Babies are untouched. Not scribbled on, none of that erasing that comes with adults.
How do we go from there to here?
When does it all change? When do we realise the difference between good and bad, black and white, hot and cold, why is it that any of this even matters? When is it that a child becomes responsible?
Is it that first goldfish your parents buy you in the hopes of removing some of the childish selfishness built into each of us, like maybe caring for a small orangely golden aquatic veterbrate is going to insight some kind of growth in human mammals. Or maybe its that first babyesque doll that burps and poops so much like you that like it or not we develop an inferiority complex whereby The Doll is an Other in direct competition with us for some unknown prize.
Okay that was far too Dr Phill of me.
I hate responsibility. Only realised this over the last few days, responsibility is a real bitch. And by bitch I refer to the fact that being in this awful state of 'responsible' for another thing, act or person requires you to be in control of, or to be accountable for this completely Other being.
Working on Thessy has made me realise that Im responsible for it. Not only that, Im responsible for making it as good or bad a piece of writing as it is ever going to be. Im also responsible for my mother, and my share of the work at C. Im responsible for my friends when they are jubilant or sad. Responsibility is multi-faceted and far reaching. And I can't think of any area in which I haven't screwed up.
So my decisions, my acts, my ideas will now [and for however long Ive been in this terrible state] have been impacting someone other than me. Gumby. Is it any wonder than, that my life has become a poster ad for squashed banana's and spike heels?
Mmhm. Use that imagery and go with it.
Some bright spark once said, you know your an adult when you realise your responsibilities. I think what he should have said, was when you royally screw up most of your areas of responsibility, then you know your an adult.
Today's muddle: how do we stop being adults?
How do we go from there to here?
When does it all change? When do we realise the difference between good and bad, black and white, hot and cold, why is it that any of this even matters? When is it that a child becomes responsible?
Is it that first goldfish your parents buy you in the hopes of removing some of the childish selfishness built into each of us, like maybe caring for a small orangely golden aquatic veterbrate is going to insight some kind of growth in human mammals. Or maybe its that first babyesque doll that burps and poops so much like you that like it or not we develop an inferiority complex whereby The Doll is an Other in direct competition with us for some unknown prize.
Okay that was far too Dr Phill of me.
I hate responsibility. Only realised this over the last few days, responsibility is a real bitch. And by bitch I refer to the fact that being in this awful state of 'responsible' for another thing, act or person requires you to be in control of, or to be accountable for this completely Other being.
Working on Thessy has made me realise that Im responsible for it. Not only that, Im responsible for making it as good or bad a piece of writing as it is ever going to be. Im also responsible for my mother, and my share of the work at C. Im responsible for my friends when they are jubilant or sad. Responsibility is multi-faceted and far reaching. And I can't think of any area in which I haven't screwed up.
So my decisions, my acts, my ideas will now [and for however long Ive been in this terrible state] have been impacting someone other than me. Gumby. Is it any wonder than, that my life has become a poster ad for squashed banana's and spike heels?
Mmhm. Use that imagery and go with it.
Some bright spark once said, you know your an adult when you realise your responsibilities. I think what he should have said, was when you royally screw up most of your areas of responsibility, then you know your an adult.
Today's muddle: how do we stop being adults?
0 comments:
Post a Comment