Memory Maintenance.

This blogpost is a reminder. It’s a reminder that I write for me, and not any of you. It helps straighten my often wonky perspective . It’s a reminder that work makes me happy, not because of the outcome, but the actual mind-numbingly gratifying process. It’s a reminder of the assholes certain people have been which is a fact I somehow forgot about and was reminded of through retrospect and a memory jogged fresh by old entries. It’s a reminder of how loins can reduce a person to their stupidest, most disloyal and overall pathetic versions of self, which can’t be helped, but somehow understood. You can’t ask a person who’s high on hormones to think or be themselves. Those are a minority that I have yet to meet. I’ve learned to be tolerant of it, but sometimes, all a person needs is a shot of endorphins up the right vein and they’ll turn into the worst person they could have ever become in a fictional parallel universe. It’s a reminder that keeping your distance is never a bad thing. It’s a reminder that white tea contributes to world peace by making your urges to smash people’s faces in a little more repressible. It’s a reminder that Ralph Hagen stalks me and sends me life lessons through his barn comics. Unluckily for me, since I’m his muse, they come a little too late to be applicable at first try, but hey, even I couldn’t say no to little snippets of wisdom that I can use next time in that adorable form; they definitely beat that senile voice in your head looking down on you over their glasses with their do’s and don’ts. It’s a reminder that no matter how badly one person may think of you, there will always be one person, maybe one you haven’t met yet or is stuck halfway across the universe in the north pole with a fishing stick that will think you’re the most perfect human being that ever walked the planet, and that the only consolation is to have a tiny capsulated version of that person in yourself to keep the abusive voices company and maybe even be loud enough to be a trend setter at one point. It’s a reminder that you’re never of what anyone thinks you are as much as you’re of what you know you are and are too scared to admit. It’s a reminder that, believable or not, I will never be fully awake and sober without my certified coffee dosage. It’s a reminder that the stupid things I’ve done were done by everyone else at one point who may not be at peace with themselves enough to admit it and are insecure enough to deny them space and time patches. It’s a reminder that listening to Keane and watching standup comedy shows are one of the many excellent ways of starting the day. It’s a reminder that it’s not in my sanity’s best interest to be awake at night, since not sleeping is still not a good reason for my head to shut down the nightmare department. It’s a reminder that what you think and what you believe are not bound by right or wrong. It’s a reminder that right and wrong are determined by you, not the majority. It’s a reminder that choices make the person as much as their implications, but would amount to zilch if you’ve learned just that; zilch. It’s a reminder that people show their true colors when shit hits the fan, and it’s not until then that you should come down to a list of constants. It’s a reminder that the aforementioned list of constants is not to be used until it’s dog-eared, worn through and fingered beyond recognition. It’s a reminder that goodness is acquired, a conscious choice you make everyday that is never made into a habit, so you shouldn’t depend on it being one. It’s a reminder that people are stupid, too. They fuck up too and more often than not, they hardly know any better than you do; they’re just better at hiding it and worse at owning up to it. It’s a reminder that you should never let go of the little routines at which you’re at your absolute happiest, latently speaking. Be it working, practicing piano or reading a good book, because no one will give up their equivalent for you. It’s a reminder that people put themselves first, and that it’s a fact of life that is rarely compromised by fairytale-oriented concepts like love, including every possible variation, semblance or void statement of it. It’s a reminder that I do not for the life of me regret missing prom and may not attend my own graduation ceremony, and it’s because I have priorities which do not include spending one of the most pivotal moments of my life around haters, even if it means I spend it at home reading an online article about the origin and history of soap operas. It’s a reminder that even tho at nights like these that I wish I had somebody, I know that I don’t need them. It’s a reminder that nothing is pathetic, as long as it works. And last but not least, it’s a reminder that nobody gets out of this ditch alive, so you might as well get a kick out of killing yourself.