a passing thought...

Perusing my blog, thinking about just exactly why I whine about my shit, sparked a realization. Most of lifes little pains are always more complained about that actual serious problems. Deep pains, true pains, life threatening conditions...all of these you never hear anyone complaining about. The terminally ill don't wake up every day and go "Oh how harshly I've been fucked!", they just go on with the day and try to take what they can before their end. Not that I'm saying us "normal people" are any luckier, I mean hell, we're all gonna die one day. It's just a matter of when, where, and how. Sadly enough though, even these things don't matter. In a few generations, even the greatest of us are forgotten. Realizing this, I wondered why I bitch about my problems and discuss hopes and dreams at all. I think searching for truth is far too taxing. Searching for purpose, pointless. Just forge your own, make it work, do what you must. Nothing will matter a few years from now, and through it all, our lives are just blinks of an eye. They seem so important to us but they're really not significant at all. We claim to have a sanctity and quality of life. Nothing but bullshit. The only reason our lives have "value" is because we say they do, and anything not worth having around isn't deemed worthy of life. Now mind you I'm not saying this out of anger, nor am I whining about this. This is just one of those things that you always know, just never think about or bring up so you feel a little better each day when you wake up. To conclude: am i a manic dreamer, or just a complete psychopath aren't I? (I'm actually very very happy while I'm writing this. Despite what the tone may seem to be.)