Somewhere there has to be a clock, a notetaker, a document that has tallied all the lives I have looked at since Facebook has corrupted myself and my generation. It is the perfect tool for a surveyor, a voyeur, creeps, the interested, the curious, and myself...maybe somewhere in all of those categories I just listed.
If I knew the time I spent surveying the lives of others, I think I would feel far more depressed than by the time I could estimate, but the amount of time I will not estimate. Why is there this need to see into and not out to?
Since I was 13 or younger I can recall being so utterly fascinated everytime my family and I drove by the houses on Beacon Avenue in Boston. I wanted to know what was going on inside those homes; how those families were living as opposed to my own. What did their rooms look like? Just this past weekend my family and I were driving through Kennebunkport, Maine but this time it was my sister who was so interested. I almost wanted to close my eyes. I wanted to forget that the lives of others exist and that they exist on a plane foreign to my own.
What I am getting at here, maybe getting at, potentially arriving to is the paucity of newness in my life. Everyday is new so this sounds like it is nearly impossible but, I am in no way taking up the newness.
Everything is dying!
Why am I not writing as much? Why am I not reading as much? Why am I finding this helpful at 10 o'clock at night and mildly productive? Why am I asking someone else to look into my life when I just stated that I wanted to look out and by that virtue expect others to start looking out?
All I know is I am going to a funeral tomorrow, I am moving into an apartment in Chicago, and I am starting life anew, because I am given that chance.
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