Do other people think about these things at all? Do they simply not care?
When my mind wanders on lonely roads, it occasionally stumbles onto the crossing at Solipsism Drive and Teen Angst Avenue. I start to question my own patterns of thought and the incomplete map it follows; not mistrusting my judgment but rather my right to even ponder the thoughts. Should I have taken care of the more petty existential concerns earlier in life? Or later rather? In the past I was young and wide eyed. In the future, I’ll hopefully be wiser. But right now; what am I really? Too late or too soon? The questions are more plentiful than I could ever wish for the answers to become.
Introspective, self-exploring ideas about the concept of my own mental existence. Such things weigh heavy on my frontal lobe, without me being able to decipher whether or not I should let that weight be there in the first place.
It’s mostly about cause and effect, though. I wonder what variables were different this time around. Why is one day a gloomy grotto while the next is a blooming meadow? What begets my actions? It’s just neurochemical balance in the end anyway, right? The human brain, as it evolutionary grew, decided to pack a lot of rhetorical joke questions into its source code just to make modern people feel like fools for not understanding the punchline.
Why are the solutions so simple in theory, yet almost impossible in practice? Will rambling words thrown onto a digital space make any sense of it? Right this moment, I just needed to get something off my chest. I can’t tell if it’s still there or not, though. Is the answer to tug harder or peacefully co-exist? Shall the thing be sitting there under layers and layers of clothing as the winter cold draws closer? What do other people do?
I don’t expect you to stick around, or ever read this in the first place. I just needed to vent. Vent the thing on my chest, I suppose.