confederacy of luncheons

i should stop pretending i'm better than everyone else. because i'm not.

if it's true and i'm really smarter than most of the people i encounter, i should use that distinction to my own advantage.

it's probably not even that i'm "smarter" than most people. that seems kind of dubious. not to mention, arrogant. i think it's just that i feel like i've had more experience than the average person. so i should use that experience, that knowledge, to relate to people.

then again, that's probably not entirely accurate either. i've been around the same relative amount of time as everyone else. obviously, i've been around longer, in a literal sense, as someone younger than me. and i haven't spent as much life as someone older but it's not like i've had twenty-three years plus additional time--time that doesn't count for anything. it's not like i have the exclusive ability to stop the clock and live more life than others. that's not what i'm saying. yet, i feel more experienced than a large percentage of people out there. and i don't know why.

oh well.

no reason to get upset, i suppose. everyone takes in the world--sensory information--differently. maybe i should just appreciate the fact that some people prefer to live their lives in a sort of routine, sheltered fashion--not unlike the owner of that bumper sticker i saw yesterday. familiarity, i guess.

i'm tired of writing, i think. i feel unable to express myself today. it's been a recent dilemma. the cycle has begun all over again. you have it. then, you don't. i need to learn to roll with the punches. accept change.

it's so damn hard.

i wish i was a metronome. a man-made construct which seems to laugh, defiantly, in the face of nature and all its laws--the law of entropy: a consistent pulse in the wake of nature's inclination towards disorder. then, i wouldn't have to reconstruct myself from scratch every time. collect the scraps. and, piece-by-piece, reassemble myself.