chalice26's Diaryland Diary

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Why being less sometimes means more...

There's this diary I used to read. It was/is written by this girl who's like the antithesis of me. Other than the fact that she was born somewhat into priviledge, I was, at one time, very similar to her, though. I walked the straight path, believed completely in my own intelligence and superiority, and pretty much got off on listening to myself speak or thinking my thoughts above all else. I read this diary so I could see who I might have been had I stayed on that path and not let those little bumps along the way derail my future. And you know what I've found? I completely hate her. I hate that all of her opinions come from reading too many books and that real-life living doesn't even occur to her, because in her anesthetized, academic way, she's lived it all. Of course on a much higher plane than everyone else and with far less mistakes. She even acknowledges that she's a superior, snobby bitch, but to her that's a compliment she believes she's earned. It makes her feel good to have read more things, and learned more things, and had more exotic experiences than everyone else. But I honestly feel that she doesn't get much anymore out of real life or real people. There is, in my opinion, no one she would rather have a conversation with than herself. So who can she even relate to? Someone with similar experiences, sure, but then there's the whole power struggle to be the best factor.

The point I really want to make is that I wouldn't trade one minute of the life I've led to be in her shoes, and I'm thinking that it must be fate or Divine Intervention that kept me from walking down that path. You know how crazy people never know they're crazy? Well, that's what it's like. At the end of the day, what is the real satisfaction of having read a book whose title no one else can pronounce? Does that make you special? Or legitimate? Or happy? I really don't think so. I really don't. I think bonding with people makes you happy. Having real, actual feelings that don't stem solely from something you remember having read about. It's all well and good to want to see a deeper meaning and have a true appreciation for things, but at the end of the day, with all that, what do you have, really?

I would freak out, for real, if this person becomes a mother. It reminds me of a customer I had the other day. He was with someone I assumed was an aunt or some other random family member who was not his mom. So this nine year old kid looks at this magazine "The Globe" and says, "Look. It says the globe, but it has an American flag on it! Isn't that an oxymoron???" Now. I don't know about anyone else, but I'm honestly praying for a child with a lesser degree of intelligence. I mean, what kind of true life experiences will that kid have? None. No one will even want to talk to him or stand within listening distance. What is the point then? Yes, he'll be brilliant. Sure. But what good is brilliance when you're completely ostracizing yourself from every aspect of normal living? Is it really that satisfying? I don't see how it could be. And that's why I'm happy to be an under-achiever and to fully know half of what I knew ten years ago. And you know, without all the bullshit clogging up my brain, I think I'm really starting to finally get myself. Oh, and I can have interesting talks with a broader range of people since my vocab has become more conversational than dictionary!

11:39 p.m. - 2003-08-05
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