Perpetually Unfinished
Tuesday, December 28, 2004
I have a long and logical and timely entry half-written in my head and 1/4-written on the computer, but I don't care about that right now. It's really far too rare that I just sit down and write.

I feel so much, sometimes. Right now I am exhausted and my head hurts and I want to go to bed, but all I can do is sit here staring at the screen trying to figure out how to say what I want to say.

I care about people. I often-- "usually" is probably more accurate-- do a really shitty job of connecting with people, but I care about them. Sometimes I feel it so much I want to burst, or cry, or scream. Or write.

I love people. I love people who don't love me back, because I don't do the right things to be a part of their lives in the way I'd need to. I let myself drift and don't put in the effort to build and/or maintain relationships, and then I look at how things are and I get this weird strong feeling that I have now, the dizzy beautiful aching feeling of love and the emptiness that comes when that love is not part of a friendship but a floating and seperate thing in my head and my heart. It hurts. Love is such a potent thing that I suppose it's only natural there should be so many ways that it's painful. It's this one that strikes me right now and keeps me up at night: the contrast it illuminates between the closeness that should be or could be, and the distance that is. I don't do enough to change that. I don't know if there's enough that I can do.

I'm incoherent. I don't think I let myself be incoherent in here nearly as much as I should.
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Nature attains perfection, but man never does. There is a perfect ant, a perfect bee, but man is perpetually unfinished. He is both an unfinished animal and an unfinished man. It is this incurable unfinishedness which sets man apart from other living things. For, in the attempt to finish himself, man becomes a creator. Moreover, the incurable unfinishedness keeps man perpetually immature, perpetually capable of learning and growing.
--Eric Hoffer

Malavika (and the rest of The Quitters)

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