Anya's Musings

I think one of the reasons I like Sherlock as much as I do (read my previous post for that bit of adoration) is because I like how Benedict Cumberbatch portrays Sherlock Holmes. He is often bored & when he is, roams about in his night clothes, sometimes even just a sheet, sulks, becomes a shade rude, orders his clients "Please don't be boring" & shoots his drawing room walls. And I relate to that. Admittedly, I have no clients and I do not shoot my walls...I don't even have a revolver. But I see how boredom would make one sulk around the house and become jumpy. Very, very jumpy.

I wonder if its just me, or does everyone reach a point in there lives where they reach the highest point of the bell-shaped curve of life, if you will, and after that, it is just a downhill journey and every moment then on there is a hollow voice inside of us, telling us that that's it, life's given all that it could, you've reached the maximum you could and even though that maximum wasn't enough, that was it and it is going to be blah from here on. Because that's what it feels like. Right now. Always. And what's more... aren't I a little late to be existentialist? I mean, wasn't that period a while back? Okay no wait, that's not even the point. The point is that there is no point. (I'm reading James Joyce, so!) And what's worse is that the only response I'll even get on this post is going to be some lame guy (sorry to sound so judgmental, but what the hey) who is under the impression that he's sounding very intellectual and hiding his identity too well, asking me personal questions about my life and worse...displaying (often not true) stuff about my personal life. Dude, seriously, that's my job! You write your own blog! So anyways, back to the nothingness of life. Nothing, even the main-stream lala one is supposed to follow doesn't make sense. Education, career, marriage, knowledge, family. Yes, I said family. But no really, education makes no sense anymore. More often than not, they're random stuff hammered into one's brains so that they can get a job so that they can get a desirable husband/wife. And then not even work that marriage out. Intelligence, since when has that one been honestly valued? Or, no, been useful? I would really love to think that there is hope, but I, like Conrad's character in Heart of Darkness, am fixated in the midst of all the non-sensical muck to see any light.