about the topic, but I found myself too tired to follow through. It wouldn't leave my head, though, so this is what came out.
December 5, 2013
What doesn't smack of desperation, the quiet clawing to stay relevant? Even now it slips away unseen in our dreams as we while away the hours lamenting our lack of time. And how do we cram more meaning into every moment? How do we prevent ourselves from becoming that which we despised not too long ago? The years between our selves and our unexpected (to us) but seemingly inevitable (in the most common of people) futures?
We recognize youth's idealism but, in doing so, become weary of its premise. By now, we should have become something. By now, we saw more than we thought possible in other people. Alas, reality has only itself to give, and we are left lonely and disappointed. We wonder at our previously held hopes and watch them fall away, aghast at possibilities no longer achievable.
So, that we are here. So, no others will take the same place. Tet they do, and always will, as before and after time immemorial. Regardless.
Before I go too into musing, I wanted to share what I wrote the other night. I had wanted to write a much longer entry here about the topic, but I found myself too tired to follow through. It wouldn't leave my head, though, so this is what came out.
December 5, 2013
What doesn't smack of desperation, the quiet clawing to stay relevant? Even now it slips away unseen in our dreams as we while away the hours lamenting our lack of time. And how do we cram more meaning into every moment? How do we prevent ourselves from becoming that which we despised not too long ago? The years between our selves and our unexpected (to us) but seemingly inevitable (in the most common of people) futures?
We recognize youth's idealism but, in doing so, become weary of its premise. By now, we should have become something. By now, we saw more than we thought possible in other people. Alas, reality has only itself to give, and we are left lonely and disappointed. We wonder at our previously held hopes and watch them fall away, aghast at possibilities no longer achievable.
So, that we are here. So, no others will take the same place. Tet they do, and always will, as before and after time immemorial. Regardless.
