I think too much. Or at least I think I do.
Shit, I'm doing it right now!
It's like my brain is in a constant race with my heart about who does the most work. I get it guys, good job for keeping me alive and all but by any means, slow the fuck down, will ya?
From the moment I wake up to the moment I go to sleep it's just a constant barrage of thoughts streaming into my head like a hailstorm of apple sized balls of conciousness. Quite random too. One second I'm happily thinking about all the stuff I'm gonna do in the future and everything's happy and rainbows and unicorns and all of a sudden everything's grey and I'm suddenly contemplating my life or, as my stupidly philosophical self would say, lack thereof and the rainbow is actually a huge scythe and the unicorn is, well, still a unicorn. Those things creep me the fuck out, like how the hell could you put that sharp of a horn on a creature and call it adorable? But then I'm back to being all smiles again. It's exhausting, both mentally and physically. Do you know how many muscles you need to smile? I can't be bothered to look it up right now but it's gotta be a whole lot more than keeping a straight face. Sigh. (sighing doesn't take as much energy I think so technically I'm allowed to do it.) If I didn't know any better I'd say I'm bipolar, but I do know better and I'm just kinda fucked up.
I think the problem is not that I think too much, rather that I overthink. A lot. When I'm walking down a street I'm so aware of my environment I will never ever bump into anything unintentionally, even though I always wear my headphones to keep my ears busy and listen to the soundtrack of my life. That level of awareness though, it's the level of awareness that people go to the mountains and stay with monks for a year and a half to achieve. I don't know, maybe it's the fact that I'm always listening to music so everything kinda gets postponed while I'm adjusting the fucking cable or attempting to rap an overly sweary Kendrick Lamar song, being from the ghetto and all. That was sarcasm by the way.
As I was saying, I overthink about stuff. When I'm ordering a pizza I have a manuscript of what I'm going to say so that I don't fuck up any of my sentences.
"Yeah hi, I'd like two medium sized pizzas. Yes, with bacon, mushrooms and cheese. No, no green pepper. The one without the green pepper is more expensive?" Shit shit shit this aint in the script what I'm I going to say. "Uhh green pepper is fine, then". I guess I like green pepper now.
Overthinking has made me miss quite a few opportunities. It's a curse, I'm telling you, a stupid, cock-blocking curse. Why the latter you ask? Alright, let's say you're at a party. It's kinda lame, not many people are dancing and the music is, well, crap for lack of a better word, but you're drinking a beer with your friends, chatting about some funny story and you're not having that bad of a time. You see a girl sitting by the bench with two of her friends, having a quiet conversation, much like you actually. She's a really pretty one at that, blonde hair, nice face, cute smile. You're thinking about talking to her but your bladder decides that you had two beers too many and you're also starting to get really cold all of a sudden, as if the North fucking Pole shifted positions with the equator. You wanna talk to her but you're not in a position to do so, as you're dancing to the rhythm of your near-busted-bladder and your hands are trying to generate as much heat as they can to stop you from shivering and, frankly, looking like a wuss. So you're saying "I'll talk to her in a bit, I can't do it right now." All of a sudden this asshole swoops in with his friend and starts chatting your girl up. Your girl! The love of your life! The mother of your future-non-existent children! But then it all comes back to you. While you were thinking at every possible embarrassing scenario, doing the math to come up with a percentage in which you either piss your pants, drop dead from the cold or, well, both, he's just taking a shot. He might not do everything right, he might not have thought what he was going to say to the last point but goddammit his leatherjacketness took the damn shot, while you're sitting there, arms on sides and hands in pockets, pondering about what you were going to say to her. He's not the asshole after all, you are. For being too scared to face a potential failure. For always wanting the perfect setup, and a great pickup line to go talk to a girl, as if that ever worked for you. That story was totally made up by the way, and it definitely didn't happen to me about two weeks ago. Yup. Completely fictional.
Either way, this brain thingy is either hurting me too much or helping me too much. Sometimes you gotta take a swing, and even if it misses you could at least say you tried. I should think less and do more. I should not calculate my every step up till the point of no return. I mean, even if that works once in a while, isn't it funner knowing you actually put your resourcefulness and quick thinking to use? That shit might actually save you in the future. Emma Stone might spontaneously call you and tell you to whisper dirty things to her. What are you gonna do then, smartass? Read your pizza manuscript? Use your goddamn instinct and leave your brain to rest, not everything needs to be planned ahead of time. Live a little! If not for yourself, do it for poor Emma. Once you're done thinking about stuff, that's when the real thinking begins.
Shit, I'm doing it right now!
It's like my brain is in a constant race with my heart about who does the most work. I get it guys, good job for keeping me alive and all but by any means, slow the fuck down, will ya?
From the moment I wake up to the moment I go to sleep it's just a constant barrage of thoughts streaming into my head like a hailstorm of apple sized balls of conciousness. Quite random too. One second I'm happily thinking about all the stuff I'm gonna do in the future and everything's happy and rainbows and unicorns and all of a sudden everything's grey and I'm suddenly contemplating my life or, as my stupidly philosophical self would say, lack thereof and the rainbow is actually a huge scythe and the unicorn is, well, still a unicorn. Those things creep me the fuck out, like how the hell could you put that sharp of a horn on a creature and call it adorable? But then I'm back to being all smiles again. It's exhausting, both mentally and physically. Do you know how many muscles you need to smile? I can't be bothered to look it up right now but it's gotta be a whole lot more than keeping a straight face. Sigh. (sighing doesn't take as much energy I think so technically I'm allowed to do it.) If I didn't know any better I'd say I'm bipolar, but I do know better and I'm just kinda fucked up.
I think the problem is not that I think too much, rather that I overthink. A lot. When I'm walking down a street I'm so aware of my environment I will never ever bump into anything unintentionally, even though I always wear my headphones to keep my ears busy and listen to the soundtrack of my life. That level of awareness though, it's the level of awareness that people go to the mountains and stay with monks for a year and a half to achieve. I don't know, maybe it's the fact that I'm always listening to music so everything kinda gets postponed while I'm adjusting the fucking cable or attempting to rap an overly sweary Kendrick Lamar song, being from the ghetto and all. That was sarcasm by the way.
As I was saying, I overthink about stuff. When I'm ordering a pizza I have a manuscript of what I'm going to say so that I don't fuck up any of my sentences.
"Yeah hi, I'd like two medium sized pizzas. Yes, with bacon, mushrooms and cheese. No, no green pepper. The one without the green pepper is more expensive?" Shit shit shit this aint in the script what I'm I going to say. "Uhh green pepper is fine, then". I guess I like green pepper now.
Overthinking has made me miss quite a few opportunities. It's a curse, I'm telling you, a stupid, cock-blocking curse. Why the latter you ask? Alright, let's say you're at a party. It's kinda lame, not many people are dancing and the music is, well, crap for lack of a better word, but you're drinking a beer with your friends, chatting about some funny story and you're not having that bad of a time. You see a girl sitting by the bench with two of her friends, having a quiet conversation, much like you actually. She's a really pretty one at that, blonde hair, nice face, cute smile. You're thinking about talking to her but your bladder decides that you had two beers too many and you're also starting to get really cold all of a sudden, as if the North fucking Pole shifted positions with the equator. You wanna talk to her but you're not in a position to do so, as you're dancing to the rhythm of your near-busted-bladder and your hands are trying to generate as much heat as they can to stop you from shivering and, frankly, looking like a wuss. So you're saying "I'll talk to her in a bit, I can't do it right now." All of a sudden this asshole swoops in with his friend and starts chatting your girl up. Your girl! The love of your life! The mother of your future-non-existent children! But then it all comes back to you. While you were thinking at every possible embarrassing scenario, doing the math to come up with a percentage in which you either piss your pants, drop dead from the cold or, well, both, he's just taking a shot. He might not do everything right, he might not have thought what he was going to say to the last point but goddammit his leatherjacketness took the damn shot, while you're sitting there, arms on sides and hands in pockets, pondering about what you were going to say to her. He's not the asshole after all, you are. For being too scared to face a potential failure. For always wanting the perfect setup, and a great pickup line to go talk to a girl, as if that ever worked for you. That story was totally made up by the way, and it definitely didn't happen to me about two weeks ago. Yup. Completely fictional.
Either way, this brain thingy is either hurting me too much or helping me too much. Sometimes you gotta take a swing, and even if it misses you could at least say you tried. I should think less and do more. I should not calculate my every step up till the point of no return. I mean, even if that works once in a while, isn't it funner knowing you actually put your resourcefulness and quick thinking to use? That shit might actually save you in the future. Emma Stone might spontaneously call you and tell you to whisper dirty things to her. What are you gonna do then, smartass? Read your pizza manuscript? Use your goddamn instinct and leave your brain to rest, not everything needs to be planned ahead of time. Live a little! If not for yourself, do it for poor Emma. Once you're done thinking about stuff, that's when the real thinking begins.
you must learn the art of saying *fuck it lets do it* and mean it young one
ΑπάντησηΔιαγραφήI've done that a bunch of times though, the real challenge is to keep doing it no matter how many times it fails.
Διαγραφήthe real challenge is stop fearing failure. i mean whats the worse that can happen if you look at it realistically (and not blowing failure's consequences out of proportion by over-analysing it)?
ΔιαγραφήI could die.
Διαγραφή...
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Seriously though, it's not that much a fear of failure, rather than being comfortable with what I have and not pursuing something better. It's gonna bite me in the ass eventually, but it is how it is :P