Freewrite #4,896 of, like, 5 shared.
Aye, it is July. Already. Where have the days gone?
Five weeks in California passed by quickly. I recall the beginning, and all the doors were open. Possibility and hope and excitement. And now it’s all been done. The story has been written. Everything that was to be done has either been done or not. It’s over. Did I do it as best as I could? As I should have? These thoughts always creep in when I have returned from some endeavor, and I choose to not give them much attention these days. I don’t need the guilt. It’s all self-imposed anyway.
I remember the periods of my life as though through a lens of themes.
Themes seem to be everywhere lately. Perhaps it’s the gods speaking to me. Or perhaps it’s just my own brain creating significance from a state of focused attention. But regardless, you see if you are looking. Can you trust it?
I think I must.
Tiny fairies dance about my shadow with glitter, lighting a path for me to follow. Am I a fool to believe? Maybe our entire universe is the microscopic contents inside of an alien cell that joins with massive amounts of other versions of universe cells? And something larger is created.
You don’t know.
Neither do I.
In the movie Lucy, which I think is so interesting, Morgan Freeman’s character is asked by Lucy what she should do with the enormous amounts of knowledge and information she possesses in her evolved state. Professor Norman responds.
You know…if you think about the very nature of life. I mean, from the very beginning. The development of the first cell divided into two cells. This whole purpose of life has been to pass on what was learned. There is no higher purpose. So, if you’re asking me what to do with all this knowledge you’re accumulating, I’d say, pass it on. Just like any simple cell going through time.
(Sigh) Relief. A reason. A reason that makes sense. A reason for this mysterious and smothering need to give something. Share something.
I need to stop questioning it all the time. I need to stop questioning myself.
Do my old neighbors across the street think I’m disrespectful sitting in my front yard in my tank top without a bra? Maybe they never even noticed. Or maybe they did and they don’t give a fuck. What does it matter anyway?
I can’t turn off the possible perspectives. The numerous potential points of view. All valid and interesting. I want to explore them. Objectively. But as a human being, this starts to impact the subjective side of me. It’s an interesting thought. To feel without feeling.
Sometimes I wonder if I am completely out of touch with reality. I think I spend too much time alone. But I also like it that way.
And again I am wondering how I am and how I should be and what is best or right. It’s fucking exhausting.
We are so free we are not free.
If I am being myself and I feel comfortable not wearing a bra in my own front yard and my little boobies happen to be perking out of my tank top, then what is the point in caring how someone else feels about it? Why am I so afraid of stepping on toes or being disrespectful or making someone mad?
Like, when should we care about how others feel? And when do we put more weight on how we feel? If everyone’s line is in a different place, we are bound to disagree, so I need to focus more on my line and where I want to draw it. The line between what matters to me and what matters to everyone else. And what it comes down to, Jayme, is that not everyone is going to like you. Isn’t that the root of all this anyway?