Last year, I was preparing myself for leaving Greece for Bulgaria. For nine months at least.
Bulgaria happened. It really did, and it was nice.
Other things happened too and they, too, were nice. But lately I’ve been quite forgetful for some reason, so I wouldn’t be able to tell you what they were from the top of my head. Nothing I did alone, for sure. Scratch that. Travelling. Learning. Participating. Doing things like 7×7. Trying to devise ways to combat my demons. Those were the highlights.
Last year, when I was mentally preparing myself for Bulgaria, I had something coming up. Now I have nothing. I’m floating in limbo. I’m the master of my future and its slave, too. For the promises of alternate futures kill the excitement of the now.
Hey, I also wrote something about alternate calendars. Sometime around May. What would you be doing tonight if tonight wasn’t the end of a completely arbitrarily-marked period and the start of a new one full of—mostly false—promise? What if it was just another night?
It is just another night, isn’t it?
Maybe it isn’t. Or maybe it is! Especially if you want to pump out some goals for the year. It’s all in the mind, but that’s not a reason to dismiss the importance of new year’s, since some minds do place importance on things having distinct beginnings and ends. Some other minds are more cyclical in nature, but then that’s what the year is.
What the fuck is this rant? Am I writing things just to sound and feel important just like everyone else with their end-of-year-things is?
I… suppose. What else might the purpose of any such post be?