i'm scared of outgrowing things

i don't really quite understand the idea of letting things go. i can't believe i'm actually typing this out, but i would like to make a reference to a recent purchase of mine as metaphor for this topic. experiences in my life are kind of like a fresh pot of slime. if something feels so good to hold in my hands, i'd rather it actually just tack onto and directly cement to the skin of my palms, and i can center and accustom daily living around my new slimy hands even if i'm making a mess of things. i expect the body heat i radiate to keep the stuff pliable and useable for...ever. the longer it's in my possession, the worse i will feel if it were to dry out or be thrown away or confiscated for distracting my classmates who apparently got desensitized to bare shoulders. i guess this convoluted and terrible metaphor could be more intelligently explained with terminology we've all heard before-- sunken. cost. fallacy. sunken slime fallacy? slunken cost fallacy? sunken cost slimeacy?  

unfortunately, i am, in real time, understanding the effects of neglecting my writing skill for as long as i have. i'm sorry for having published "slunken cost fallacy" into the direct unconventional journal transcribed lore. the ujcu, perhaps? i think i'm buffing out my word count right now.

i'm way too greedy of a person to give up comfort that i fought for and actively revel in. i mean, it's not exactly rocket science (which actually seems rather uncomfortable to be surrounded by) to grasp that discomfort is rarely sought after. i like being used to things. i like expecting things to go the way i expect them to. i've actually grown to avoid newness in place of old reliables. the idea of "out with the old, in with the new" is entirely lost on me. i intend to grow with the old, as long as i can have my way. grass is greenest where you water it. you can't teach an old dog new tricks. idioms upon idioms upon idioms, people. the horse's name was literally Friday. 

i think i've recently realized that i've been holding myself back. maybe for a couple months. maybe for the past 5 years. maybe since my mother would tell me i was "too much" because i wanted to play with my friends in my front yard on a hot summer's day.

my old reliables, these perceptions and circumstances, are the only truths i can verify. letting them go would be erasing what i considered to be the very foundations of myself. i don't want to. it's possible i can never be built again.

and finally, here comes turmoil. what happens when the things that i loved to love and clearly expect to provide me comfort start changing? when viewing them and holding onto them is starting to get heavy and tiresome? i get frustrated with myself, too, for feeling this way, because i am supposed to feel joy. i am supposed to react a certain way when my comforts surround me. it's what i've been used to all this while. why is it changing? what is wrong with me that i can't feel the same towards them anymore? what was wrong with me that i thought they were meaningful in the first place? 

i just hate the idea that things that i once liked were ultimately fruitless or meaningless because i don't like them anymore. does everything have to have a point? but if they don't, what's the point?

i'm freaking out! i don't like anything anymore! i noticed a box of pepero in my pantry today and just sighed at it.

anyways, time to figure out a career path that will deem me...comfortable.