I’m not talking about hearing a monologue about someone else’s day. The people that irritate them, their frustrations, this is dribble I am accustomed to being paid to listen to, not at all satisfying. Tiresome too is the generic babble about how the pandemic sucks, how stupid people are. Yes. The obvious remains glaringly obvious.
What I crave, ache for really, is a challenge. Deep questions on life and philosophy are the real fantasy. I want to discuss new ideas and discover new topics to research. I want something to elicit passion. Not in a gross way, but to once again light the fire for conceptual ecstasy.
As I amass concrete resources I find less and less remains of the cognitive pleasures. I guess it all goes back to Maslow, and having such a solid foundation simply leaves more time to rue the shortcomings on the upper end. How bizarre my younger years were fruitful in the mind yet barren in the bank, and now that the tables have turned I am still dissatisfied.
Or perhaps I simply find a pleasure in wallowing in my own self-pity? It doubtlessly gives me something to write about, and I do wonder what would be left if I was finally fulfilled? Is angst my muse? If that’s the case then I need not wonder why I haven’t taken action to remedy the situation.
I expect in time as the shit-show that is working in a school during a pandemic sets in the issue will remedy itself. My dear friend exhaustion can replace all of this.
No comments:
Post a Comment