I have a talent. A unique talent for making things difficult. I cannot take the easier way out of anything. Things, events, people, places, words, expressions all take on a different level with me - they have to be taken down and apart, studied, and scrutinized and seen in a light - I am not a hair-splitting old pedantic, no, but for me all is complicated, deep and significant.
Is mulling over things a vice? Am I guilty of pandering to my emotions? giving into them unnecessarily? Hopelessly looking for meaning where none exists? All I know is that I know nothing.
This thinking - this continuous analyzing, this resistance, this procrastination, this paralysis that takes over me from time to time has made life complicated - why I give in to this kind of sentimentality and become a slave to my strange feelings is anybody's guess? For, I, am a prisoner of my own being, my own eccentricities, my own quirks and my own madness that is itself unique and different.
Am I glorifying my own weaknesses? I may be guilty of it somewhat, but that itself isn't a conscious act, it just happens with me, that plain thoughts, simple actions, very common expectations and behavior takes on a complication and obtuseness and lands me into whirlpools of huge strength that ensnare my feet, and I am literally caught and stuck! Unable to do anything whatsoever.
Comments
Post a Comment