a sense of purpose

Last evening, a co-worker of mine passed away. He wasn't terribly old, was a big man, who lived a full and varied life. He touched many places in my home and had a fond nickname for me.

I'm looking out my window right now, at the sky that's rising through those gradations of colour that I love so much. I've got quiet time to myself right now. Tomorrow and the rest of the week will be hectic.

Just before sitting down, I felt again that gray that makes me uneasy. That sense that my life just keeps going and I go through the motions without feeling ecstasy just being alive, the way I used to.

Perhaps I simply don't understand the purpose of my life. I help people, sure. And recently, I've been told how great I am, how supportive. Why do I feel somewhat bland?

I think of how much longer I have to live sometimes, and it scares me. Because in the upcoming years, there could be so much that will hurt me. But at the same time, I love being alive. I just don't look forward to the days with excitement, but rather with the thinking that I have so much to do despite being so tired.

And I think of my friend. He's gone. Soon, he'll be ash. So quickly. A once imposing form, reduced to a bowlful of dust. And the world goes on. I think it's this way that the world can just go on that's unsettling to me. I'm glad that it does so...many others deserve the chance...but I struggle with the fact that people pass on and are forgotten; that a life that was so important is no longer noticed.

I'm not sure what to do about this feeling. I hope that I'll feel more than this soon.

the pressure of self

I really wish I were more inspired to write these days.

My earlier posts, though many times dramatic, were more interesting. Though, of course in those days, I lived with nostalgia and sadness. These days, I am certainly happier.

But truthfully, I'm just way busier, and I don't have the time to ponder like I used to. And I wonder whether this somehow disturbs my spirit.

Today, for instance, I find myself quite grumpy. It started last night. I was annoyed with him and rather mad, which he noticed. I really wanted him to come to bed with me as he's been staying up late recently, due to the internet or TV. He said he'd finish his food and have the will power to turn the TV off. When he didn't do it, it annoyed me, especially because I was so tired and irritable. He gave me kisses and kisses and I responded lightly.

He knew something was wrong, but I couldn't rationally determine why I should be pissed off. I immediately regretted it. He is so nice and helpful, and always thoughtful! I turned over and caressed his back as an apology and he said, "Thank you," in a soft, sincere tone.

I talked to him about it this morning. It seems so dumb that I should want him to go to bed earlier and to stop using the internet so much. It's his life. He works hard too.

But it's hard for me to see all this "free" time when I work all day. Then, I cook and/or eat, then practice until my brain falls out. Then I'm so damn tired but I really, really want to waste time and work on photos, or something utterly useless! But this fucking nagging "good girl" in me knows better. She knows that it's best to just go to bed, get enough rest, or else the next day will be horrible and more stressful.

But this afternoon, though under duress of hunger, no doubt, I fucking just want to screw off and not think of what I should do. I want to be able to have enough free time to do whatever the hell I fucking want.

Then, I'm angry at myself for being annoyed with him, for no entirely rational reason. And I hate that I did that. I'm not supposed to be that way...who am I? His mother?

I'm supposed to be working a bit now too. Am I? No. And this "good girl" whispers that I should really get going if I want to memorize more music after work.

There's just too much. And I don't understand why I should complain. I was on vacation for a month, damn it! But here I am, back for barely a month, and already I hate the confines of time and responsibility.

I wish I had more money. Then I wouldn't have to work so hard. Then I could just work on what means most to me...music, and pondering the world around me in order to make meaning out of everything.

Perhaps I'm in a bad mood, and sometimes feeling completely bleak, because in the absence of meaning, I just wonder if this is it. For decades more, this is it. I'm happy, I'm angry, I'm stressed, and I'll just go through it without being able to process, and before I know it, it'll all be over.