I was staring at some random piece of writing today, and then in typical fashion just looked away for a second, and in a flash it seemed to me like I have already experienced everything. Well, I haven't, obviously, but this is hard to explain. It was though every experience, every thought was just being repeated over and over, and that the world had nothing to offer. Naturally, such an assertion is rationally nonsensical, because obviously there are many things that are genuinely novel, and are not a rehash of things other people have said or done. I think what I was really thinking was something along the lines of "Everyone has written everything before". I don't know why I bother posting such nonsense, not even I can make sense of it.

I remember a few days ago I was talking about how life can seem to be beautiful at times, and how at other times it can seem to be utterly tragic and pointless. Of late, I fear I have been leaning towards the latter because of many things. Being the delightful cryptic that I am, I tried to write about some of these things in the guise of "poetry", sometimes they worked (well, once by my count), and sometimes they didn't (which led to various comments about prematurely destroying this blog). In but a few days, I shall be travelling to a faraway place, hopefully to set my mind at ease and to gain some perspective. Things aren't quite as simple as they used to be, eh? What if I came back a different person? Would people notice? I don't know what I quite mean here; I guess what I'm getting at it is, do reinventions on the inside manifest themselves on the outside? It seems pretty obvious that the answer is yes, so perhaps I have become too cynical by having to ask such a question.

Oh, I really don't want to go on anymore. I don't mean that I want to die or anything like that; no, not that at all, for I don't want to die, and certainly not now! I just wish that one could live life in stassis. That there was time for everything, that everything would wait for you. The reality of it all is a bit crueller though; sometimes there is only a single opportunity, and no time to reflect on it. Yet, funnily enough, there is all the time in the world afterwards to toss and turn thinking about one's mistakes. One of the things to think about in that time is whether the missed opportunity was one of those ones that has forever passed you by. Sick and twisted, ain't it? Heh, as Warren Zevon might say, "Life'll kill ya". I think I'd prefer if everything were an illusion. In that case, I could just spend my days dreaming of better things and be at peace. But as it stands, I suspect that this is all too real. After all, it would seem that any instinct I ever had proved to be totally wrong (a la George from Seinfeld who, now that I think about it, is actually better off than me; I used to suspect that I had something going for me, but on a bit of reflection, I am not so sure).

The only ray of sunshine these past few days has been a pleasant find in The Office, of which a lot has been talked about, but which I never actually saw till a few days ago. Definitely very funny, a strong character-driven comedy. It gives me something to look forward to in the evening. Ah, how sad.