Thinking you used to be smarter and more talented than you are now is such a sad thought. It is one of the saddest actually. It's an anxiety I often entertain.

My thoughts go something like this:

I hope I'm not ruined. I hope adulthood hasn't sucked all the life and humor out of me and made me a human asshole, producing only shit. So many adults are human assholes, just brainless mutants of the wasteland, you know? Walking cliches whose personality has been defined for them by G-d knows what. TV? Their parents? Their job? The drugs they're on? Fuck. With age people become too concerned with what everyone else thinks, too wrapped up in the past, too anxious about the future, and as a result their current selves become completely deficient. What they could've been is so disparate from what they've become. It's sad to watch.

And what about me? What have I become and what am I becoming?

When I read my old journals I think, "Aw, Sophia, you were so funny, so honest, so smart, what happened?" Maybe (hopefully) this is just hindsight speaking. Maybe I haven't lost myself to that endless void called "adulthood," where nothing is new anymore, and you walk around yoked to "responsibility," as if that's the only thing that's important.

I mean, what I'm most concerned about is my ability to produce, to have valuable insight, to write well and interestingly. Insight comes easy to the young, because young eyes see things freshly. And as you get older, you either delicately maintain this ability, or you lose it. You abandon yourself and see the world through glazed over, jaded eyes. And before you know it you're just another cog in the wheel. Another part of the machine.

MORAL OF THE STORY: FUCK THE INDUSTRY, MAN!
Ugh, just kidding. Kind of. I don't know.