(no subject)
O Dangerous Thoughts, to be shared first with my online confidante [i.e. Peter Berard, and the other perceived audience somewhere "out there" on the internet, so cleverly embodied by livejournal]............................
I am thinking about taking a leave of absence from Eugene Lang the New School for Liberal Arts.
I got my psychology paper on "boredom" back today, finally, from my professor. A couple of things struck me:
a) the paper's not as interesting on its own as I thought it was. I recall sitting in the computer lab, mid-finals, pleased as hell with myself because I'd managed to dredge up what seemed to be some outstanding piece of crap paper that I'd dreaded all this time. And now I re-read it, and it's a dredged up piece of crap paper that I spent a lot of time dreading and much less time writing, yet I got a good grade....
b) I chose BOREDOM as my topic. Was my subconscious trying to send me a subtle hint?
c) I don't want to do that again. Not in that next semester, which appears as a lovely hampster wheel (circus, rather) of New School-ish type intellectual rigors, where you think and talk a lot at school and then go home and pretend to go on caring, into your laptop, pretending that this is what you'd like to be doing with your time...
The thing is, it's not really the college thing that bothers me. The New School is fine, it's college, it's exactly what I expected it to be. I just didn't expect myself to be able to do it. And now that I can, and the routine is getting tired, I'm wondering why I did it...and who I'm trying to prove anything to by being super at college. FUCK the sustainability committee, and fuck the grant, and fuck the writing center job. I don't want any of it anymore, it makes me sick to think about.
I don't want to go to the "mountains" like last summer. I don't want to go to New York City, the center of the universe. I don't even want to leave the States quite yet...I don't think. I could be free.
The only thing I can think to do is go somewhere, get an apartment, a job, and a life - somehow - doing something that I love, meeting people, and writing long love letters to my friends. Or maybe that's too permanent - maybe I want to gallavant around, take pictures, see where I end up.
In the meantime, I have part of a summer to think about it. And what a summer it is. Life is good.
I am thinking about taking a leave of absence from Eugene Lang the New School for Liberal Arts.
I got my psychology paper on "boredom" back today, finally, from my professor. A couple of things struck me:
a) the paper's not as interesting on its own as I thought it was. I recall sitting in the computer lab, mid-finals, pleased as hell with myself because I'd managed to dredge up what seemed to be some outstanding piece of crap paper that I'd dreaded all this time. And now I re-read it, and it's a dredged up piece of crap paper that I spent a lot of time dreading and much less time writing, yet I got a good grade....
b) I chose BOREDOM as my topic. Was my subconscious trying to send me a subtle hint?
c) I don't want to do that again. Not in that next semester, which appears as a lovely hampster wheel (circus, rather) of New School-ish type intellectual rigors, where you think and talk a lot at school and then go home and pretend to go on caring, into your laptop, pretending that this is what you'd like to be doing with your time...
The thing is, it's not really the college thing that bothers me. The New School is fine, it's college, it's exactly what I expected it to be. I just didn't expect myself to be able to do it. And now that I can, and the routine is getting tired, I'm wondering why I did it...and who I'm trying to prove anything to by being super at college. FUCK the sustainability committee, and fuck the grant, and fuck the writing center job. I don't want any of it anymore, it makes me sick to think about.
I don't want to go to the "mountains" like last summer. I don't want to go to New York City, the center of the universe. I don't even want to leave the States quite yet...I don't think. I could be free.
The only thing I can think to do is go somewhere, get an apartment, a job, and a life - somehow - doing something that I love, meeting people, and writing long love letters to my friends. Or maybe that's too permanent - maybe I want to gallavant around, take pictures, see where I end up.
In the meantime, I have part of a summer to think about it. And what a summer it is. Life is good.