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Sometimes it seems as if life just doesn't agree with me. I mean, yeah it is what I make it.. blah blah blah. But, for some reason I can't seem to shape this glob of clay that represents my life into anything of interest or significance. It just sits there in it's lumpness, mocking me. As if to say, you are nothing but a procrastinator and a critical twit. Nothing to offer just a 'holier than thou' perspective that deserves nothing short of a hard blow with a 20 pound sledge to shatter that ego to pieces. But it isn't just that that bothers me, but my outlook on a number of things. I like to think I accept people for who and what they are, that I can see the beauty in things, and even that I am capable of caring as I should... but I think all that is wrong. I'm not even sure I am capable of loving. I have no passion, no bliss, no real reason to move on from day to day. Yet I do not wish to die. I say I like living, that I have a good life, one worth living, but when I take a step back to look at what I have from a different perspective... what I have seems obselete. I am unworthy, I think
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Community Member
It's true trust me. (lol)
And about life being clay...(which is a pretty good perspective)
In art class, we had to make a pinch pot. everyone else's turned out perfect, but mine was distorted and lopsided. the last thing you do before you stick it in the kiln for the last time is cover it in a glaze that will turn to glass. this pot, if left alone, handled with care, and junk like that, it will hold for years (literally, like a million years). BUT, if you throw it with just the right force, it's going to crack. Basicaly, the moral of my weird story, is if you take care of yourself, and do not dwell on the shitty stuff, you're life is going to have some meaning. (and by the way, my pot looks awsome, I'll send you a pic if I get the chance^^)
~Sunga blaugh