Bored: How Bout Some Philosophy Goodness

I must say; I have no idea why I am writing at this particular moment. I can’t even tell you where this text will end. Call it free thought or call it an impulse, but it is my hope that this will lead to something great and inspiring when it is finished. Part of me wants to compare this to Jerry Macguire’s epiphany, but another part of me screams, “Do you LIKE comparing yourself to fictional characters!”

I am young, irresponsible, and am completely detached from human society. Does that mean that I shrivel up in a corner all day and eat slabs of beef while grunting meaningless nothings? Of course not (Well at least on good days I don’t do that). I am twenty years old and feel like someone three times my age. During my high school graduation, while my peers were screaming and talking about the parties they were going to, I was on the verge of crying. ...Well since I am not looking anyone in the face, I’ll just admit it: I did cry. Quite a bit. How the hell could these kids not realize that “high school” will NEVER happen again for them. I always found it rather funny and ironic that I ended up being the one who tried to savor his high school moments. I hated school much more than your average Joe or Jane. Having said that, I was aware enough to understand that you only live once and you only get one shot. While everyone else “couldn’t wait” for college, I was trying my very best to slow time as much as possible. Needless to say, I failed miserably. Do you ever notice that the older we get, the faster time flies by? As a young child, summer was the equivalent of an ice age. It never ended. By the time I reached my junior and senior year of high school, they were passing by in a blink.

Am I the only one who thinks like this? Do I feel too much? I was once told that I had an old soul. After feeling flattered, I thought to myself, “Is that really a good thing?” Sometimes, I would like to be the carefree college student who drinks all night, complains of headaches in the morning, and studies history material that will immediately be forgotten upon completion of the term. I would like to be the guy at the lunch table who is laughing hysterically with his thirty friends over something that they all know isn’t that funny. Who am I instead? I am that guy who thinks way too much about things that matter way too little. Do you know how many times I have asked myself, “What did he/she mean by that?” Anyone...anyone? Probably 127 times. I am also that guy who talks about taking loner vacation trips into the woods but never does...but that’s another story.

JEFFREY’S CONFUSION FOR 500 POINTS: Why do my knees buckle and why does my mouth turn to cotton when a friend calls me on the phone? Why don’t I pick up? Why have I concocted elaborate systems of getting out of coversations? What kind of concoctions, you ask? Here is an example: When I receive an unwanted phone call from a friend on my cell, I immediately press reject. Realizing that the person will be directed to my voicemail, I then call their cell phone knowing that they will still be on the line. What happens? I get directed to their VOICEMAIL! Now what does this mean, folks? Five words...five words: GET- OUT- OF- JAIL- FREE. Maybe I should explain more. If they call me and I don’t return their call in a reasonable amount of time (which I never do), I have to walk around with guilt and the feeling of a fat man- probably homeless- on my back weighing me down. But if I can call their cell while they are calling me...plausible deniability. I’ll leave a quick message consisting of something along the lines of “Hey. Sorry I missed you but I’ll try to call you later this week. I have a really busy day today.” After hanging up, I immediately turn my phone off. That way, I don’t have to hear the phone ring again and, alas, I am free of guilt. Next week.....I mean month....when I speak to them, I will say “I tried to call you a while back.”

Have you ever gone to a movie theatre and heard a guy laugh when nobody else did? I was probably that guy. Well....probably not...but I am very similar to him. We all like to think that we are the ONLY ONES who get certain types of humor. I am intelligent enough to realize that I am not independent of this form of thought, yet I still find myself laughing when others do not. What do I do when the others are laughing? I’m probably rather serious as I wait for another funny moment.

It is really hard to go through life and truthfully admit to yourself, behind closed doors of course, that you don’t really like others that much. Of course there will always be those we are close to and who are like us. But other than that, I have been quite unsatisfied with my fellow man.

As I began writing songs about these very emotions, I found that many people feel the same way. In fact, a lot of people feel the same way. Actually, I’ll go one further and say that we ALL feel this way; we merely show it differently. Whereas I am more apt to sit and think and council myself as I work through my issues, others prefer to drown their confusions in alcohol, or false happiness, or drugs, or denial. The fact that I choose gloom over substance does not make me better or wiser...only different. On the other hand, I do believe that it gives me greater insight into the human phsyche and, consequently, allows me to write more thought provoking songs. When I say “I” or “me” in a song, you can rest assured that it is not a character or an idea I am speaking of. It is all me.

Why the hell am I so damn sensitive? Why the hell are we all so damn sensitive? The only difference between me and an old confederate flag waving hard ass (probably with loose balls) is that I will admit that I am upset, if only to myself alone. Mr. Confederate can’t show emotion, other than anger, to anyone, including himself. He’ll just eventually chop wood or something. How sad is that? We truly are a product or our parents though. At what point did so much distinction get thrown upon men and women? “Don’t cry at me boy! Be a man!” Although I can’t be sure, I think Hard Ass’s dad probably said something along the lines of that at some point in his life.

As I go back and read what I have written, I think to myself, “Stop talking out of your ass, Jeff.” So I shall stop and rest. Please disregard the preceeding text. Bye- J.