And this is the truth.
Some very peculiar things have been happening to me, as of late. Not that we shouldn’t take my entire life’s history into account here, as my rearing has been chock full of madness, with its fair share of inaccuracies and hardships to boot.
This all may lead to my ultimate undoing, which is to say, when did the world start relying on my private thoughts on which to prey so people may govern themselves accordingly in response?
When did I begin to matter to anyone outside of my closeknit family circle, anyhow?
I feel like my journey into the field of journalism has been a foray into a world of chaos in itself.
We believe in Google, not God anymore.
We follow keywords like they’re scripture out of the bible and mimic trends as if they’re the latest stats like hits on a weblog.
The truth is. I don’t know what to believe.
I never have.
When I was 11 years old I denounced Jesus Christ as my one true saviour and I don’t regret it. I question my decisions every day, every single utterance that spews forth from this uncontrollable brain-to-mouth machine of mine, every step I take, and so forth.
What are we doing here any way?
In this galaxy?
In this lifetime?
I just watched the movie, “God Bless America,” and for all its trash talking and blood spilling, there is a moral to the story.
Don’t forget who you are.
Don’t forget where your morals lie.
Make yourself before you run out time, before we allow Facebook to tell us what we should share with the world and what should remain private.
I heard from a friend (or maybe I heard it on the news, those two terms aren’t mutually exclusive at this point in my life) that some actors actually have sex with their costars during movies and they can’t understand what’s wrong with that.
Why is porn so objectionable and provocative, when even further vulgarities are committed in video games and on TV?
Some days I detest the stuff, others, not so much.
Since when did we become this wishy washy society which boasts about being on one side of the fence, then the next day another?
Megan Fox is bisexual. What’s new? Isn’t everyone potentially enabled to love whomever he or she chooses?
Are we born with feelings or with a clean slate as Decartes suggests?
I wish I believed in something deeper.
I wish I could declare a different major other than journalism, as this one is driving me bonkers, sending me down this rabbit hole full of riots and proclivities and philosophies unmentionable because they haven’t even come up with a name for the symptom of the disease they the media declare to despise on a daily basis.
Every day there is a new drug with side effects to look out for.
There is always a new war to be won.
A new story to cover.
Everything’s always changing and humannity somehow has managed to stay on top of the food chain throughout it all.
Now, where’s my reward? Aren’t I entitled to such a fate that only a Bachelor’s degree may afford me?
Isn’t that what we’re taught from the age of four years and on?
I’ve been in public schools my entire life.
I am proud of who I am, I just can’t see why no one else understands the value I may attribute to their company and their people.
Why was a month’s worth of my life shuffled into a file folder’s width of a box and left on my doorstep when I arrived home from work when I had asked to leave early?
Why did I fashion my cubicle in such a way that I took pride on what I displayed and gave full steam to the work that lay ahead of me each and every second I was there at Softrock, “where software rocks?”
How can a person fail an interview for an internship where she won’t even be paid during the three-month stint? What is the definition of decorum anyway and how can a 22 year-old woman fit in a Calvin Klein dress and Jessica Simpson pumps lack a certain degree of it?
Why do three people at Bonnier Corp. deem me without merit when they haven’t even seen my face?
I have obeyed all the rules.
I have learned CSS, HTML, Photoshop, Word, Excel, SEO, and I listen to NPR.
My eyes and ears are perpetually glued open in the hopes that something interesting might happen right before my eyes so that I may fall witness to a miracle or an awakening or something that would make my life worth living just one more day.
Just one more day.
Have I been living a lie? I’m into genetics. I like robotics. I love ceaselessly the genius, the rich, the stupendous, the superb, the artistic, autistic, the self-righteous, the self-loathing, I even love those people who stuff themselves with food until they puke or pass out.
Because I believe we’re all one in the same.
We’re in the same boat, steering Noah’s Ark this way and that just trying to find a tiny island we can call home, until this vessel’s taken away and reincarnation sets in.
I’ve taken religion class, mythology class. I understand what tiny bit of glory Joseph Campbell has been so generous as to take the time to write out for the more meak of us, in his “Hero of a Thousand Faces…”
We’re all the heroes of this story… just when did we stop believing in that?
When did we stop giving peace a chance? When did we become the generation of “achievement unlocked?”
I find myself making unruly connections to ancient Native American repositioning dispositions. The human brain must travel, it must live on. Henceforth! The Age of the Internet is upon us! Please, whoever’s out there and listening, please allow the next generation of kids to try and grow up underwelmed in the midst of all this technology psychobabble.
I think there’s still hope for growth. I know we can change.
As Mancur Olson and Kierkergaard and Engels and Marx has all surmised: there is an ebb and flow to the mortal coil.
The economy goes up and down. Birth and death rates fluctuate.
The tide comes in, the moon pulls out.
Simple as that.
There is no “impending doom.” No rapture. No “second coming.”
This is our destiny. To face the facts that there will be no prophecy fulfilled–in this lifetime, by golly–there is no such thing as the Zombie Apocalypse.
Fairytales are fairytales. Let bygones be bygones.
Get up and realize that the world has always been about literature and art and news and science. And journalism has combined them all, brought to you live, 24/7 on the channel called your own mind!
There’s nothing new. People say the violence in video games is turning kids to steal and kill and rape and pillage. I say it gives kids an out, so they don’t feel the need to act on their urges toward the mundane or the strange in those confused times of adolescence.
Have we forgotten our history?
Did we not burn young virgin girls at the stake during our time of independence on Plymouth Rock because we were convinced they understand the world better than Sir Winston Churchill did?
Newsflash! All teenage girls think they know everything! Knowledge isn’t witchcraft. Knowledge is power! And everyone has a right to it.
And yet here we sit, claiming the world’s gone to hell, when history’s really just repeating itself.
Lest we forget the dreaded guillotine and Bloody Mary’s reign on the European side of the globe.
Is America so terrible? Are the actions of teens stuck in virtual reality of more consequence than the actions of our forefathers and ancestors?
You know what I think?
I’m on a power trip.
I must be losing my mind.
All this sobriety, the work, the school, the normalcy is really unbecoming.
People asl me, “What are you on?” and they have since gradeschool. You know what? I’m not taking pills, thank you. I’m not self-medicating or throwing myself a pity party. I’m growing up! And this is how it’s done, the Shannon Scheidell way.
Throughout my blogs.
I first touched the keys of a computer at 10 and there’s no way I’ll stop now, even though iconoclasm’s in my blood.
I wish I were different than anyone else in the world, because that might give me validation. But, who’s to say I’m different? Who can measure up the character traits of every single person on this earth who may know what’s right and wrong in the society of yesterday, today, and tomorrow?
These things are what drive me to sit alone on a Saturday night. Pondering. While others frollick and philander and rape and pillage the minds of others, trying to manipulate people into sleeping with them when they’ve had too much to drink, or eating out of habit when they’ve had too much to smoke.
I just need to find my place in the world. And I guess it won’t be at Bonnier or Softrock, and maybe “National Geographic” and the “New York Times” don’t want me either, but hey. I can only do my best.
Isn’t that what they say?
Just do your best and see what might come of it.
Thank you for your time.
(P.S. I was told there’s a meteor shower, which peaks at 5 a.m. Watch that!)