(no subject)
My college life moves so quickly yet tediously that I won't be surprised if, by the end of it, I'm left stranded in my own dust. The scrambling rat race that we hilariously feed money into for a flimsy receipt that no longer seems to vouch for our efforts does not coincide well with the world of art, simply in that art cannot be churned out.
I know, I've tried. And I'm falling behind.
No ideas anymore. Nothing to say, to express. All of my everything feels drowned and squelched by the hastiness of it all. Individual days are endured and drag on; I glance at the calendar and remember the hurdles of the weeks gone by. What's my problem? The bottom line is that I'm unhappy, but I can't figure out exactly why.
It's a number of things, I guess. I'm disappointed in myself because I'm in my third year of college and still feel as if I'm ambling in the darkness with no idea of what I want to do with myself or my pointless degree. I want to learn to draw, to be a better artist, yet I rush all of my assignments and thusly do myself no favors. Then I second-guess myself: is art what I want to do? If I could do anything for the rest of my life and get paid for it, what would that thing be? I'm trapped between "being loud and obnoxious with friends dancing to pumping music" and "sealing myself off from the world to hone my craft". The latter is what college is supposed to be, to go off to a university and have my number one priority be art. But the university system is oddly meshed with artwork in that the environment encourages collaboration, yet creating art is deemed to be, and assigned as, a completely introverted, singular effort. So we get to "art class", sit in our seats, and, in assembly line fashion, quietly retreat into the cubicles of our minds and get to work. Why even show up to class? Why is attendance mandatory? Sure it helps to get advice from the teacher as you're moving along, but isn't that what office hours are for? Being around other people is a distraction: either I am pulled from what I want to do by paranoia or I am drawn away from what I don't want to do and talk to people instead.
Maybe it's taken me three years to realize I'm not ready for college? I just feel like the boat's taking off without me; everyone seems part of It and I feel instead that I'm whisked along for the ride. College should be MY experience, one that I mold for myself to fit my needs and desires and to get my money's worth, but instead I feel I'm being angrily pushed through the entire process just to get me the fuck out. Well, it's working: I want to get the fuck out of here and have felt that way since day one. I have no idea what I'll do afterward, and neither do the universities (nor do they care!), but that's the way the school systems are being forced to function now and by God it's working. So we're sent out into the Real World with this piece of paper that says "I did X000 hours of this yet I may only know a thing or two about it since it's all a blur" and it doesn't matter because my sister's bachelor's in psychology from one of the best schools in the state and 35th best in the nation has landed her a job at Trader Joe's. If a degree used to decipher the inner workings of the human mind biologically and behaviorally is only good enough for a clerk position, where the fuck am I supposed to go with my pathetic "years of combined forced and voluntary solitude have led me to hate everyone and myself, but I can paint the fuck out of that still life"? Yeah, that's promising.
I woke up about an hour ago with a sense of loneliness, dawg, the crushing loneliness. I felt the pain of a cyst trying to break out of my face and my insides churning. Here's nature, back again to remind me that indeed I am not pregnant. Thanks. I'm acutely aware that there's no way I'll be getting pregnant any time soon unless, y'know, there's a surprise. At least in getting up this early I can present my middle finger to the world and curl right back up to sleep. Then again, the sun's middle finger got me first by shining directly into my face, as my room faces east.
I hope I get to go to Hamburg. They have more clouds.
I know, I've tried. And I'm falling behind.
No ideas anymore. Nothing to say, to express. All of my everything feels drowned and squelched by the hastiness of it all. Individual days are endured and drag on; I glance at the calendar and remember the hurdles of the weeks gone by. What's my problem? The bottom line is that I'm unhappy, but I can't figure out exactly why.
It's a number of things, I guess. I'm disappointed in myself because I'm in my third year of college and still feel as if I'm ambling in the darkness with no idea of what I want to do with myself or my pointless degree. I want to learn to draw, to be a better artist, yet I rush all of my assignments and thusly do myself no favors. Then I second-guess myself: is art what I want to do? If I could do anything for the rest of my life and get paid for it, what would that thing be? I'm trapped between "being loud and obnoxious with friends dancing to pumping music" and "sealing myself off from the world to hone my craft". The latter is what college is supposed to be, to go off to a university and have my number one priority be art. But the university system is oddly meshed with artwork in that the environment encourages collaboration, yet creating art is deemed to be, and assigned as, a completely introverted, singular effort. So we get to "art class", sit in our seats, and, in assembly line fashion, quietly retreat into the cubicles of our minds and get to work. Why even show up to class? Why is attendance mandatory? Sure it helps to get advice from the teacher as you're moving along, but isn't that what office hours are for? Being around other people is a distraction: either I am pulled from what I want to do by paranoia or I am drawn away from what I don't want to do and talk to people instead.
Maybe it's taken me three years to realize I'm not ready for college? I just feel like the boat's taking off without me; everyone seems part of It and I feel instead that I'm whisked along for the ride. College should be MY experience, one that I mold for myself to fit my needs and desires and to get my money's worth, but instead I feel I'm being angrily pushed through the entire process just to get me the fuck out. Well, it's working: I want to get the fuck out of here and have felt that way since day one. I have no idea what I'll do afterward, and neither do the universities (nor do they care!), but that's the way the school systems are being forced to function now and by God it's working. So we're sent out into the Real World with this piece of paper that says "I did X000 hours of this yet I may only know a thing or two about it since it's all a blur" and it doesn't matter because my sister's bachelor's in psychology from one of the best schools in the state and 35th best in the nation has landed her a job at Trader Joe's. If a degree used to decipher the inner workings of the human mind biologically and behaviorally is only good enough for a clerk position, where the fuck am I supposed to go with my pathetic "years of combined forced and voluntary solitude have led me to hate everyone and myself, but I can paint the fuck out of that still life"? Yeah, that's promising.
I woke up about an hour ago with a sense of loneliness, dawg, the crushing loneliness. I felt the pain of a cyst trying to break out of my face and my insides churning. Here's nature, back again to remind me that indeed I am not pregnant. Thanks. I'm acutely aware that there's no way I'll be getting pregnant any time soon unless, y'know, there's a surprise. At least in getting up this early I can present my middle finger to the world and curl right back up to sleep. Then again, the sun's middle finger got me first by shining directly into my face, as my room faces east.
I hope I get to go to Hamburg. They have more clouds.