Saturday, January 28, 2017

Fighting with and begging for time

Erratica has marked the past coupla months, during which the blog has seen none of my swill. There are an infinite things to talk about, but agency has it that they haven't been talked about. I have been depressed considering the torment of time, its unceasing march forward making me feel backward. It would take a lifetime to recollect a single day or a night, such is the plight of the descriptives. We humans usually tend to die much sooner than we'd want to.

Looking around for answers, as other humans have figured it, I found they haven't. "Buck up" and "Prioritise" are the two most profound responses, which is akin to saying, "Suicide is your best option, son/bro/jerk". Repression and compromises promise to be the two best friends, but I'd rather keep to myself. With age, I've learnt to be more stubborn. Not that I'm right or leading a right life, but the me that will live in thin slices of me that is presently alive doesn't sound very appealing. Sure, I could be "wrong", but I'd pretend not to understand or care about such binaries, and diffidently confuse anybody who tries to argue about the same.
Persecution complex creeps into thought often.

Complaining about time, the week that went by rubbing it in even more. I was found begging for my own time. Sociality hit, leisure activities took hold, and the organism often got tired by the end of the day, to not have any time for its master, its mind. There were things lined up that didn't happen, even when I did find time to meself, for lazy recovery got priority, a time much occupied by thought than initiative/agency. All agency is spent in mundane things through the day. What's left for me is mere reflection, which too is an addictive habit that is now programmed in my brain processes, and I can't do without.
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