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Monday, 11 August 2014

Adulthood and hope

I will of course be tired in the morning when I have to wake up and make my way to the office, but I've already debated with myself just how sleepy I am right now and the conclusion seems to be "not sleepy enough." I finished watching Sailor Moon. I cried. I cried when Haruka and Michiru died holding each other's hand, I cried for Seiya's unrequited love. At this point, it shouldn't surprise anyone that I did. Except perhaps myself because of the whole being numb thing. It's just that I don't go about feeling many things other than lonely and I already know love stories are a trigger. 

I'm feeling a bit restless. I went over a few old posts adding the Sailor Moon label to them and fell upon one where I had ideas. The bright kind of ideas that tickle your brain and make your ideas smile as they talk among themselves. What I wrote then makes no sense now and maybe it never did, as you'd expect from random notes taken quickly too long ago. The true ideas behind them escaped me them and they still do now, it's just that it took me a while to even remember what it was like to have such ideas. I'm that stupidified by now. 

The reasons why are long winded, I suppose, but they boil down to the purposeful numbness. Not the one the psychiatrist says might be caused by the drugs, but the one I started building upon when my little one died by burying the pain with make-up videos and Bob Ross. Hope is lost. I know depression lies and someone who just watched the final episodes of Sailor Moon should think otherwise, but there was a time when I read Le Petit Prince and I thought reading it while so young was a stupid exercise and found the book dreadfully boring. I could read it now (I won't, I hated it and I remember the message well enough) but by now it's too late. And that's exactly the thing. We all go from the wishes and fantasies of being singled out as quirky heroes made stronger by the things that make them different (and, in real life, weak) to boring adulthood. "It's the way of the world," some would say.  I couldn't prove them wrong if I wanted to.

Remind me to try writing another Volo piece. 

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