can't sleep.
so i feel kind of like sylvia plath right now; i have absolutely no idea where i'm going. one time, sylvia described herself as sitting in the crotch of a fig tree, staring up at all of the different "figs" of life that could be consumed. the choice of which fig to pick was a terrible one--exclusive, final and not guaranteed. i don't think that i'm quite as conflicted as sylvia was. certainly not under the bell jar yet, and not planning to off myself with sleeping pills at the age of 30. i can see the fig tree though. going away to college next fall is the proverbial crotch for me. there are two or three distinctly different figs for me to choose from, materialized as of now only in pompous admissions letters and online id numbers. it's hard to decide the entire course of your life based on such nothingness. i wish i could get a little preview of each possibility. but i guess that's what sylvia's fig tree is all about. you just have pick one and eat it. nobody ever knows if the other figs make better newtons.
it seems strange that we're forced to carefully plot and plan our lives at a point in time where we're baby scientists... dabbling in experiments without having the periodic table completely memorized. strange that life, the biggest experiment of all, is one that you have to be unprepared for.
it seems strange that we're forced to carefully plot and plan our lives at a point in time where we're baby scientists... dabbling in experiments without having the periodic table completely memorized. strange that life, the biggest experiment of all, is one that you have to be unprepared for.