It's amazing how much of an oddity this has become. I used to burn every bridge, dwell in every ending, concerned only ever with the destination and never the path. Somehow that's change. It was a subtle shift, hardly identifiable and yet now so apparent. Is this age, wisdom, or simply different?
My mind scatters from point to point. I've learned not to fight with it, though. I just focus on something as long as I can then move to the next issue then the next. "I blame sesame street," I like to tell people. As though it's cute or insightful. Really, though, I blame the internet. I have taught myself methods and work practices to keep myself occupied even without a strong focus. Yet I sometimes wonder how much more I could do if I focused. Is this difference bad, good, or just different?
I have never cleaned an oven before, yet there i was today, scrubbing through possibly ages of grime and overcooked matter. I never knew ovens had so many surfaces and compartments. It took hours; I didn't mind it, though. It was meditative. After all, it was my last time I would ever visit this place.
I put a lot of mindfulness in what I do. I try to learn a lesson from everything. Keep my mind filled with symbols, filled with metaphors. Thinking in terms of the symbolic I find speeds up my thinking enabling me to switch between tasks easier. These two modes compliment eachother. I once again blame the internet for this development. I sometimes wonder what it would be like to be more goal oriented. I feel I might be more productive, maybe less. I sometimes remember a "me" that could end things easily, coincidentally, it was also a me I hated.
The task- on the whole- took only slightly less than an hour. It didn't seem that long. Through that time, I questioned the future of human thought and logical value versus erotic value. I wondered if contemporary American's strive for individuality is really a wise development for us to pursue. I wondered where tall tales went and why it is we don't value storytelling as much anymore. I blame the internet, but then again, I always do. It's not really horrible, not really amazing, just different.
As I finished up, I took a last stroll through my former apartment. I really felt safe there. It was a powerful place for me. It smelled like a whole periods' worth of memories. Memories in which I loved, memories in which I grew, memories in which I hated. Maybe I can learn something through closure; maybe it's not that bad.