No! I am not Prince Hamlet

Last night, predating the last entry, a room mate of mine asked me a question that I actually was stumped by.

"You're pretty concerned with people. Even everyone as a whole. What about yourself?"

I was like "OHHH SHITTTT SON. You just became all doctorate therapist on me, by asking me how I feel."

But, it's a question that does evade me still. What is it that I hold dear about everyone else, while there is my personal being at stake. There are those that don't give two shits about others in the world, and then there are people like me, who probably think about others more than they contemplate about themselves.

What about me? What about me. A sentence and a question separated by a rising intonation.

I, for some odd, and probably stupid, reason, wonder why we, as a whole, don't care more. Why is it that we don't look at ourselves and ask "What is wrong about me?" Not everyone can be the hotness, the business, el primo guapo (For my spanish friends). We are human, and by rights, philosophically, we are err'd. So why not try to improve those errors?

I have a messy desk. I question if it's a negative or positive thing. If I deem it negative, I should do something about it. So I do.

But then, I suppose, there are people who believe that this messy desk is perfection, and that this desk cannot be further improved upon.

These people must believe, also, that they are penultimate perfection in other realms of living too. They cannot do wrong. These people are either hermits that believe society is not good enough, or unibombers who hate society for their problems they create upon them.

Who says I am right? They possibly can believe that they are err'd. But are these errors significant? Can people look at themselves and say that "I have a problem telling the truth to my significant other." "I can't love, because I have been trained to be manly." "I value money over people." Is anyone really able to face these truths?

Steps may be the best way to go. Gradual alterations of the self.

I alter myself. I still have faults. Everything is perpetually under a moral and ethical construction.

Yet, the question about myself has been evaded like people evading homeless people in San Francisco and Berkeley. The homeless ones that you can see from ways away that they smell.

Why do I care so much about THEM, rather than caring about myself?

Selflessness? Lack of consciousness for my personal well-being? Maybe I'm just a open hearted individual, aka hippy, that just loves everyone.
Dude.

No, that can't be it. I believe that people are naturally ignorant about personal strifes, so that's not it.

Maybe this will sum it up. A line from a poem.

"No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool...
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—"

My "honed" analytical skills can tell you that the speaker of the poem is saying that they are not a prince or a lord, but a simple man that helps increase the swelling of the progress (Shakespeare's plays had groups of people on-stage to display a court or town scene). He is faceless, unimportant, but part of the mass.

I guess what I'm saying is that I am just a person. Nothing more. A pessimist about my own future. So I care more about those around me, because they the ones that control my degree of happiness in my life.

And I try to do likewise.

Laughter covers up the sadness of our ends.

So what about myself?

I like basketball, people, and music.

Anything other than that,
I fade into the crowd, and you may never see me again.

Edit: 1 minute after.

I can sing "Tik Tok" by Kesha. All of it. That should define me. Tell you who I am. And if it doesn't, life, as we know it, is a big lie.