Frankly, I don’t know exactly what I’m looking for. But it comforts me that I’d probably know it, once I’ve found it. So I guess I should keep looking.
My mantra has always been “Never settle.” Lately, I keep seeing myself as an overage, used, abused, wrinkly, old prune – this at the tender age of 25. Older friends tell me I have got a long way to go, greener pastures to chomp on. But being Jenny means to shit on said pasture rather than graze to my heart’s content.
And I’m way over the whole “finding meaning” stance, I’ve adapted the Absurdist point of view. One’s efforts to find meaning is absurd because there is no meaning. Embrace the nothingness and you will be free. To quote the all-knowing wiki, “…the absurdist’s refusal to hope becomes his singular ability to live in the present with passion”. So here I am, feeling the “now”, on the floor, scrapbooking all my so-called torments, waiting for the passion to commence. Still have to work on that though. Tralalalalala.
It’s none of your business, and you probably would not understand what I am about to say, but I don’t think I’ll come back anytime soon. A tumor is growing and it is getting heavier still. But don’t worry, it’ll pop by itself or maybe it’ll take a life of its own. That and almost anything else is more interesting than the zombie I stare at when I get up in the morning. Plaster on the awkward grin and hold them at bay. They won’t notice, not really. But until then, I’ll see you. And I’d probably kick your ass. Playfully of course.
Toodles Noodles.
Gnashing at a randomly exposed flesh,
JG
P.S. To cement this post as the most disjointed crap ever written, I would like to add that I'm dying to see this film: Let The Right One In.
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