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The Generations of Me

I downloaded all these old songs by The Cure and they're the sort of thing that washes over and through you and leaves you clean and happy.

I've been remembering where I thought 10 years ago I would be today. I'm sort of there, sort of not, and it sort of doesn't matter. Today I stopped myself from thinking about myself 10 years from now because it doesn't mean anything. My life is a song that will play itself out and it will be beautiful. I love the mystery of my future and the funny stories I can glean from my past. I am a hymn with a definite beginning and end just like everybody else, and that's the way it's supposed to be. Maybe that wasn't the original plan, but nobody wants to live forever. I think the desire to live forever is really a misinterpretation of the fear of the unknown. I'm dying--ha ha--to know what'll happen to me after I die. Will you be there? Do they have roses? Are bubble baths forbidden? Will I have toenails? Will everything be monochrome? Can I take a picture and send it back? Will I still have to pay off all my loans (wouldn't that be funny)?

I half-wish I could meet myself 20 years from now, just to talk with her/me and be amazed at how much smarter I/she got. Although I'd probably just end up feeling jealous and inferior. I'm such an unconscious glutton for self-depreciation.

I've been going through my old entries, starting from day one, and it's shocking how borderline retarded I sound in them. I can see my journal-voice mellow and lengthen the more I read. It could just be maturity, although I'm loathe to think I was ever so stupid in reality. Am I calmer now? Or do I just sound that way between the pixels? Are my words weightier now, or was I just a linguistic lightweight until recently?

Another thing I noticed, digging through old words, was that there are some really scary entries in there. I think the scariest ones are either friends-only or private, or I never posted them in my LJ at all, but reading through them....it was pretty horrifying. As much as I try to be aware of my depression, hindsight really is 20/20. There are things I've done to myself that seemed so rational at the time, but they're downright creepy when I'm not ill. How can I know the color of roses when I've spent my life peeking out through blue-colored glasses?

Will the future me look back at the me now and shake her head?


( 1 comment — Leave a comment )
Feb. 24th, 2005 07:46 am (UTC)
Obligatory quote
| Will the future me look back at the me now and shake her head?

Why worry about it?
As the captain always says, "Make it so."

piyo // 頑張ろうや!
( 1 comment — Leave a comment )

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