I have a saying: “Sometimes a cigar is not a cigar. Sometimes it’s a whole box of cigars”; meaning, sometimes the thing we’re upset about or arguing about with somebody is not the real issue. It’s a sign of some other much bigger issue.
So I tend to read a little bit too much into things.
I generally spend my days complaining and asking the big questions about life. The questions no one cares enough to ask or hear the answers to. That’s why they’re big. They’re just too big for anyone but myself to see.
The first goal of life is to find the meaning of it. What else is there? You can’t make a single move without it. You can’t even escape your existence without making a statement about its meaning. You make these determinations unconsciously until you decide to lift the rock and see what’s teeming underneath.
No matter what your beliefs are about the universe, how many dimensions it has, if it’s a holograph, was it created or uncreated, if God exists or not–you have to admit that something weird is going on here with this existence thing.
I am disgustingly self-centered and I am sorry for this, I am working on it.
Right now, I write a hodgepodge about stuff like this:
- Depression and mental health
- Existential crises
- Faith and religion
- Working in retail
- Screwing up (my specialty)
- My boss (my monomania)
I honestly don’t have a direction yet so it’s random.
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Come on, give me ideas. I need some help out here!
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P.S. Thank you so much for reading.