(no subject)
I sit in Tucson and I wonder what the hell I'm doing here. I wonder who these people are, and where I've been for 6 months. Things make less and less sense each day to me, and I finish each day feeling only more a witness to my life, having learned I'm a little more fucked up than I knew I was a day ago.
I don't have any idea in what direction my life is heading. The only thing I know is that there are people and emotions connected to every step I take in this city. I can't go anywhere without seeing someone I know from some time in the last 18 years and bringing that part of my life into the forefront of my conciousness. I can't go anywhere without remembering who I've been there with and what the mood was at the time.
I'm walking through a loaded town,
I can't avoid the glares.
So I walk straight ahead, past the jaded reflections of myself.
I make new, start again, instead of submitting to the recovery of what was once lost.
This town knows me too well for my own good. It feels and remembers every tear that's come from my eyes, and throws it back to me everytime I sit down at the Grill, walk down 4th Ave, drive down 5th, greet someone at the mall I haven't seen in a few years. This town reminds me of everything I hate about myself, and I swim in it, embracing any pockets of self-hatred I can get my hands on.
At least there's nostalgia. When I think back about different parts of my life, even few week segments, there is a feeling, a mood or quality or shade, impossible to put into words, which overwhelms me as I think about that period. It's a way I felt, what was in the air, some type of thickness created by the combination of everything happening during that time. I don't have that yet for Syracuse. I surge through pockets of it constantly in Tucson, as if moving in a pool to a shaded spot where the water is slightly colder, and somehow thinner. I crave this whereever I go - it means a time or place meant something to me. I resent those who forget about it or dismiss it, but gladly hoard it for my own.
I haven't learned anything in the past semester about anything external to myself - anything I've picked up about the world, the art of theatre, philosophy, even other people, has been rather inconsequential. I've learned more than my tuition's worth, however, about my own head and all the fucking issues I have, and while that's been more valuable than I can say, it's also the cause of my current state of depression and hopelessness.
I don't know if it is healthy for me to be here anymore. I've left home, twice now, and trying to return home and immerse myself in what I used to have so completely is like gently itching a scar through my clothing until it finally gives up and just starts bleeding again.
"Dizzy from the shopping mall...I searched for joy, but I bought it all..."
~John Mayer, "Something's Missing"
I don't have any idea in what direction my life is heading. The only thing I know is that there are people and emotions connected to every step I take in this city. I can't go anywhere without seeing someone I know from some time in the last 18 years and bringing that part of my life into the forefront of my conciousness. I can't go anywhere without remembering who I've been there with and what the mood was at the time.
I'm walking through a loaded town,
I can't avoid the glares.
So I walk straight ahead, past the jaded reflections of myself.
I make new, start again, instead of submitting to the recovery of what was once lost.
This town knows me too well for my own good. It feels and remembers every tear that's come from my eyes, and throws it back to me everytime I sit down at the Grill, walk down 4th Ave, drive down 5th, greet someone at the mall I haven't seen in a few years. This town reminds me of everything I hate about myself, and I swim in it, embracing any pockets of self-hatred I can get my hands on.
At least there's nostalgia. When I think back about different parts of my life, even few week segments, there is a feeling, a mood or quality or shade, impossible to put into words, which overwhelms me as I think about that period. It's a way I felt, what was in the air, some type of thickness created by the combination of everything happening during that time. I don't have that yet for Syracuse. I surge through pockets of it constantly in Tucson, as if moving in a pool to a shaded spot where the water is slightly colder, and somehow thinner. I crave this whereever I go - it means a time or place meant something to me. I resent those who forget about it or dismiss it, but gladly hoard it for my own.
I haven't learned anything in the past semester about anything external to myself - anything I've picked up about the world, the art of theatre, philosophy, even other people, has been rather inconsequential. I've learned more than my tuition's worth, however, about my own head and all the fucking issues I have, and while that's been more valuable than I can say, it's also the cause of my current state of depression and hopelessness.
I don't know if it is healthy for me to be here anymore. I've left home, twice now, and trying to return home and immerse myself in what I used to have so completely is like gently itching a scar through my clothing until it finally gives up and just starts bleeding again.
"Dizzy from the shopping mall...I searched for joy, but I bought it all..."
~John Mayer, "Something's Missing"