I'm never there.
One cool thing about my life is that I've been moving around between cities for quite some time now.
It means changing jobs, having to make new friends and getting away from whatever life you had built for yourself.
Specially in the holiday season, I can't help but to think how things were, how they should be or, rather, how things are going.
Sounds weird, and it probably is, and I certainly don't care. I care about the silliest things, some of which I will now enumerate:
1) the kind of glasses I'm drinking from, specially when I'm eating a sandwich my mom made me or having coffee my dad poured me.
2) where, in the house, people put their mirrors.
3) what kind of "tell"s my ex-girlfriends have for when they're coming (yes, it changes over time).
4) what kind of work my friends are doing, how are their lives... Or, more importantly, how are they doing after all these years?
5) (...)
I really care about the silliest things. I'm weird. Fuck it.
Those things happen to be a part of what I see withou knowing. Stuff that passes through my conscience without actually hitting it. Thing about the song that's playing on the TV of an imaginary house after you just woke up terribly hungover and is heading to work. It never hits conscience, but it is a part of your human experience nonetheless.
In short, I value conscious and unconscious experience equally.
So if you think about me right now, it's like constantly allowing my unconscious "thoughts" or expression come through this conscious wall I call myself. Ego, if you will. And that's something will give you several points in my book: do you allow yourself to be congruently incongruent?
I wonder how my family's Christmas party went. Not in a sad or happy way, but nostalgicly curious. That's me.
It means changing jobs, having to make new friends and getting away from whatever life you had built for yourself.
Specially in the holiday season, I can't help but to think how things were, how they should be or, rather, how things are going.
Sounds weird, and it probably is, and I certainly don't care. I care about the silliest things, some of which I will now enumerate:
1) the kind of glasses I'm drinking from, specially when I'm eating a sandwich my mom made me or having coffee my dad poured me.
2) where, in the house, people put their mirrors.
3) what kind of "tell"s my ex-girlfriends have for when they're coming (yes, it changes over time).
4) what kind of work my friends are doing, how are their lives... Or, more importantly, how are they doing after all these years?
5) (...)
I really care about the silliest things. I'm weird. Fuck it.
Those things happen to be a part of what I see withou knowing. Stuff that passes through my conscience without actually hitting it. Thing about the song that's playing on the TV of an imaginary house after you just woke up terribly hungover and is heading to work. It never hits conscience, but it is a part of your human experience nonetheless.
In short, I value conscious and unconscious experience equally.
So if you think about me right now, it's like constantly allowing my unconscious "thoughts" or expression come through this conscious wall I call myself. Ego, if you will. And that's something will give you several points in my book: do you allow yourself to be congruently incongruent?
I wonder how my family's Christmas party went. Not in a sad or happy way, but nostalgicly curious. That's me.
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