To do, or not to do, that is the question.

Oh yes, I’ve been complimented on what I do, but all I ever really want is to be complimented for my mind, my wit and intellect. What I do is less significant, in my mind. It sounds conceited and it probably is, but I think it’s just a fact that ‘Doers’ easier get compliments than ‘Thinkers’. Not that ‘Thinkers’ can’t be ‘Doers’ or vice versa – we all have a bit of both, of course – but the two sides don’t necessarily interact with each other in the harmonious, synergetic way one like to believe. Well, that much is obvious. Nothing is ever black-and-white. And by ‘Doers’ – in its ignorant, prejudiced sense – I mean people who are more hands-on, more practical, who put their ideas into practice. But then I ask: Why must someone visibly put something into practice in order to be a ‘Doer’? Isn’t thinking ‘doing’ as well?

Sure, I procrastinate and I’m idle when not ‘dutiful’. But what is idleness anyway? Not actively achieving something? Just because you can’t see me doing anything, doesn’t mean I’m totally passive on the inside as well. Good heavens, I’m thinking! And it’s still something you do, you just don’t necessarily run around doing it. My brain is doing the marathon here. I’m using my mind, not my body, and yes, while these two can cooperate on the same time, they don’t need to. My mum has this miscontrued conception of sitting in front of the computer, roaming the Internet, equals idleness and, of course, it is a bit extreme that I spend most of my time in front of it, but honestly, she never asks what it is I’m doing, she just presumes it’s something worthless and unproductive. I sometimes wonder if she even knows what the Internet is, what possibilities it holds and just how much there is to discover. I could be doing anything from writing, reading, learning – which is exactly what I do. Sure, I could be gaming all the time or be on Twitter or Facebook, gossiping mindlessly about boys and material things, but reality couldn’t be farther from it. I don’t even have a Twitter or an Instagram profile, and I only post something on Facebook every fifth year or so. Truly. Despite being practically married to the Internet, I spend most of my time on Tumblr, Wikipedia, writing on my blog(s), reading tons of interesting articles or fanfiction (my guilty pleasure), watching satire shows and otherwise roaming the intricate, endless corners of the wonderland called the World Wide Web, soaking in as much knowledge as I can. I might have tried explaining my mum this at some point (though, it should be rather obvious with all the random facts I spew out all the time) but no matter; she’d still dismiss it, I bet. However, I have yet to present my argument that if I didn’t have a computer and/or the Internet, I would have a book. Hundreds and thousands of books! I wouldn’t go out and socialize and exercise and whatever anymore than I do now. I would lock myself inside my own, homemade library and bury my nose, head and mind in the wonderful world of literature! Oh, well, again; I know she wouldn’t understand either way. Actually, I bet she would outright refuse to understand. Besides, her whole argument and rather strained relationship to the world of electronic screens stems from some place else and is rather hypocritical since she has more than embraced the wonders of smartphone gaming apps. I don’t know whether it’s genuine or demonstrative because I know where I have inherited some of my stubborn and demonstrative/passive-aggressive streak from. But that’s a whole other story for another time. Let’s just say I have a complex relationship with both of my parents (don’t we all?). And hereby endeth the rant.

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