It's clear: I am procrastinating.
I'm listening to David Bowie on Pandora because he told me I could be a hero just for one day. Thx, Bowie.
My life is so full of disorienting items.
For the majority of my life, I have only lived on the cusp of reality. Recently, while visiting the Columbus Museum of Art (who rejected me for who I am), I found a Mark Rothko quote that goes, “There is no separation in the world of myths between reality and unreality”. Clearly, Rothko is drawing connections to his own human (or non-human) existence.
Periods of my life have been abruptly interrupted by reality. This isn’t to say that I NECESSARILY live an irresponsible lifestyle. I’ll give an example. As an undergraduate, I spent my freshman and sophomore years dabbling in a few different majors. I have a lot of different interests in the humanities, so it was difficult for me, at such a young age, to pinpoint an exact determination of study. Once my junior year began, it finally occurred to me that I actually had to choose a major. That college would indeed come to an end, and that I would be going down a certain path, depending on the major that I select. This was no less than shocking. It was an actual, physical, shock to realize that college would indeed come to an end. That the next step in the trajectory of my existence would eventually occur.
I've never understood trajectory. I've never understood how to feel the motions of life in front of me.
Yesterday, I felt almost violent. I felt blood pumping through my body in a way that I had never felt. It was uncomfortable and disorienting; normal.
It's an interesting way to live: on the cusp of reality. I don't know how else to exist.
I'm at the library. Or am I?
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
PROCRASTINATING
It's clear: I am procrastinating.
I'm listening to David Bowie on Pandora because he told me I could be a hero just for one day. Thx, Bowie.
My life is so full of disorienting items.
For the majority of my life, I have only lived on the cusp of reality. Recently, while visiting the Columbus Museum of Art (who rejected me for who I am), I found a Mark Rothko quote that goes, “There is no separation in the world of myths between reality and unreality”. Clearly, Rothko is drawing connections to his own human (or non-human) existence.
Periods of my life have been abruptly interrupted by reality. This isn’t to say that I NECESSARILY live an irresponsible lifestyle. I’ll give an example. As an undergraduate, I spent my freshman and sophomore years dabbling in a few different majors. I have a lot of different interests in the humanities, so it was difficult for me, at such a young age, to pinpoint an exact determination of study. Once my junior year began, it finally occurred to me that I actually had to choose a major. That college would indeed come to an end, and that I would be going down a certain path, depending on the major that I select. This was no less than shocking. It was an actual, physical, shock to realize that college would indeed come to an end. That the next step in the trajectory of my existence would eventually occur.
I've never understood trajectory. I've never understood how to feel the motions of life in front of me.
Yesterday, I felt almost violent. I felt blood pumping through my body in a way that I had never felt. It was uncomfortable and disorienting; normal.
It's an interesting way to live: on the cusp of reality. I don't know how else to exist.
I'm at the library. Or am I?
Friday, March 15, 2013
I am constantly traumatized by intrusive thoughts.
I am traumatized by the past -- but, not necessarily bad/scary/shameful points in the past. My password to blogger account reminded me of Lars -- specially, remembering when we created this blog together at Hampshire -- and my chest began to hurt. Throbbing pain. Trauma envelops my body and causes actual pain.
Two things are going on right now: #1. my dad is visiting #2 my old adviser from UD is collecting data for a newsletter from WGS alumni, and she wants to know what everyone has been up to since graduation.
Enveloping pain.
Pangs of pain -- Joe didn't think 'pang' was a word during Scrabble last night. Of course it is.
I guess I just don't know what I'm doing. I guess I feel as though I have lost a lot, and the thoughts of having cause pain.
Anyway, Henry found a new box, so it is a good day for him.
xoxo
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