As I Do Something Entirely Stupid.
There is always the concept of just "riding it out". I could choose to keep slogging my way uphill. I could continue to compare myself to ghosts of my past, continue to measure myself against others. I could ignore this gut-wrenching feeling of wrong and just continue my way on, live with my mistake, make my daddy proud...
But the part of me that breathes on the inside, that dreams up new worlds and that has seen darker corners than those found in libraries, oh it has a different idea of things. It wants to feel rewarded, to feel as if life is really something. It longs for days of self-expression over countless hours of parroting others' egos, of touching up the images in other people's eyes.
It's scratching at the walls, that part of me, and it's finally begun to hurt.
The choice is manifesting itself. There is the grave, and there are the days in between. In the end one must decide which is more important; the days of now, or the shorter days of the future that may never exist at all.
The older I get, the more it doesn't feel quite as much like giving up...
as much as giving in.
First, I once-and-for-all dropped the honours from my degree program, which will eliminate my chances at going to grad school. I also just turned in a badly-written 6 page paper that was supposed to be a 10 page paper.
Not out of laziness, but out of sheer overwhelming exhaustion. Too much has gone on personally, physically, mentally, and on top of that so much emotional static that has formed a cacophony much louder than grades or formal education.
This school bs is so not as important as living, as becoming an artist, and I've let it almost kill me twice this year. I wish I'd never transferred to this university, and that's coming from someone who loves the smell of academia.
In short: This was my first top-level course. I probably just failed it. I feel FANTASTIC.
So, yeah, I still feel a dunce, but dammit ...
I'm so happy.
But the part of me that breathes on the inside, that dreams up new worlds and that has seen darker corners than those found in libraries, oh it has a different idea of things. It wants to feel rewarded, to feel as if life is really something. It longs for days of self-expression over countless hours of parroting others' egos, of touching up the images in other people's eyes.
It's scratching at the walls, that part of me, and it's finally begun to hurt.
The choice is manifesting itself. There is the grave, and there are the days in between. In the end one must decide which is more important; the days of now, or the shorter days of the future that may never exist at all.
The older I get, the more it doesn't feel quite as much like giving up...
as much as giving in.
First, I once-and-for-all dropped the honours from my degree program, which will eliminate my chances at going to grad school. I also just turned in a badly-written 6 page paper that was supposed to be a 10 page paper.
Not out of laziness, but out of sheer overwhelming exhaustion. Too much has gone on personally, physically, mentally, and on top of that so much emotional static that has formed a cacophony much louder than grades or formal education.
This school bs is so not as important as living, as becoming an artist, and I've let it almost kill me twice this year. I wish I'd never transferred to this university, and that's coming from someone who loves the smell of academia.
In short: This was my first top-level course. I probably just failed it. I feel FANTASTIC.
So, yeah, I still feel a dunce, but dammit ...
I'm so happy.