5/27/2021
I think at my core I just want to be interesting. I scoff at the thought of how people idolize celebrities, the way they put fame on a pedestal and worship it. But I am guilty of it too, I am just more of a snob about it. I idolize people I find interesting, people who I don’t feel I’ve figured out. It’s arrogant really, but it’s true. I think I want to be that type of person. I want to be at that level. I want to be someone that someone else ponders. I can’t be the only one who does this, so I find myself hoping that I can be that to someone else. Even now, I fantasize about writing this, posting it, and having people read it and think about me in this way. But I will never really be that in my own eyes, will I? You never really can be. You are always the least interesting person you know because you live in your own head. How could you not become bored with a person you spend every second of every day with? A person who you know every thought of, every desire, every reaction, every experience, every single detail. It’s impossible not to get bored of yourself because the things that could be interesting are just annoying because they are disruptive. You aren’t mysterious, you’re a fraud. You aren’t courageous, you’re self-conscious. You aren’t witty, you’re annoying. Even now, I am pretending to be philosophical, to be interesting, but I’m just being pretentious. It’s a marvel I haven’t gotten bored of Sarah, but even the thought of that seems unfathomable to me. The thought of it makes me feel gross. I don’t know how that works, but I pray to whoever can hear me that I never do. She makes me happy. She keeps me from going crazy in my own brain. She loves me, even though I am uninteresting.