I used to have a thirst for writing, and I can barely remember what that’s like. I used to spend time writing, I used to take the empty hours of my day and fill some of that space with writing. I had an urge to express, to send forth into the world my ideas, thoughts, feelings. Questions. Fears. Amusements. All these things. Now they just sit around in me, lethargic and feeling useless. I have made them useless. And I feel so sluggish, inside. Impulses are weak at best, and so of course turning them to action is even harder. Freedom of the imagination, and free creation. What’s happened? I think it’s reasonably fair to turn to my usual scapegoat, school. Institutions and art really don’t mix, as far as I’ve experienced. Few people who enter retain their spirit, and few who enter even had that spirit to begin with. By spirit I mean a desire to connect with other human beings, the belief that it matters, and the skills to do so with passion and precision. Sadly rare. Unnecessarily rare. We need not have such scarcity. Ha, scarcity.
I went to a boxing class at 6 a.m. this morning. Got up at 4:30. Did that yesterday as well. I hope it can keep it up. The place is in the high end part of town but it’s reasonably priced and everyone is really nice. Nonetheless, I find that when I’m in that area I feel inadequate, not having nice clothes and nice shoes, looking very much the student, and being notably fatter than everyone else. It’s odd, because I don’t believe in an elite lifestyle or participating in high culture through imposed fashion standards and the like, but even then, I feel this pang saying be like that. Emmulate the wealthy. I feel judged. I don’t know if it’s true or not, if people at all care. I think I look notably different but I also think people don’t pay too much attention to others. But then again, to reaffirm our own worth, we too often use others as a measuring stick, and when we see someone who is betraying societal expectations in some way, usually around conventional attractiveness, we judge them. We make little notes as we walk down the street,I’m thinner than that person. Have a better jacket than that one. Her nose is too small. Often this plays in the back of our mind like a soundtrack, reaffirming ourselves, and then of course also putting ourselves down, Oh they’re beautiful. What a nice dress, I couldn’t wear that. He looks important. All these strange little devaluations, and we simultaneously make little goals too, of wanting those things we admire but don’t have.
We do not see ourselves as people, only checklists of worth. Have we ever been human? Do we know what that is anymore?