Philosophical Interlude

I now proclaim to the internet that I think I may be majoring in the wrong field.

My major is in English with an emphasis on creative writing. I love to write, and what's more I love to write creatively. What's even more, sometimes I feel like I'm good at it.

I love the potential that writing has to reach others' lives. The span of my lifetime limits my ability to personally seek out and deliver face-to-face messages to other people. If I wanted to personally seek out people and deliver them face-to-face messages. Which I don't. I'm more of an introvert than anything and I would rather be repeatedly punched in the kidneys than have to meet people I didn't previously know. And don't even get me started on phone calls.

Writing allows me to create something that can influence others' lives--cheer them, inspire them, make them laugh--without leaving the safety of my own mind or sometimes even my house.

All in all, it's a pretty good setup.

However. Recently I've noticed that I seem capable of writing one thing, and one thing alone:

Philosophy.

If I sit down to write about a clever text exchange with Best Friend Boy, my creative arteries become clogged. Instead I start to expound deeply about the nature of our friendship, or the subject matter we were texting about, or something completely unrelated such as the moral implications of the public transit system.

I didn't even know the public transit system had moral implications until I found myself writing about it. And so it goes.

I try to write about Disneyland? I have an essay about the meaning of Disneyland's existence.

I try to write about delicious food? I find myself justifying the consumption of exciting foods even though my nutritional needs could just as easily be met by boring ones.

I try to write a funny story about how weird my life is right now? I end up with this post.

Blast you, philosophy. I will never be yours. I will get my English degree no matter what. Even if my head explodes from unshared philosophical discourse. Even if I DIE.

Which would arguably happen if my head exploded from unshared philosophical discourse. But let's not think too deeply here. I'm tired of doing that.