Wednesday, December 2, 2009

This is my brain while you are all asleep...

It's eleven.
It doesn't feel like eleven.
It doesn't even feel like I'm not alone in this house.
But I'm not.
There's a husband and a puppy.
Not really a puppy.
She's almost a year.
But calling her a puppy is like calling your significant other sugar or honey.
They aren't really sugar or honey.
But it's a term of endearment.
Not like the movie though.
The movie made me cry.
Never felt the urge to watch something that depressing ever again.
Except I do like to watch depressing movies.
Schindler's List, Amadeus and Wuthering Heights.
All highly tear-inducing films.
You could deduce that I watch these films because I think I'm better than you.
Smart people enjoy really sad shit.
But you'd be wrong.
You could also say that I watch these films because it makes me feel better about myself.
Wrong again.
I just like to watch 'em.
Why do I need a reason?
Not every single action has a reason.
Why do I like the color red?
Is it because I'm a sexual deviant?
I don't know. I just do.
Sometimes there is no justification for the shit that we like.
All we know is that when that movie starts or the music begins or the sunlight pours in, that we feel content. Pleasent even.
Isn't the internet convenient for this age?
Everything you might find interesting about a person is usually lined up, all nice and neat in a little box.
Saves us the time of asking those inane questions.
"What kind of music do you like? Where are you from? What do you do?"
Instead, go to their myspace or facebook and voila! There it is.
Your homework done for you.
Hell, if you don't like what you see, you can delete. Unadd. Disapprove with a button.
Friend Request Denied.
And now, with the invention of Twitter. There's even less to read.
All you think you need or want to know about a person is posted in their latest update.
You can judge a person based on what they wrote 23 minutes ago. No need to follow.
Kinda weakens our social skills doesn't it? Makes us lazy. Interacting with real people becomes a task.
Because in real life if someone is yammering on about shit you could care less about, you can't stare them in the face while you interrupt with a fake emergency. Walk up to someone new and start a more interesting conversation.
You can't put up your away message in reality.
The internet has taken some of the worlds social butterflies and retarded their social skills.
It has also taken wallflowers and given them a voice. A veil to hide behind, so that they may say what they please.
The good come with the bad I suppose.
The internet changes the meanings of things. Like the word Friend.
How we have beaten and belittled that word haven't we?
A friend used to mean someone who gave a shit. Someone you could rely on, depend upon. Someone who knew you, liked you for you.
Now it's become a marker for popularity. A pissing contest with the world.
Look how many friends I've got!
Like you could substitue any other word for 'friends'
Look how many bananas I've got!
Look how many meepmeeps I've got!
Look how many bloppitybloops I've got!
I'm not innocent. I've got a little under a thousand people as my 'friends' on here.
I don't know more than half of them. Not their real name. Not where they're from. Not what they do. Not their favorite color.
Just numbers. Not really showing how many friends I've got.
Just showing the number of people who have added me, or I have added just to make myself feel good.
My real friends, the ones who know me, love me, like me for me...I can count on one hand.
And that's fine with me. I don't need all these tally marks to prove something. I thought I did, I thought it would make me feel special to have thousands of friends.
But it is what it is. Just a collection of numbers that don't mean anything.
That's the reason why I deleted every single person that I haven't spoken to. Anyone I haven't chatted with. Every band who added me for more numbers. Every emo boy and girl looking for acknowledgment. Gone.
If we've never met. I deleted you.
If we haven't spoken. I deleted you.
If you're an old schoolmate who added me so I could occasionally read your status update to see how well you're doing.
I deleted you.
Hell, I might delete myself.
Internet suicide.
No one wants to read. Not for very long. And this goes in the category of very long and uninteresting.
If it isn't quick and painless it is passed by rather quickly.
That is the allure of Twitter.
Life in less than 140 words.
I am robot.
You are robot.
We are all becoming robot.
Slowly but surely.
I don't want to be robot.
I want to be flesh. I want to be soft and warm. I want to be colorful and deep. I want to have meaning and for that meaning to apply. I want to smile, laugh, wish, dream, think, learn. I want to talk. I want to move. I want to dance. I want to run. I want to shake hands. Give kisses. Hug. Wrestle. Snuggle. Breathe.
Hard to accomplish that with all my lol's and :)'s and brb's and <3's.
There's a puppy to feed.
There's a sleeping husband I want to hold and kiss.
It's noon.

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