It seems these days all I can do is think.  And that’s not too far from the truth since I’m broke as shit.  I should say “It seems these days all I can afford to do is think.”  Regardless, I cannot turn my brain off lately.  And it’s not just one topic, either, but all and at all times.  I’ve been reading about particle physics, how scientists have ventured to determine the irreducible building blocks of everything, and each particle uncovered is made up of a multitude of others.  It begs that question of “How?” 

We are made up of cells which are made up of molecules which are made up of atoms which are made up of protons which are made up of Higgs-bosons and so on and so forth…. Down, down, down to infinity.  Everything that exists must be comprised of something, and therefore the possibility of irreducibility is neglible.  Because the human brain cannot grasp the concept of nothing.  In the same sense that infinite space cannot be envisioned, nor can irreducibility.  It seems the further down the rabbit hole we go, the longer it becomes.

Definition is constantly receding from us.  If the universe is not definite and could be conceptualized as a painting on a wall, what is the wall?  If the tiniest parts of all matter are indeed Quarks and Leptons and Bosons, what are they made of?  If a “chip” is defined as a smaller portion of the whole, what is a chip of a chip?

Infinite information in a undoubtedly definite world, if I may be so egocentric.  Because once I die, what do I care for questions such as these?  That is the cruelty of existence: that in a definite world we are given an infinite supply of questions and answers. 

But my irrefutable propensity towards thought is not limited to the scientific realm.  I’ve been searching my soul lately, asking myself what my purpose is?  On days that I don’t absolutely have to get out of bed I am extremely reticent to do so.  The unkown nature of what to do with myself and my time is immobilizing.  My lack of motivation is self-perpetuating. 

I need a hobby, other than thinking.

I’ve thought about going to school for philosophy, so that I could ostensibly get paid to think, but that costs money that I don’t have and can’t make lying in bed waiting to work.  They’ve been running a commercial on television lately for the new Volkswagen Jetta and they make is seem so easy to pick up an additional $15,995.00 in your spare time but I know full well that is bullshit. 

But I also know that number could be reduced into smaller numbers that are far more easily attainable and could be combined over time to create the whole, much as protons and neutrons can create atoms and then molecules and eventually even something like me, so it again boils down to motivation.  Build, destroy, observe, build, repeat.

But I’ve grown tired of destroying myself.  It’s not that I’m not good at it; rather far too good.  It’s not that I’m not a good thinker, either.  I excel at it, but that’s not a good thing.  It is this tripping through thought processes and falling down Rabbit Holes that keeps me immobile.  How can I get out of bed and face a world that I don’t fully understand?  I’ve been plagued for years with dreams of a similar ilk; dreams that heap questions upon questions and tasks upon tasks that literally keep me from waking while racing towards an unattainable goal.  It is only through outside influence that I escape these small comas.

All that said, I am not an intellectual.  I am relatively stupid, as should be evident upon meeting me even once.  I needn’t even speak to illustrate my shortcomings.  You could look at a photo of me and know that I’m not the Greatest Thinker of Our Time.  All this hypothetical hoopla I’m spouting now is a diversion, a self-indulgent ploy to distract me from my lack of development, to defer blame to something outside of my control, i.e. – the interminable mindfuck of my day-to-day existence.

But the fact of the matter is I need to reach in and flip the switch.  Or, even better, multi-task.  Unexceptional people do it every day.  Why can’t I?

Sometimes I think I’m afraid of success, fearful of peace, petrified of comfort.  Okay, more than sometimes.  I’m getting married in April and between now and then I am focusing on self-improvement in a provable, financial aspect.  I am changing things about myself that are visible to others in attempt to simulate maturity and to prepare my life to be shared with another.  I am trying to live a life of legitimacy, which would alleviate a great deal of the fear that I’ve felt in the past.  To that extent, it seems my brain has launched a counter-offense to drive my internal maladies further against me.  In growing up and becoming a responsible citizen on paper, I am instigating the war within myself.

Or maybeI just think too much.