Seems that my last “discourse” was wildly popular… said no one ever.
Le sigh. Shall we continue then?
- Pick an everyday item. Describe what your life was like before the item, and then describe it with the item in your life. Is it a useful item? Describe why.
Wow. This is kind of stupid. But I’ll try it just to see what happens. This may be the shortest entry out of all of them. But I shall focus on a coffee cup. That seems doldrum enough.
My coffee cup. I got it for free because a friend was moving out and simply wanted things gone. I had just moved into my good friend’s place, and I was coffee cup-less. I had been borrowing my friend’s mug for coffee and various high temperatured liquid goods, but I felt that I should likely get my own. I got the two that he had that I liked and made them my own. They’re simple things; nothing extravagant. Black and smooth as obsidian on the inside with a gradient of sepia grey on the outside that cascades from the black inside. It holds my coffee every morning, my one saint that I know I can rely on in this life to perform the quest worthy of ancient hymns of legendary knights: waking me up in the morning. Such a monumental task this is. This dragon abhors mornings, but as of late, the abhorrence has ebbed slightly, as I notice the cool pleasant warmth of the morn and the light air that floats around… yet to be polluted by irregular thoughts, racing anxiety, and the light of the sun before it turns brutal. I can’t say I enjoy them and will get up for them a as I know I should, but I can say that I am beginning to detest these less and less with each passing day. I may become a legendary creature yet: a morning person.
My life before this coffee cup was cut more of inconvenience — or I felt so. I have been passed around and tossed around this entire year since I sacrificed the life I once had to a trip to South America for 2015. I didn’t fully succeed in completing my terms as I told myself in contract to — well — myself, but I still gave up everything to move down there for the brief while to try something else. Didn’t work, almost needless to say or I would not have returned to the US. I try to focus more on my own thoughts away from the “wasted” time on thinking I could become a teacher… not so. My patience wears thin too easily. I would love to mold the minds of tomorrow, but most of them could not care less. Unmotivated individuals were an enigma to me, I guess. I wish I could have had the prowess to relay motivation, delegate cooperation, encourage determination to these other children… alas. My skills are not in those things. I can explain things; I can paint a picture with the words I have… but often times I fall flat due to my own lack of the necessary characteristics to become a teacher — a good teacher, no less. I am not about to get involved in a career where I cannot be the best. What would be the point? To delude myself into believing that I am making a difference, when I am truly not? I had deluded teachers in my time, and they were often more harm than good. Hell, I have a math phobia now because of my rampant failures in the subject and my teachers ill skill to have me understand. Or perhaps it is my ill skill to understand. Math never rang as my true subject. Never has, and I highly doubt that it ever will be.
All this from caffeinated beverage. More relays of my insecurities.