Walking the lake with the ever-tireless Stephanie, I surmised there should be something morally wrong with having all six pistons shooting off in my head when I can barely keep my eyes open. It's living torment to have those impulses working against each other.
Yay for not having jury duty after all. That I am happy about.
On the very still and quiet jaunt around Hollingsworth, my mind finally twisted around itself and wrung out all my wrongs for me. I started thinking about the flawed mind and whether or not every assumption I had, even ones about myself, were wrong. If that's the case, how can I live with myself, this stupid body controlled by senseless logic and chemical imbalances... how could I possibly begin to love myself when I can barely accept it? What now, then, came the question. How am I going to live. What do I believe. Fuck everything else--I'm the one that has to go to sleep on my conscience at night--what do I think? And you know what?
I don't know.
And it feels refreshing to say it. I don't have a goddamn clue. No one's sat down with me and said, "Now Joannie..." Even if they did, I doubt I'd believe them. I can't know all the answers, and I never will. Ninety years old and I won't be any different, except maybe I'll be better learned in atrocity.
It briefly crossed my mind that maybe my current crisis is punishment for not being religious or something, but I don't believe it. God and that whole mess is something I don't care to pretend to know about, but if anyone were to ask me, I'd say he's a pretty sadistic character to create and judge us like that. Like pulling the wings off of grasshoppers and condemning them for not being able to fly...
Going to be a long day... but it's beautiful out.
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