I don't worry a lot. In fact, I consider myself to be one of the most relaxed, chill people I know. Few things set me off, few things annoy me to the point of anger. Competitions don't interest me, people vying for a top spot or titles bore me. I've always taken this as a point of some pride, as Lilliputian and trite as it is. But lately I've come to wonder- if I am passionless in this aspect of my life, does it make me passionless in other aspects as well? I could list off the banalities of my anti-existence for you- I could speak of my days filled with time spent alone, sleep, eating. Writing, texting, hanging out with friends. Being drunk, dancing. Boring. I can't think of a single, real-life thing I did today. Passionless. Uninspired.
Drawing from a song I heard today (one that simultaneously struck a cord in me and depressed me), I can sum up my life in a sentence: taking your own life with boredom, I'm taking my own life with wine. How depressing is that statement? Yet I couldn't get it out of my head...one can't really take one's life with boredom, one can't really take one's life with wine (unless one goes on a serious, wild, wine-drinking binge, in which case one would need to consume almost stupid amounts of that fruity alcoholic beverage.) So what do those lyrics really mean? Being so average, so vapid, so vapidly average, that I am indeed killing myself, slowly yet surely, with my tedious, insipid life. And the biggest factor that is bothering me is that I don't mind commonplace things! No, in fact, I used to cherish everyday, simple things. I adored making them complex, velvet. Making a beam of sunlight trailing on my floor a prop for an amazing, inspired, of-the-moment dance. Instead of walking down the stairs, I would trip lightly, making a beat with the gentle thudding of my feet on the floorboards. I used to delight in the most childlike things, such as having an opportunity to eat ice cream, wearing a dress, going on a road trip, applying makeup as I got ready to go out for the day. Dancing in my apartment in my underwear, alone. Singing in the shower. Having fire in my veins. What happened to me?
I hate writing that comes to no conclusion, but in this case, there honestly is none. How could I possibly wrap these couple paragraphs up? With saying, perhaps, how I will try to change, how I will learn to love each day properly. Or I could say that I might never change, and how much this prospect scares me. I could wax on about other worries of mine. I could elaborate on love and life, life and love, love lost, life lost. Or, I could simply say "goodnight" and "see you tomorrow". Sometimes the simplest ways are the best.