Despite all the hard feelings I so graciously bestow upon myself (and my writing), I'm living the dream. My own dream, that is. I never imagined I'd have my own car (not to mention motorcycle), I have two awesome guitars and a nice amp, I have almost every book I've ever read and almost every record I've ever loved. I can afford to eat burritos nearly every day, not to mention being old enough (and wealthy enough) to drink High Life on a regular basis. I have my own apartment (which takes some of the fun out of doing what I please because it's only at my own expense) and I can essentially do whatever I want, whenever I want to do it.
There's no draw-back, but there is a catch (unless the draw-back is that absurd theory of "too much freedom," which isn't difficult to remedy): with all of this at my disposal, it's up to me to get stuff done. Already having all of my desired possessions at my disposal leaves little to physically desire. I'm thinking I may have climbed Lazlo's pyramid too quickly-- I didn't bask in the hardships as long as I could have.
But, suddenly, I have this overwhelming sense that I've done everything right because everyone is as unique as a snowflake or a steaming pile of horse shit and, at first glance, seems the same as any other. My point is that, outside of society's constructs and outside of the barriers set up in my mind by my family and my interests and my biases and by the things I favor for one reason or another, there's no proper authority who can tell me that I've lived my life the wrong way. Though I can understand when I've hurt other people, I can justify every dishonest, asshole thing that I've ever done (needless to say, justify it for myself). Does this make me narcissistic? And, if so, is that a bad thing, or just a category for a psychologist to put me in? Should I care?, because I don't...
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