ignore the brain spooge to follow
Dec. 11th, 2002 04:54 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aruanIt's just, right at this moment, none of [my life] makes sense. I vaguely recall a week or so of similarly profound lost-ness sometime during last semester, too. I honestly don't think I'm cut out for the college thing. I don't care about Phish, I hate most of the music they play at the "trendy" clubs, marijuana makes me nauseous, I don't think living hangover to hangover is glamorous in the least, and quite frankly, I don't care for most of the people and don't feel I should pretend I do. Yeah, I'm a learner, I like lectures and being knowledgeable. But I want to be able to use words like 'copious' without apology or explanation, and apparently college is not the place for that. I don't like going to random parties and putting forward the ridiculous effort to care about the drunken rants and gropes of people I wouldn't sit three seats down from in broad daylight. I don't like schoolbooks and I hate that I feel like I'm getting by without doing anything, because by all accounts, that's not the real world. At some point, someone's going to ask me a real question, someone's going to dump a three-inch thick folder in my lap and tell me to have analyzed and organized it by yesterday, or if I'm lucky tomorrow at noon. I don't know how to deal with that. And no one, save Miranda, around here keeps me honest or accountable, really. I don't need my shoulder looked over, I just want to not feel like I'm twenty and haven't done anything. Which is again, objectively, not true, blah blah blah...
*deep breath* Somewhere in the course of my life, this literature paper, and too much music television, what the celebrities are doing has warped to make more sense than what I'm playing at here. And yes, some part of me realizes that I'm doing possibly the smartest thing I *could* be doing, being twenty. College is useful, if for no other reason than the street value of the credentials you get there.
I get it, I do.
But I guess I, too, might be waiting for someone to realize that I don't belong here, and that that might not be a bad thing. Erika will never believe just how brave I think she is for taking that semester off to do whatever it is that she needs to do in her life to get to a place where she feels more centered and actually ready and willing to commit herself to this life for another three years. Miranda doesn't need to know that she's a lot of the reason why I'm still here, minus the part where it's an elsewhere other than with my family. I don't have the balls to up and leave, though. I'm pathetic like that, but I just have no idea how long I'd last out and truly on my own and I'm not sure I'd want to come back and put this life back together once I've left it behind, and those would be the terms my family would set forth, and on some level rightfully so. But I'm not strong enough to live under bridges and work at a circus, and I don't want to work sixteen hours a day for a minimum wage job that won't cover rent and food. I want something "dangerous and true," to quote one of my favorite women ever. I want to want something, to know what that feels like again, living and breathing for something besides myself. Obsession sustains me in the best way, and I want reason to go monomaniacal all over again.
Sigh. Done now. Off to study for my Dinosaurs final and maybe get more than three lines of that paper written. I feel like such a massive tool right now I'd probably make Carson blush.
P.S. Question of the Night: Dye it all black or just get streaks? Only my last-minute mall excursion tomorrow night will tell.
P.P.S. Oh, and if someone can tell me how my smoothie having chunks of ice substantial enough to crunch and my nodding 'hey' to Rob in the Sledd courtyard even though we haven't spoken in something like eight months (read: I never called him back) and was disgusted with *him* when he nodded back combined into JC wanting to be more like Lance, I'd appreciate it lots. The self-analysis I did earlier tonight bothers me enough to ask for a second opinion. Someone just tell me to shut up and sniff the crackrock, please.
ETA: I know smoking doesn't entirely agree with my belly either, but I'm stupid and still not asleep and it could be heroin, dammit, and this way all it was was cold and toothpaste afterward. Fuck. I need to study. I need to write. Shift gears for fuck's sake because cruise control's never been my style for longer than it takes to work out the kinks in my foot during long highway treks. Really done now.
*deep breath* Somewhere in the course of my life, this literature paper, and too much music television, what the celebrities are doing has warped to make more sense than what I'm playing at here. And yes, some part of me realizes that I'm doing possibly the smartest thing I *could* be doing, being twenty. College is useful, if for no other reason than the street value of the credentials you get there.
I get it, I do.
But I guess I, too, might be waiting for someone to realize that I don't belong here, and that that might not be a bad thing. Erika will never believe just how brave I think she is for taking that semester off to do whatever it is that she needs to do in her life to get to a place where she feels more centered and actually ready and willing to commit herself to this life for another three years. Miranda doesn't need to know that she's a lot of the reason why I'm still here, minus the part where it's an elsewhere other than with my family. I don't have the balls to up and leave, though. I'm pathetic like that, but I just have no idea how long I'd last out and truly on my own and I'm not sure I'd want to come back and put this life back together once I've left it behind, and those would be the terms my family would set forth, and on some level rightfully so. But I'm not strong enough to live under bridges and work at a circus, and I don't want to work sixteen hours a day for a minimum wage job that won't cover rent and food. I want something "dangerous and true," to quote one of my favorite women ever. I want to want something, to know what that feels like again, living and breathing for something besides myself. Obsession sustains me in the best way, and I want reason to go monomaniacal all over again.
Sigh. Done now. Off to study for my Dinosaurs final and maybe get more than three lines of that paper written. I feel like such a massive tool right now I'd probably make Carson blush.
P.S. Question of the Night: Dye it all black or just get streaks? Only my last-minute mall excursion tomorrow night will tell.
P.P.S. Oh, and if someone can tell me how my smoothie having chunks of ice substantial enough to crunch and my nodding 'hey' to Rob in the Sledd courtyard even though we haven't spoken in something like eight months (read: I never called him back) and was disgusted with *him* when he nodded back combined into JC wanting to be more like Lance, I'd appreciate it lots. The self-analysis I did earlier tonight bothers me enough to ask for a second opinion. Someone just tell me to shut up and sniff the crackrock, please.
ETA: I know smoking doesn't entirely agree with my belly either, but I'm stupid and still not asleep and it could be heroin, dammit, and this way all it was was cold and toothpaste afterward. Fuck. I need to study. I need to write. Shift gears for fuck's sake because cruise control's never been my style for longer than it takes to work out the kinks in my foot during long highway treks. Really done now.
