1:42

I can't get to sleep, so I've turned on my Touch's toilet wi-fi to try and knock out some of the thoughts that may be preventing said sleep.
I've been thinking a lot about experiences, particularly bad ones.
A few years back, Niall and I got minorly attacked on the way home at night, which was pretty new to me.
Niall has since then been more cautious about where, when and how he walks, in order to avoid repeats. And rightfully so.
But I don't. And I know, that on some level, this is because I want to be attacked.
This blug, by the by, is not a confession of masochism, far from it.
But doesn't everyone want an ineresting life?
I want a life full of experience, bad and good. I want to go down highways in a beaten convertable with a select handful of friends. I want to pick a direction, someday, and just go that way for a day or two. And I want to get punched in the head more often, if it means a more interesting life.
I'm sure this lust has limits somewhere. I'm sure I wouldn't wish cancer or rape upon myself (though I'm resigned to the eventuality of the former). But a very, very stupid part of me does.
I mean, not to dip into clichéd amorphisms here, but phrases like "The road less beaten" and the such weren't coined on a whim.
Eugh, this sounds like an advocacy for Bohemianism.
Either way, I'm not sure I've broken nearly enough bones to have lived a full life. I'm going to take a lot of care choosing my mistakes.
(Also, like to point out that this has been worded very carefully to not contradict the first ever post that dealt with incredibly similar themes)

I had a scary thought.

A recent need to research that soul Fred Rogers reminded me the nigh cliché point he and many others made that "We are everyone we've met", etc. Which is all very deep, and sparks all those idealist notions of Grand Unification a lá Evangelion. And on a psychological level, this goes along with the thesis that the conscious is composed of experiences, and the thoughts and pre-dispositions hitherto contrived from them.
But I'm a forgetful person.
I can't recognise a single member of my primary school. I have forgotten fairly important people in a matter of months. If I search through my memories of My childhood, I'm met with memories of idiotic moments, of odd jokes and mundane trivia. If our personality is fundamentally composed of our dealings with everyone else, and you forget them and those memories, have you lost a part of yourself?
I managed to qualm my fears with assurances of the power of the subconscious, but then that makes me someone who doesn't know why they are what they are, and how they got there.
But then, it gets worse.
So, if everything impacts us as a person, we go through hundreds, often thousands of social interactions a day. Each one with the potential to mould and change us. So even if we are this amalgamation of half remembered instances, we're never that exact person for more than a few seconds. And we can't even keep track of, or even be remotely aware of what has affected us, and in what way.
And for me, and the majority of people bored enough to be reading this, this is the most vulnerable phases of our developments. Our brains are actively rewiring themselves for adult life.
Just by having a chat with anyone, I could be setting myself up to be a worse person than I could've been.
And on the opposite side of the spectrum, what about extended relationships? Of families, partners, best friends? These connections, incomprehensibly potent and poignant? Do they realise what they're doing, or have done to me? Do I? An argument, an idea, hell, a joke, that's all these people need to radically change me.
And me. Making the somewhat arrogant assumption that I am not completely without charisma, and that I am paid attention, I too am contributing to this constant, manic reworking of Super-Egos.
I sincerely hope I affect positively.