I am still accustoming myself to my $1,600 piece of equipment, but I am trying my best to delay the process. You see, everyone has been telling me that soon, I will not be able to live without my glasses; my eyes will become accustomed to them and soon I would not really want to take the darned things off. And if I were oh-so brave that I did decide to go without them ever so often, I would be subject to headaches.
So let me get this straight. Once I start using them, I won’t want to stop. If I do stop I will go into some sort of withdrawal… Am I wearing glasses or taking drugs, here?
I have made it a point to wear my glasses only when going outdoors and when working on my laptop. Other than that, I spend my time as a member of the 2 eyed population, attending my ACCA classes, and lazing around the house. I also do not go partying with my glasses. There is no way I will ever do that – I do not even like walking along crowded pavements with people passing dangerously close to my $1,600 piece of equipment. Goodness knows the insurance company will not let me claim twice on the same item within the space of a month.
Apparently, glasses induce paranoia. I am so careful with those things – always keeping them in their case, cleaning them and so forth. When I got them, I asked the attendant a barrage of questions on how to take care of them. Despite the nature of the questions, I must admit though, that the first question that popped into my head when I first put on my $1,600 piece of equipment was:
“Can I give blow jobs with these?”
And no, I have not yet tried. I am still celibate after all, but goodness knows for how long.
Moving swiftly along to a piece of news that is in fact almost 3 weeks old. I have turned 20 years of age. That’s right people; I am an old hag.
I still feel young, but that is only because most of the people around me are a bit older than I.
“Please, God, if you won’t make me thin, at least make all of my friends fat.” – Prayer for the chubbs.
Finally I am experiencing what it is like to be outside the teenaged arena. It sucks here. I am no longer attractive to even borderline paedophiliacs. People now expect me to be mature and intelligent – I am so accustomed to receiving compliments for being intelligent “for my age” and mature “for my age” and well spoken “for my age”. These are all now requirements, meaning that I have to now find more ways to make my intelligence stand out in a crowd, and fuck, I got other things to do.
And that – my being perpetually occupied – that is another thing. In a few years, I would realise that I am no longer ascending the hill, but going over it, and down the other side. I would like to experience a lot more of life by then – travel, engage myself in the kind of activities that are better left untold (and therefore are only fitting for the obscure pages of my diary), live life! Before it ends. Such a morbid way to think, but I have to get started.
And I am going to get started.
Next year.
I am going to start travelling, starting from roughly 4 to 5 months from now, and I shall be travelling at least once a year from then onwards. And I plan very much to operate under the theory that I can do whatever I want because whatever happens in >insert location here< stays in >insert location here< because I ain’t going to be meeting up with anyone I know.
But there is more to it than that. The aging process has presented to me a couple of issues that are currently preoccupying my thoughts.
My time and your patience only permit me to speak of one. It is concerned with my concern that I am going to reach and pass the prime of my life without even knowing it. I am not sure that I am using that word – prime – in the way in which it is generally meant to be used. Perhaps the word “highlight” would be better. Perhaps.
What I am referring to is that moment – whether it be an hour, a day, a few months or a couple of years – in your life when you really lived. It is that moment when you accomplished something so remarkable, unique, or interesting, that the feelings evoked from the memory of that moment is enough to last a life time. It is difficult to really put my finger on this, after all, it would be different things for different people, and I am not really sure what mine is yet.
I suppose for those in the entertainment business (actors, singers, directors etc) it would be their first (and sometimes only) big hit. Perhaps like George Lucas’ Star Wars (before he fucked them up with the latest 3) or Michelangelo’s “David” or Martin Luther King’s Million Man March or Forrest Gump’s run across the country. But mine, like the vast majority of the world’s, will be on a far smaller, far less recognised scale. Which is okay. Once I fulfil myself. I suppose what I am talking about here is self actualisation (the highest point in Maslow’s hierarchy of needs for all of those who know this theorist).
Many would say, I am sure, that I have a lot of time before this point is reached. I suppose they are correct, but so many reach self actualisation at my age and maybe a tad older, or a tad younger even. I do not want to pass the age at which the opportunity for self-fulfilment is strongest without even realising it.
“There's so much I wanted to do in this life, and it's like I haven't done any of it. And the sand's running out of the hourglass. I want to be able to look back and say: See! I did that. It was wild and it was reckless and outrageous and I fucking did it!” – Helen (played by Jamie Lee Curtis) from “True Lies” with Arnold Schwarzenegger.
Maybe it will be something wild and crazy, perhaps a bit dangerous – my Vietnam without the dead bodies. Perhaps it will demand more creativity – my personal Mona Lisa without the secretive smile. No one knows yet. But I feel that my painting, my endless stories involving men, are all just the tip of the iceberg.
Speaking of my painting,
“Finally! My greatest work completed!” – Dexter from “Dexter’s Laboratory”
I always wanted to say that.
Yes, the painting is complete. It has been complete for more than a week now. Due to several complications, I will not be receiving my camera until next weekend, so I cannot show my painting until then.
And until then, adieu.