(no subject)
Hello, you lot.
Needless to say, I've kind of vanished from here. Lately I've been doing those MySpace and Facebook things because they're quick and easy, and my life, too, is quick and busy. I'm not going to abandon this thing, but I might not be rapid-fire blogging here.
I am alive, though.
I've reached a point in my life ( and maybe this isn't a permanent thing ) where every day is slightly more amazing than the last, and I'm starting to dread the patterns I have to follow in order to move from one to the next. I just feel so bored with waking up at the same time, eating the same breakfast, going to school for the same amount of time to learn things that don't really seem to help me outside school anymore ( for I am, also, at a point where they teach us things that help us in taking tests, which moves us to a higher learning place where we learn more things to do well on more tests to make the colleges look good ) coming home to take care of a dog that just isn't getting the idea of going outside to let himself go, going to bed around the same time after browsing about the Internet. Lather, rinse, repeat.
And maybe I'm just overreacting to finally being happy, but I spent the last five days ( two of which, last week, I skipped school for it ) doing beautiful things and now going back to chemistry, algebra, history, composition, and lunch duty just seems like throwing a blanket on the spark.
Because I spent Thursday with my best friends in the world, just being ourselves, then driving a few hours to see a Kurt Vonnegut play. Friday I went to school with Mike, my teacher from MITY, my hero, then we watched Doctor Strangelove together and enjoyed each other's company. Saturday I went to Ohio and saw Freezepop, which was nothing short of spontaneous and wonderful, and Sunday was spent driving the thirteen hours home in a storm that had all the potential to push the car off the road. Yesterday was bliss; Melissa came over and we napped, we cooked things, we talked and adored each other, we met friends for coffee so she can know some people at prom, we went shopping a bit. . . I could spend days with her, really.
Today? I go to school and catch up on chemistry worksheets ( translating grams to moles to formula units to moles to. . . ) and algebra assignments ( how to simplify fractions within fractions and balance and cancel out what's left ) and write note cards for a grad standard paper ( fifteen pages, ninety note card requirement, three book sources ) which might be the most enjoyable of anything I get to do today.
It all just seems to blah compared to what I could be doing. I talked to the counselor at school ( because she's more my friend than anything else, and it's a joy to talk to her ) and she told me to do what I love and what's beautiful; not what's going to make me the most money and get me the nicest car. I don't know if that's what she's supposed to be telling me to do, but it's nice to meet someone who has dreams and aspirations like we're supposed to.
I told her, "I don't want to look around myself as an old man and realize I spent the last thirty years of my life just trying to get by, doing something I hate. Because it happened to my parents and it's happened to my friends and it's all too possible it's going to happen to me."
"I could be making four times as much money doing something else than I make doing this," she told me, "but this is what I love. And that's what counts."
We all know it, but it seems too often that we're told the exact opposite: Go to school and learn a lot, because it matters to get into college, and college decides the rest of your life for you. When you get out, get a good job -- besides, you're going to have tens of thousands of dollars in loans to pay back. It's not that money will buy happiness eventually, but being poor is truly miserable. It's nice to be financially comfortable ( and I know that it really is, but I'm not going to pick the roads I walk down based only on that. ) Work nine to five. Buy a big house. Get a shinier car than your neighbor has. Raise children. Work so you can put them through school, so they can learn things and go to college and follow you to good jobs. Die old and not miserable; not so much happy and having loved what you did, but just not where you regret not doing more.
And what if I get to that point and regret doing as much as I did without doing the smaller things? Well, it's too late. Too late. Too late. We've got ninety years, tops, and the way the world is, it's hard to live your life for love and beauty anymore. If your ACT and SAT scores weren't great, good luck in life, they tell me. If you don't finish college, your life is going to be a struggle, they tell me. My other counselor told me that we've reached a point where only the wealthy can happily go to college, because you can't pay tuition in dreams and desires, as important as they are.
. . .Maybe I'm scared. I'm on the cusp of college and the rest of my life, and maybe what I've done is lived my high school years too much for the thrill of one day to the next and excelling in college and getting a good job and dying on feather pillows really is the way to go.
Maybe I'm completely wrong. Maybe I don't really know how to live correctly ( don't worry; I'm not going to off myself of anything -- I'm much too happy ) and I'm going to wake up one day and realize my step-father was right, I should've gone into computers, because there's no chance of survival for a person who wants to live for something beautiful rather than something stable.
I suppose we'll find out before too long. I have a feeling that I'm either headed for a life where the sunsets will only get more colorful or a life where the nights will only get darker.
Take care, you lot.
Cheers.
( it might be best to ignore me, for i may have no idea what i'm talking about. the weekend has spoiled me, i think. )
Needless to say, I've kind of vanished from here. Lately I've been doing those MySpace and Facebook things because they're quick and easy, and my life, too, is quick and busy. I'm not going to abandon this thing, but I might not be rapid-fire blogging here.
I am alive, though.
I've reached a point in my life ( and maybe this isn't a permanent thing ) where every day is slightly more amazing than the last, and I'm starting to dread the patterns I have to follow in order to move from one to the next. I just feel so bored with waking up at the same time, eating the same breakfast, going to school for the same amount of time to learn things that don't really seem to help me outside school anymore ( for I am, also, at a point where they teach us things that help us in taking tests, which moves us to a higher learning place where we learn more things to do well on more tests to make the colleges look good ) coming home to take care of a dog that just isn't getting the idea of going outside to let himself go, going to bed around the same time after browsing about the Internet. Lather, rinse, repeat.
And maybe I'm just overreacting to finally being happy, but I spent the last five days ( two of which, last week, I skipped school for it ) doing beautiful things and now going back to chemistry, algebra, history, composition, and lunch duty just seems like throwing a blanket on the spark.
Because I spent Thursday with my best friends in the world, just being ourselves, then driving a few hours to see a Kurt Vonnegut play. Friday I went to school with Mike, my teacher from MITY, my hero, then we watched Doctor Strangelove together and enjoyed each other's company. Saturday I went to Ohio and saw Freezepop, which was nothing short of spontaneous and wonderful, and Sunday was spent driving the thirteen hours home in a storm that had all the potential to push the car off the road. Yesterday was bliss; Melissa came over and we napped, we cooked things, we talked and adored each other, we met friends for coffee so she can know some people at prom, we went shopping a bit. . . I could spend days with her, really.
Today? I go to school and catch up on chemistry worksheets ( translating grams to moles to formula units to moles to. . . ) and algebra assignments ( how to simplify fractions within fractions and balance and cancel out what's left ) and write note cards for a grad standard paper ( fifteen pages, ninety note card requirement, three book sources ) which might be the most enjoyable of anything I get to do today.
It all just seems to blah compared to what I could be doing. I talked to the counselor at school ( because she's more my friend than anything else, and it's a joy to talk to her ) and she told me to do what I love and what's beautiful; not what's going to make me the most money and get me the nicest car. I don't know if that's what she's supposed to be telling me to do, but it's nice to meet someone who has dreams and aspirations like we're supposed to.
I told her, "I don't want to look around myself as an old man and realize I spent the last thirty years of my life just trying to get by, doing something I hate. Because it happened to my parents and it's happened to my friends and it's all too possible it's going to happen to me."
"I could be making four times as much money doing something else than I make doing this," she told me, "but this is what I love. And that's what counts."
We all know it, but it seems too often that we're told the exact opposite: Go to school and learn a lot, because it matters to get into college, and college decides the rest of your life for you. When you get out, get a good job -- besides, you're going to have tens of thousands of dollars in loans to pay back. It's not that money will buy happiness eventually, but being poor is truly miserable. It's nice to be financially comfortable ( and I know that it really is, but I'm not going to pick the roads I walk down based only on that. ) Work nine to five. Buy a big house. Get a shinier car than your neighbor has. Raise children. Work so you can put them through school, so they can learn things and go to college and follow you to good jobs. Die old and not miserable; not so much happy and having loved what you did, but just not where you regret not doing more.
And what if I get to that point and regret doing as much as I did without doing the smaller things? Well, it's too late. Too late. Too late. We've got ninety years, tops, and the way the world is, it's hard to live your life for love and beauty anymore. If your ACT and SAT scores weren't great, good luck in life, they tell me. If you don't finish college, your life is going to be a struggle, they tell me. My other counselor told me that we've reached a point where only the wealthy can happily go to college, because you can't pay tuition in dreams and desires, as important as they are.
. . .Maybe I'm scared. I'm on the cusp of college and the rest of my life, and maybe what I've done is lived my high school years too much for the thrill of one day to the next and excelling in college and getting a good job and dying on feather pillows really is the way to go.
Maybe I'm completely wrong. Maybe I don't really know how to live correctly ( don't worry; I'm not going to off myself of anything -- I'm much too happy ) and I'm going to wake up one day and realize my step-father was right, I should've gone into computers, because there's no chance of survival for a person who wants to live for something beautiful rather than something stable.
I suppose we'll find out before too long. I have a feeling that I'm either headed for a life where the sunsets will only get more colorful or a life where the nights will only get darker.
Take care, you lot.
Cheers.
( it might be best to ignore me, for i may have no idea what i'm talking about. the weekend has spoiled me, i think. )