Points

I am finding things lack a point.

A point is the narrow end of something. Usually something that is pointed serves it's entire purpose in that point - for example, a needle or a pencil. While there may be alternate or secondary purposes, under most circumstances, on a sharp object, the purpose is the point.

A point is narrowed from everything else. For example, a pencil, without a point, is useless to write with. When sharpened, the mass of the pencil narrows until the graphite is exposed and the pencil becomes useful for writing. If the mass, the extra "fluff" doesn't narrow however, if the pencil isn't pushed towards the ultimate goal of writing, then no point is achieved, and therefore no purpose is achieved.

The point of a pencil is to write, and the point of a needle is to poke. These things are pretty concrete; however, in attempting to refine my own life to a point, to eradicate my fluff until only the graphite is exposed and I am able to successfully do what I was designed to do, I find difficulty. For one, my point is not as easily attained as that of a pencil. In fact, it is not even as easily understood as that of a pencil. My graphite isn't as obvious, and there is no clear-cut pencil sharpener.

A pencil can be used to erase too. It can be used to hold someone's hair in a bun, to do magic tricks, to stab someone's hands, and to squash a bug. However, these all deviate from the purpose that the pencil was created to do. I often feel like my own life has gotten preoccupied with my alternate purposes, and I am missing my ability to write altogether.

However, what if a pencil were suddenly to realize that maybe, it was just coincidence that created it the way it was? Talk about a confusing event. It's easy to know the point if someone tells you, but if you begin to question what's the point, or better yet, How's the point and Why's the point, then things aren't as clear cut anymore. But it's not that they aren't clear cut anymore; it's that they never were, and now this poor pencil is shamefully aware of it.

What's the point of facebook, school, or existence? Why am I being sharpened, to what purpose, and am I being sharpened at all? It's a frustrating conundrum, one that leaves me confused. I find myself bored with being an eraser or a performing magic tricks; I want to write, like I was intended to. Now if only it were as easy as it is for the pencil to realize what I was intended to do...