An Enquiry Considering Parentage and Self Loving/Loathing

My mother is so goal-oriented. It's ridiculous. She doesn't appreciate the journey, as corny and cliche as it seems, at all. I told her that I decided to minor in philosophy. She responded, incredulously, "you know that won't help you at all, right?" When I told her that I would graduate in eight years instead of seven, she responded, "won't that set you back?" When I tell her of beautiful novels, of the immeasurable glory of art, she can't comprehend any of it. My mother only loves art as long as it entertains her. If what she reads is not titillating, bordering on the obscene, she cannot appreciate it. Subtleties are lost.

My father, a quite different fellow, just does not care. He thinks of nothing. My father is apathy in the extreme. If it holds any lasting value, it matters not to him. Importance is lost.

I think this somehow relates to the empty self. How in modern society, without our absolutes, we are empty. My mother fills this emptiness with success and material objects. She is never happy with the worldly things she has. She always, always wants more. My father fills himself with alcohol. He drinks until he cannot think of those important things which (I conjecture) he does not want to brood over.

I, a significant departure from both, cannot seem to stop thinking. Never. I am incapable of irresponsibility. Of "having fun" with no consequence. When I hear people talk of one-night stands, I cannot grasp why anyone would want to do such a thing. I do not want anything of this world.

Now, because of this, I feel so self-rightgeous. I think I've got it all figured out. How could anyone ever love someone so extremely arrogant?

I hate myself most when I love myself; I love myself most when I hate myself.