"Fake faces everywhere I see, fake people looking back at me." It feels like this is my life now, just spinning around in circles looking for something real to run to. I'm a fake, too. Everything is fake, everything is relative. But then, what's real?
I turned to numbers in my search for reality. They're the only things that are concrete, pre-determined. If you used numbers, you could either say you lost 5 pounds or you didn't. That's how I see "real." But even then, there are problems. Scales lie. One will say 4.8, another will say 5.2. How are you ever supposed to know the truth? Are we all doomed to be content with estimates? I'll drive myself mad before I begin using the word "about" or "relatively."
The problem is, I live my life in black and white. I don't like the shades of grey. Shades of grey indicate an indefinite amount of possibilities, something our minds can't fathom. Infinite? Another word I don't like. Infinite borders too closely to imaginary. Imagination is all good and well, in fact I need it to do what I love best--writing. But when it comes to perectionist tendencies, imaginary just won't do anymore.
How many calories in an apple? What is my Basal Metabolic Rate? These things are all relative, I'm sure, because no apple is the same as another, and determining BMR rests in the hands of human error.
I need some stability in my life, I guess. Something I don't have to worry about changing overnight while I'm sleeping. This is just a rant. I feel a bit psychotic right now, and was wondering if there were anyone out there who felt the same.
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