I used to compromise with my supposedly above average skill to develop fitting metaphors for all sort of emotions I was feeling. The way people can connect cloudy grey sky to sad, or sunny blue to happy. Red for blood. Damage. Harm. Lipstick's not even the first thing on my mind.
It's uncanny how we attribute red to both pain and pleasure. Blood. Sex. Excitement.
One thing can be good to someone as it is bad for others.
My therapist told me not to think in black-and-white. I didn't know what that means, but I don't like how grey some things are to me right now. It makes me feel powerless, uncertain, and even more indecisive than before.
And now I can't see any other colors. That's why, yet again, I compromise. This time in the form of picking the most feminine pastel pink color for all my new stuff. Mouse? Pink. Headphone? Pink. Shirt? Pink. Headclip? Pink. Bass guitar? You bet.
At least now I have the courage to actually take on a hobby. I started with a guitar, dreamt of mastering the drums, and now I end up with a bass guitar. Funny how life turns out sometimes. Or maybe I'm still too cowardly to actually pursue what I really want and camouflage it with another, telling people that it's what I want. Kinda like playing a Queen because you're still waiting for the perfect moment to reveal your two Aces. And you don't know if the moment will ever really come.
I stopped re-dying my hair blue, because I'm a functioning member of the adult society, and now all I have is these limp, frizzy, sad strands of hair that died (heh) for no reason. Well, at least if you bleach them dead you gotta make it look exciting, right? But yet here there are, and here I am, dying inside with no sign of color.
This might as well be another version of "jobs under capitalism ruin everything" rant, where I'd argue that these 9-to-5 jobs and the inherent expectations that came included, without seemingly proper security guaranteed, has stripped us dry of all sort of excitement and life. Then it would just be another Palahniuk novel. Or I'd present the contrarian argument that "humans have always had jobs and they were harsher back then", blah blah blah, and I'd still have no idea what I'm doing with my life.
Of course a lot has happened to me these past.. I don't know, months, since I last wrote an entry here? Not all bad, hell, I don't know if anything bad has happened, per se. If anything, I've learned a lot here and there. It's just I seemed to not have time to step back and reflect, much more write about them.
If this keeps up, my hair's going to go naturally white before I can publish anything of value.
Sometimes I wonder what the hell is actually holding me back from pursuing what I want.
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