Thinking

"Oh, instincts are misleading
You shouldn't think what you're feeling"

How many times have I come to this conclusion yet I always find my way back to crazy thoughts which should have no place in my life? I think weird things, wrong things, disturbing things, and know that I shouldn't be thinking them. I also think great things, wonderful things, things which fill my heart with joy. I have fantastic realizations yet am constantly bombarded by disturbing thoughts. Thoughts about people I love, people I hate, and people who I really don't know. In a perfect world these thoughts wouldn't exist, or they'd at least be benign. In this reality those thoughts are malignant. They seep into the world around me and infect what was once healthy. They take something pure and destroy it with desire. They take something satisfying and ruin it by making me want more. They make me suspicious, they make me second guess people's intentions. They try to put bad intentions in my head, when all I really want is to be happy with everything. I want to be at peace, but I'm almost always at war with these thoughts or at war with something else because of them. I take pleasure in being innocent, I love being "pure", a good person. These thoughts however, always find  a way of taking that from me. They come out of nowhere, and invade my mind. They take over and soon I begin to believe what I'm thinking. They turn me into something I'm not, and then make me think that I'm what they've made me.

I need to stop thinking again. How many philosophers have said: "Don't think" and yet I can't help but fall back into this hole, over and over again. I've already covered this in an earlier post (where I also talked about how what you think is different from what you feel), but apparently I've learned nothing from it. I've told myself over and over again, and I've even gone long stretches without thought, but somehow thinking always comes back. Like a virus it lays dormant and then flares up again. The longest I've ever gone while actively trying to suppress my thoughts was about a month. What can I say about this month? It was arguably the best month of my life. I was entirely happy with life and myself. What happened? One morning I woke up hungover, and spent an hour or two thinking while lying in bed. At the end of that session I picked up my cell and replied to the girl's best friend who told me not to say anything about her making out with my friend's best friend. I had initially decided to not reply, but my thoughts told me to do it, so I did. Over the course of the next hour everything came crashing down and it was three months before I saw the girl again... and she acted like nothing happened. She had deleted me off of facebook (funny, I know, but facebook meant a lot to her) and left an angry message for me. This is where thinking gets you. I'm going to try not thinking again.

I've figured it out.

I used to think that death was something new. Something I've never faced before. I didn't know what it was like, and I was afraid of it. After all, what could being dead be like? Do heaven and hell exist? Is there some other place that people go when they die? Is it an eternity of blackness? Does consciousness just end when you die?

All these questions left me fearful of being dead, and the fear of being dead led me away from accepting myself as temporary. I put thoughts of a finite life out of my head, and only came back to them occasionally, where I would cut myself short of a conclusion because I was missing a piece of the puzzle.

I failed to realize that I had been dead for an eternity already. How long had gone by without me existing? And all of that time went by as if it were nothing at all. The creation of the earth, the beginnings of life, and the age of the dinosaurs, they all went by without me, and it felt like no time at all. That all went by without me even catching a glimpse of consciousness, and then one day I awoke to this world. I remember being in kindergarten, and I was astonished when my teacher said that it was the year 1998. I could hardly believe that so much time had gone by. It seems like unconsciousness is exactly what they say it is.

"There was a time when we were not: this gives us no concern -- why then should it trouble us that a time will come when we shall cease to be?" - William Hazlitt

"Would you not think him an utter fool who wept because he was not alive a thousand years ago? And is he not just as much of a fool who weeps because he will not be alive a thousand years from now? It is all the same; you will not be, and you were not." - Seneca

This is where I find comfort in death. It is not something new. It's going back  to the way things were before. I know what being dead, or rather, not existing will be like. I was dead until I was alive, and I will be dead once more. Death isn't something to be afraid of anymore. It is simply an ending to the story of my life. I accept it, and I find comfort in it.

I am all of a sudden perfectly happy with this life, and the nothingness that will come after. Every breath tastes sweet, and even the feeling of my fingers against each other is pleasant. How wonderful it is to be alive and breathing. To be seeing, hearing and feeling. I'll know everything there is for me to know and go without any fear or regret. I've been there before; I've spent an eternity in non-existence, and when I think about it, spending another doesn't seem all that bad.
It seems like it's just a part of life.

Flowery Metaphors and Flattery

"Hey man do you mind writing a poem for me?

"Sure, I've actually got a couple half done. Just let me know when you want it and I'll send it to you."

I didn't think that he was actually going to ask me for a poem, but two weeks later he did. We had discussed a sonnet I was in the middle of, and he said that he wanted it, because she was kinda into Shakespeare. Little did he know that the sonnet was nowhere close what he wanted. I assume he wanted something sweet and lighthearted, so I decided to do away with the sonnet. I put together a couple lines I was planning on organizing into something, and then added a final stanza with her name in it. This was the product:

The sun of my day and moon of my night,
With you on this earth I live with delight.

Words cannot express your effect on me
When your beautiful eyes are all I see.

My head in the clouds and tongue lost for words,
When I'm with you my heart flies with the birds.

Oh how you turn my frown into a grin
you make me feel amazing, Katherine.

First of all, my friend told her that it was sonnet, even though I specifically told him that it wasn't one, because I figured he'd send it to her without thinking twice. She was not amused (I found it funny that my friend didn't know what a sonnet was). She said that it sounded like "a google poem" and "too generic". At first I was disappointed, I thought it was alright, but later on I found out that she meant it in a good way (if a generic google poem can be taken in a good way). Apparently she meant that it was so good that there's no way that my friend could have wrote it, and that it seemed too "professional". This was encouraging. All day I had been doubting my ability to write poetry because I had failed to impress my 15 year old friend's girlfriend. The generic comment still lingers in my thoughts, but I guess it's because I didn't really put any heart into the poem. All it really is, is a couple of flowery metaphors and some flattery. I have one poem which is done, and I think it's not bad at all. Free verse, but that's not a bad thing. I've also got a sonnet 99% done, well, actually done, I just need to polish it off. It's just that I hate erasing what I've wrote. It kills me to do it, even if I'm not happy with I've already got. I suppose I shouldn't cling on to my mediocre lines as if I've accomplished something, and that I should only be satisfied once I'm sure that the poem will evoke the kind of response that I want from it.

Crazy Nick and Writing.

Then I see Nick walking around with a plastic bag on his head. He was wearing a clear plastic produce bag from Longo's like a tuque. I said hi then snatched the bag off of his head.

"What the hell are you doing?"

I threw the bag in the recycling, then he grabbed the bag from the recycling and put it back on his head. He explained to me that there really was no reason to not wear it. I told him that people don't wear bags on their heads. They just don't; that's not what bags are for.

"Why not? what's wrong with it?"

"You look like you're crazy."

"That's the point. See, people don't need to be crazy to look crazy and people don't need to look crazy to be crazy."

"But everyone who sees you will think that you're crazy."

"So? they think I'm crazy and they're the only ones who are affected."

"Not really. By you wearing that bag on your head you're changing the way you feel about yourself, you're going to act differently because you're expressing a certain... individuality."

"I guess you're right."

I ripped the bag off his head and thrust it into a nearby recycling bin.

I'm looking forward to build season ending. I need time to read and write. We'll still be working steady until regionals, but at least we'll get sundays off again. Aside from my spare I have no free time because of robotics and I use that for homework. I have however managed to type up My Raison D'etre, in my downtime. I even got Brittany to edit it. She said that she loved the plot, but I needed to make Clair special. She's got no substance. I've added in a paragraph about Martin's feelings towards her and I'm planning on adding more. Maybe some idiosyncrasies and better description.


Asgiga approached me in the library yesterday and urged me to publish Thoughts. I guess I would but I don't know if I could publish just one short story. I told her about my plan of getting an anthology together and I think that enthusiastic may have been an understatement. I could possibly have my first fan. I asked her if she'd like to edit my two newest stories and she said yes. I'm awaiting a response from her. Speaking of which, Shenelle finally got back to me on Heavenly. She gave me some good constructive criticism. I'll need to get around to better developing Peter and Rachel's relationship.

I think I should 'come out of the closet' as an amateur writer to my classical civs class. I think that Ms. Rajabalan would be interested in my stories and that some of my classmates would be too. Of course there are a couple sour kids who don't give a shit about anything, but there are a couple who I think will be genuinely interested. I think I will get my work out there. Maybe I'll drop something in the question box next time it's passed around, or just bring it up in class one day. I really haven't done anything to stand out yet, but maybe this is my opportunity to arouse a certain classmate's interest in me. Today I thought of saying to her: "I was going to get you a rose, but I couldn't find one nearly half as beautiful as you are." ... I didn't say it.

This is going to be my last summer break and I really want to do something worthwhile with it. The last couple years (minus the one with the police job) I've spent wasting away with my friends. I've got nothing to show for them except for having read a lot of Shakespeare and probably some liver and/or brain damage. Oh, and a rearranged nose. The last few summers have left me with plenty of stories, but nothing I can say that I'm actually proud of.

This summer all I want to do is complete my Shakespeare collection and write some stories. I imagine myself spending a lot of time at Stan Wadlow reading and the rest of it at my kitchen table writing. I've thought up an outline for my next story. This time no one dies and no one is in love. I think that it's going to be a bit more of a challenge to write than the others, because love and tragedy are something special. No matter what someone dying means something and love does too unless it's cheesy and sickening. I'd give an example but I don't think I need too.

One thing I don't look forward to is getting a job. I know that it's in my best interest, just so I have some money saved up for when I go off to university, but I don't want to spend my summer working. I want to wake up everyday with nothing that I don't want to do on my to do list. It's funny, I actually enjoy certain kinds of work, but I don't want to work. Oh well. I'll figure it out.

I'm looking forward to going off to university next year, but there is one giant concern which kills me to just think about it. I'll be sure to address it in due time - and even though I really shouldn't have anything to worry about because it has already been fundamentally solved, I can't help but be bothered by it. "Bothered" is an understatement. It actually scares the crap out of me. There is nothing I fear more than this possibility becoming reality. Me and Brittany have already talked about it in a therapeutic session that involved me laying on her floor spilling my guts - and she hit the nail on the head with her conclusion. I'll be sure to deal with it directly in due time. I have a feeling that I'll follow up on this post pending a successful resolution, just so that my feelings are preserved in the internet. This event, however solved it may already be, cannot be ignored by my conscience. Although I really shouldn't have anything to worry about, there is nothing I fear more than a slight possibility becoming reality. I'll talk to her about it soon enough.

It feels good to be a quitter.

I'm done. Robotics is just too much. All day everyday. It's living hell. I've thought about quitting for a while now, but a couple things kept me from doing it. First of all, the friends I've made there. This is the biggest pull factor. It's a great group of kids, and I'd never have met the majority of them if I hadn't joined robotics. Jiro, Tony, Gregor, Parker, Chris, just to name a few. Same goes for the mentors, they're a good group of people and I'd never have crossed paths with them if it weren't for robotics. Phillip, Mr. N, Andy and Liz, who I've had a good discussion or two with. The only other pull factors are not seeing the season through to the end, and leaving the team without a mascot.

Although... Now I'll have free time! I almost forgot what it feels like to be able to spend time doing nothing in particular. Oh, how I'll enjoy free weekends, and time to work out and do homework after school. I can even join back up with the fitness club. If there's one thing I got out of the experience, it was the ability to work endlessly while still being able to (barely) manage the other aspects of my life. Erik (an alumni) said that after robotics, collage felt like a joke.

I'm going to enjoy sleeping in on weekends and going to bed before 11 on weeknights. Shenelle thinks I'm crazy for going to be so early, but I don't think it's crazy at all, and not getting an adequate amount of sleep takes a toll on me. Since build season started I don't think that there's been a day where I've stayed awake through first period. Usually I get into gear by second period, but I still end up feeling run down, and I usually have bloodshot eyes (which gets on my nerves. I've already gone through too much of my life with bloodshot eyes).

I think that I'm going to appreciate my free time now. The idea of video games is repulsive. I want to go buy all the Shakespeare I haven't read yet- and I want to write some stories. After reading "My Raison d'Etre", I realized that I've got some potential as a writer. I remember not liking it, but when I read it last night I absolutely loved it. I wished that I hadn't abandoned it, and I regret not using it for my ISU. With the amount of time it took to make "Thoughts" alright, I think that "My Raison d'Etre" could have been a masterpiece. I eagerly await hearing from Ms. Cat. I have a feeling that she'll like it.

Behind me, the annoying noise of a guitar circle fills the classroom with noise. I normally wouldn't mind all that much, but they're purposely singing as loud as they can... and not very well either. My right ear is starting to ache. I'm the only one doing any work. There are two groups of people doing nothing, and then me. I imagine that I don't need to tell you who's singing the same song over and over again, and who's sitting in a small group talking about nothing in particular. I'm lucky my thoughts are strong enough to be heard over this crap. Sometimes I wonder if I'm too old for this. Funny, I wouldn't consider myself old, but sometimes I feel like I'm thirty something. Although, on the other hand, I occasionally feel like I'm eight years old.

When I'm tired and worn out from an eventful day, I feel old. I feel worn down. On that test we took at the start of the year I was so introverted that I was off the page. Don't get me wrong, I love spending time with people and going to parties, but it tires me out. After an eventful day I just need time alone... or sleep. Either one suffices, because I usually have a nice long thinking session before falling asleep... unless I'm too drunk to think.

I don't regularly feel eight years old though. The last time it happened was when I was walking to school with all the philosophical books I had bought. I compared myself to a kid who had found some seashells on the beach and was running over to show mommy. Sure Heidegger and Sartre require a higher level of thinking than collecting seashells, but I think that the premise is still the same. I could have just kept the books in a pile in my room (like I do my Shakespeare), but for some reason I chose not to.

Truth is, I feel bad about not really liking all of those books very much. I started reading the one on Heidegger        , then realized that it was all essays on Heidegger. A couple things in the prologue interested me, so I'll definitely get around to reading it, but I'd rather read his work than works on his work. The Wall was good. Psychoanalysis was a common theme in the stories. It was full of messed up, crazy characters, and dealt with some disturbing topics. Only two of the stories I really like, the first one and the last one. The first one was about a guy in the Spanish civil war (I'm guessing) about to be executed. The last one was about a troubled little kid finding himself. It wasn't all that short of a short story, but I really liked it.

I always have trouble ending my posts on a good note. Oh well, too bad for you. I'm going to go read some more of "Much ado About Nothing"

Poppin' my collar

Today I went the entire day (with the exception of Greco's class and Diefenbaker) with my collar popped. This and crispy gelled hair are recognized by most as the ultimate symbol of douche-baggery. While I am not a douche-bag, and certainly not immersed in club culture, I followed their fashion (with the exception of fake-tanned skin, gold chains and sunglasses) and took notice of the changes in my everyday life.

The biggest difference I noticed in my friends. They all found it quite funny, and in good humor too. They were laughing with me, not at me. I'd give you an example but I can't think of anything right now. Some of them even popped their collars too. Please take note that the majority of my friends are from robotics. We didn't joke about hitting the club or anything, but we did act as if it were cool.

The next biggest difference I noticed was with my sister. When I walked into Mr. P's room after school she said: "Oh god" and then immediately tried flipping it down. I didn't let her, then told her that I had it like that all day. She was not impressed. I found it funny. For the next little while she tried flipping it down whenever she got the chance, but I'd just pop it again.

The smaller things included looks from girls in the halls. I'm not sure if they were good or bad looks, but oh well. I'm sure some were one and some the other. Another thing was a guy saying "sorry man" when we bumped each other in the hallway. This I also found that funny.

I didn't have it popped in Greco's class because I didn't feel like lowering his opinion of me. Halloween was enough of that. I even remember what he said when he first saw me.

"Well I guess that's a costume". I'm not sure if he knew that I wasn't serious.

Diefenbaker was a little different though. Earlier in the day I entertained myself with the idea of corrupting some youth by walking in looking like someone from jersey shore. I imagined coming back to EY to mentor robotics in ten years, and seeing all the students with their collars popped. Of course, there's only so much influence a role model can have on a population, but I'm sure George and Chris would have taken care of the ones I didn't get (I say this with affection).

Overall, today really wasn't all that different than a regular day. It had its perks but I'm sure that it wasn't without its downfalls. Maybe I'll do it again sometime. I think that one of the highlights was reading "Much ado About Nothing" (I recently found a series called "The Complete Works of Shakespeare" in the library), with my collar popped. I wondered what the people who saw me reading it thought.

I can't help but ask myself: "Why'd I do it?". Well, truth is, I just went out on a whim. Sometimes actions aren't committed with as much conviction as we think they are. Other than that, I can't really see any reason residing in my subconscious... Maybe I secretly long to be popular? Anyways, I acted as I usually would; a popped collar doesn't turn Dr. Jekyll into Mr. Hyde. The real difference was in how others perceived me. Popping your collar is more of a statement than anything, only my statement was relatively lighthearted and slightly satirical... it's just that people who didn't know me couldn't tell.

Oh yeah, I half expected Ms. Cat to flip down my collar, and was somewhat surprised when she didn't. I wonder why she didn't, I wonder if the idea crossed her mind, and I wonder if she thought that I was serious. I hope that I didn't tarnish my reputation, although I'm not even sure what she thinks of me. I never know what anyone thinks of me. I only have a rough idea based on the way they treat me. I don't like not knowing what others think of me, and even though I could ask, I'm sure that I wouldn't get a perfect answer, due to the inaccuracy of words and whatnot. Oh well, it's one of the things that everyone has to deal with... At least I'm not alone out here, or maybe I'm just alone with everyone else.

I the idea of forever scares me. The idea of never worries me.

Forever would suck. How long will it be before everything loses its allure? before you get bored of everything? And then there's the law of supply and demand. If we have an infinite supply of life, then the value goes down infinitely. You'd have an eternity of worthlessness. With a finite demand of supply, you have a certain supply of demand. So life, no matter how short or long life is, it's still valuable.

Isn't that all that we've ever wanted? a life that's worth something? We dream of living forever but I don't think any of us have every really thought it through. You spend a couple minutes thinking of forever... see something wrong there? Whatever you'd do in heaven (and I'm not sure what there would be to do if sinning is out of the question...), or on earth, well, what happens when you've done it all? do you just start all over again? and how long until that gets old? How long until you're wishing that you could die?

Now, never... that's another thing. I don't like the idea of never. Never doing something... never visiting a tropical paradise, never finding someone amazing to share* my life with... But I can't help but wonder, will I ever cross paths with that person? Have we already crossed paths and we didn't know what we were worth to each other? And well, does that person even exist? will I never find them?... I think you get how I feel about never.

If only there were some compromise. If you only died after living out your life to what it should be... after doing all that you wanted to do... I suppose that this way, you have,

you have-

You have everything laid out before you. You'd have no way to screw up. You have no way to outlive the life that you're forced to live. You can neither descend nor ascend to anything that you are not. Where's the fun in that? I think that some of the exuberance of life comes from the fact that you can screw up, and that you can die without living your life to the fullest.

How boring would life be if you didn't have to worry about anything?

*note I say share and not spend. It's pretty much Simone de Bouvoir's view on love regarding mortality. Love is what it is because you're sharing your life, and you only have so much life to share.

So, it turns out that Sartre agrees with Ruiz's definition of real, and if I remember "On the Genealogy of Morals" correctly, Nietzsche does too. They all believe that only the action matters, not whatever is behind it.

So, Ruiz basically believes that if it doesn't exist outside of you, it doesn't exist. Thoughts and feelings mean nothing unless you act upon them and make them "real". I like this definition of real. Firstly, because it acts as a motivation of sorts, resulting in you acting according to what you think and how you feel. This in turn, results in you not letting opportunities pass you by. If you like someone, you'd be sure to let them know. If you have a problem with something, you'd be sure to stand up and do something about it. Secondly, it means that all those strange, distasteful and sometimes even disturbing thoughts have no place in your reality. OK, maybe it's just me who has disturbing thoughts sometimes... things I wish I hadn't thought about, or that I really shouldn't be thinking about. Being able to ignore/bury them seems to help in situations where I shouldn't have thought them. I'd give an example, but I don't feel comfortable making thoughts like those "real".

But there is a problem with this. Thoughts have an impact on what you make "real", for better or for worse. Most of the time for the better, because I know what I should and what I shouldn't do. But on the other hand, why am I thinking these thoughts in the first place? Most likely, it's some deep dark complex that is the result of some past traumatic experience... right? Is a childhood event (or the accumulation of a bunch of them) that I thought to be long forgotten, now the basis of me hating my mom (an unsavory character at best) and nearly idolizing Ms. Cat (an ideal role-model)? I always thought that psychoanalysis was a load of crap, mainly because when I tried reading Freud's book, it was a bunch of crazy unsupported statements (and knowledge of his coke habit didn't help his credibility either). But when I read "The Undiscovered Self" (thanks for lending it to me Mr. Bahl) I realized that there was a lot more to it. Although it was terribly hard to understand (much like Nietzsche, it was written in quarter-page long run on sentences), there was a thing or two I got out of it. For example, Jung believed that when man gives up religion, he is "digging the ground out from beneath his feet". Man takes away his reason to be, and then becomes a psychopath (OK, so he didn't actually say that, but I didn't exactly defile his work with that paraphrase). Although this is quite distant from the psychoanalysis and philosophy am interested in, I still find it quite interesting.

At this point I will cut this post short, because I don't know where I am going with it. Take from it what you will. I think that there's some substance to it.

And then I look back at the empty classroom. I realize that I've been sitting here for the better part of the class typing away. I'm glad I chose not to play boggle. They're annoying me from all the way across the room, specifically Chris and David. You want to punch them? Can I? Pleeeeeeeeaaaase?

Oh well, at least I submitted my short story this class. Saves me from having to do it after robotics at ten tonight.

Reflection

To deny myself a part of me... where would I be if I did that?
Is it better to imagine myself as a person without problems, or to realize that I've had problems which I've solved?
I might not be the person who I was before, but I need to realize that I was that person, and that I no longer am.
Can I create, or invent a new me, if an entire life so far has already created me as I am?
I'm the main character in the middle of my story, not a sketch I can make up and drop into it. The main character can't suddenly change out of nowhere.
Should I just deny the product of eighteen years and try to make myself what I want to be, or should I realize that I am closer to being what I want be than ever before? and that I'm getting even closer?

If I deny myself a part of me, an unpleasant memory and the events that led up to it, then I'm denying myself everything that I've learned from it. If I dismiss everything about it, the unpleasant memory and the events leading up to it, as bad, then what about the good stuff? It may not have ended in butterflies, rainbows and sunshine, but that doesn't mean that there never was any.

Like a child who gets told not to do something, but not why, I learn a lesson which I shouldn't have.

The child learns to avoid punishment, rather than the act they got punished for. I learned to avoid Taylor and anyone who reminds of her; I should have learned to avoid the action which led to the ending of the butterflies, rainbows and sunshine. Oh, and there were puppies too. Happy, excited puppies, wagging their tails.

I realize that I've been avoiding the puppies, rainbows, butterflies and sunshine, in an attempt to avoid the ending of them. Although... all good things come to an end. I suppose that it is better to have had puppies and lost them then it is to have never had puppies at all.

"The reason why I refuse to take existentialism as just another French fashion or historical curiosity, is that I think it has something very important to offer us for the new century. I'm afraid we're losing the real virtues of living life passionately in the sense of taking responsibility for who you are, the ability to make something of yourself and feel good about life. Existentialism is often discussed as if it's, a philosophy of despair, but I think the truth is just the opposite. Sartre, once interviewed, said he never really felt a day of despair in his life. One thing that comes out from reading these guys is not a sense of anguish about life so much as, a real kind of exuberance, of feeling on top of it, it's like your life is yours to create. I've read the post modernists with some interest, even admiration, but when I read them I always have this awful nagging feeling that something absolutely essential is getting left out. The more you talk about a person as a social construction or as a confluence of forces or as fragmented of marginalised, what you do is you open up a whole new world of excuses. And when Sartre talks about responsibility, he's not talking about something abstract. He's not talking about the kind of self or soul that theologians would argue about. It's something very concrete, it's you and me talking, making decisions, doing things, and taking the consequences. It might be true that there are six billion people in this world, and counting, but nevertheless -what you do makes a difference. It makes a difference, first of all, in material terms, it makes a difference to other people, and it sets an example. In short, I think the message here is that we should never simply write ourselves off or see each other as a victim of various forces. It's always our decision who we are."

This was the quote I chose to share for the movie thing at the the start of the year. I didn't get the response I was looking for.

"I don't understand it"
"I think that's the point"

Then I realized that Shenelle and David don't know what existentialism is. They thought it was just another crazy man's abstract philosophy. They didn't realize that it's something real, and that this isn't just another philosophical movement.

This is the philosophical movement.

Did Plato, Aristotle, Voltaire, Rousseau, Nietzsche or Freud discover the meaning of life? Did they figure out why we're here?

Existentialism did.

We're here because a random combination of DNA just happened to be you.
And there is no meaning of life, which (conveniently) allows you to attribute your own meaning to it:
Life has no meaning, but you can make it meaningful.

But what does Existentialism say? What is this "exuberance"? this "feeling on top of it"? as if "it's like your life is yours to create" and this "ability to make something of yourself and feel good about life"?
Why is Robert Solomon saying this?

Because you have free will, and because you won't live forever. Make the most of your life because it is all that you get.
Life is your canvas and it's your responsibility to yourself to paint what you'd like to see.

          So I've decided to write a memoir recounting my high school experience. I thought of making it into a short story, but after getting half way through I realized that it wouldn't be short enough. Sure I could summarize the heck out of it, and leave out a couple events, but I feel like most if not all of it is pretty important. Besides, I'm already leaving out a ridiculous amount of stuff, just because I can't remember it. Why can't I remember it? well, it must have been all the smoking and drinking.

          I started off high school a loser. A big fat loser. OK, not big and fat, but more like skinny, awkward, and un-talkative. After a year or so of that, I found acceptance, but where you ask? in the stoner crowd, where everyone is accepted. This led to me making quite a few friends, and to quite a few parties, but after three years of caring about nothing but getting high and getting drunk, I realized that I had to make a change. I specifically remember thinking: "Life is too important to be wasted on weed". And so I quit. But it wasn't that simple.

          My stoner friends kept trying to get me back into the lifestyle, and once or twice I gave in, but eventually I rid myself of weed. And if effect, all of my old friends except for one, who I barely see anymore. Surprisingly though, I'm ten (ok, a million) times happier with myself now than I was at any point during those dark three years. Why? well, I have ambition, I'm going somewhere with my life. No longer do I just care about hanging out with my friends and getting stoned. I'm thinking about what I'm going to do once I get out of high school. Most of my old stoner friends either are in alternative school or have dropped out. What high hopes they have. What wonderful things they have and will accomplish. This may sound mean, but well, it is, and it's because it's their choice. Sure, I may not be hanging out with people everyday, but at least I'm not going to spend the rest of life in a mediocre minimum wage job, and not even care. See, the reason why they have allowed this to happen, is because they just don't care. Once you really get into weed everything else ceases to matter, and you become a pot zombie. No kidding.

          So, I imagine that this memoir will serve as a lesson. It will show teens what not to do, but I figure that it might even be a little interesting. I have quite a few stories as a result of three years of smoking weed everyday and partying every weekend. These include things like me and Oliver clinging onto the roof-rack of my friend's car while he did donuts in the middle of Stan Wadlow park at 3am, and my sister's ex boyfriend finding an ounce of weed in an unlocked van in the DA Morrison parking lot. Other good times include going to Matt's cottage (with no adult supervision) and surviving off of nothing but chips, burgers, beer and rum for an entire weekend. But of course, there were also the not so fun times, like watching Oliver running out of Pizza hut and puking on the ground right outside, and playing guitar while he spent some quality time with my friend's toilet (or sink), if you know what I mean. And then there were all the times I got too drunk... Oh what fun times...

          I can't help but wonder if this memoir will ever get published, and if anyone will actually learn something from it. Sure it will have a bunch of little lessons, and then one BIG one, but I wonder if it will ever get out there. Oh, well, I'll just have to wait and see.