Will? You? I. Want. You. To. (p. 234)
I might as well admit that this is what I've wanted to do for a while, update my livejournal. but it never seemed worth it until ross threated to take down my link. and then it still wasn't quite worth it but I have a paper I just don't want to write and this is, at least, positive procrastination.
ross also told me "sanity is attainable." these are wise words. they were directed at my stomach and the base of my throat, which are the two places in my body that never seem to relax. thus, near-constant almost-nausea and lack of being able to take a deep breath. it's the weight of always having something to do, but I can't blame it entirely on being here because it didn't quite disappear during the summer, either. I got nervous about going to work, about hanging out with people, about things that I could never really put my finger on but they must have been something, because why else would I wake up and be bitterly aware of the churning in my stomach? it seems to have become part of my way of life and I don't like it, not one bit. I've asked one or two people about it and they say, sure, I feel sick when I'm nervous too. sometimes it even goes on for a couple days.
but that's not really it. it's quieter and more constant. it wasn't there when I was in the woods last week, which was good & important, but it appeared again once I got back. and before I started writing about it I was feeling more high-school-lethargic than anything else, but now it's back again. It. maybe I should give it some sort of pet name in an attempt to tame it, make it something approachable instead of overwhelming. but I have the feeling that naming your neuroses could become a neurosis unto itself.
* * *
so. I was backpacking last week and before that I ate moroccan food and turned 19. I've read war and peace and the communist manifesto and right now it's just past 4 pm on july 16, 1904 and I still have a shameless crush on the idea of reading this book. I also have crushes on: the boy's frisbee team, living off-campus, being fluent in another language and doing something to keep this world from falling apart. even though instead of the latter, I'll probably be selfishly drinking wine and roaming the streets of paris this time next year. and that's selfish in the howard roark sense as much as anything else.
it's sophomore year and every time I tell people about it I'm surprised at how good I make it sound.
* * *
I'll be around.
ross also told me "sanity is attainable." these are wise words. they were directed at my stomach and the base of my throat, which are the two places in my body that never seem to relax. thus, near-constant almost-nausea and lack of being able to take a deep breath. it's the weight of always having something to do, but I can't blame it entirely on being here because it didn't quite disappear during the summer, either. I got nervous about going to work, about hanging out with people, about things that I could never really put my finger on but they must have been something, because why else would I wake up and be bitterly aware of the churning in my stomach? it seems to have become part of my way of life and I don't like it, not one bit. I've asked one or two people about it and they say, sure, I feel sick when I'm nervous too. sometimes it even goes on for a couple days.
but that's not really it. it's quieter and more constant. it wasn't there when I was in the woods last week, which was good & important, but it appeared again once I got back. and before I started writing about it I was feeling more high-school-lethargic than anything else, but now it's back again. It. maybe I should give it some sort of pet name in an attempt to tame it, make it something approachable instead of overwhelming. but I have the feeling that naming your neuroses could become a neurosis unto itself.
* * *
so. I was backpacking last week and before that I ate moroccan food and turned 19. I've read war and peace and the communist manifesto and right now it's just past 4 pm on july 16, 1904 and I still have a shameless crush on the idea of reading this book. I also have crushes on: the boy's frisbee team, living off-campus, being fluent in another language and doing something to keep this world from falling apart. even though instead of the latter, I'll probably be selfishly drinking wine and roaming the streets of paris this time next year. and that's selfish in the howard roark sense as much as anything else.
it's sophomore year and every time I tell people about it I'm surprised at how good I make it sound.
* * *
I'll be around.