When words are not enough

I can blog about a lot of the nuances of everyday life. From shockingly high gas prices to what I had for breakfast, there is a plethora of things that I can blog about. However, I don’t seem to have the energy nor the patience to write about life-related things in a long-winded fashion that necessitates the tiresome squeezing of brain juices to piece together bits and pieces of thoughts and experiences to form coherent sentences. I am mentally exhausted because there is honestly so much bullcrap going through my head every second of the day at every given hour you can think of. I wish I could run away to somewhere if for a little while to escape from certain people and reminders that continuously haunt me and give me more than a fair share of unrest.

When time catches up to one, it has this beautifully sour ability to make one realize that he could have had the one thing he coveted most if he had only exercised a little bit of patience. I could have had the world in my hands right now if I had merely waited a little. Perhaps instead of living like the end is near, I could have attempted to live with perfect, calculated ease. Instead of grabbing things, I could have waited for them to fall into my hands. It’s true when they say that you must make an effort to obtain something that you want instead of waiting endlessly for it to come to you. However, this is not always true. Sometimes in our haste to obtain the one thing that we covet most, we mistake what we do obtain as that object of desire we had so desperately longed for. However, time proves to us that it is indeed not that, but something else – an illusion meant to fool. By the time this sad realization sets in and becomes the reality of one’s life, the actual coveted thing is now long gone and belongs to someone else.

I detest writing in this thing as though it’s my personal journal – I’d rather write about ridiculous gas prices or analyze foreign policy. I would much rather publish thoughts that are not related to my heart per say, because I don’t like that I’m an open book for anyone to read and judge without shame. If I had only used my offline journal regularly, I would not have had to succumb to posting entries that pertain to my emotions. However, I find it a painstaking task to resort to my offline journal every time I have a lot going on internally, because sometimes I have too many thoughts and not the ideal writing speed to accompany them and do them justice. Blogging is an easier mechanism through which I can relay whatever is going on. I’m going to try writing about more mundane things from now on.

I wonder why most human beings possess the innate tendency to pour out their innermost inclinations while experiencing the rather arduous labor of excogitation. Is it not sometimes possible to simply keep everything on the down low? Why is it that human beings are on the verge of bursting when they do not have a proper outlet through which they can convey their emotions, whether it be through a blog, a journal, conversing with another human being, or whatever else? This dependency that I have on various outlets is a nuisance, because occasionally there will be something lingering in my mind that I just cannot talk about anywhere, even on the pages of a private journal. I fear my privacy even within the four walls of my room, because lurking everywhere there seem to be individuals that have the time and energy to break into my life by uncovering these outlets.

Why can’t my solace simply be me and nothing, and no one, else? I just don’t know or understand. I guess human nature sometimes provides us with no answers.