I was thinking how I would love to be able to say something deep and profound (this while I watch South Park...) in this journal. Something that would cause others to pause and reflect on what I said, and how it may apply to their lives.
Unfortunately, I know I am far too shallow for that. And that's not a lack of self-esteem on my part. It's just that my brain is not meant to plumb the depths of profundity. It just can't handle that sort of thing -- that's just the way my blueprints were drawn.
At least I have more depth to my personality than some of the folks I hear chatting between classes. One group of girls was discussing the haircut of one of their cronies like it was a matter of dire importance, contrasting and comparing how her hair looked with how their hair was styled.
Sometimes, listening to these kinds of people talk as I wander over campus, lost in thought, I think they're more like cardboard cutouts than real people. And that's what led me to think that sometimes, the reality in people is a fiction.
I mean, think about it. People you know, they're not really how you think they are. Folks at the deli who saw me last night saw only a drunken, loud, obnoxious person who was screaming the lyrics to hair metal music at top volume. But that's not really who I am. Even the folks closest to me don't really know who I am -- they only know what I like to show them. So what they think of me is what they have made up about me, to project onto me in order to explain me and make it seem that they know about me and who I am. It's fiction, not reality. The opposite is true -- everything I know about those close to me is what I have constructed about them. We none of us know each other...
And I suppose that is my attempt at profundity... after a night of drunken revelry that left my mind and body just a tad bit worn out...