not about politics
Sometimes I just feel like sitting in my room (which is mine and mine only a lot more often these days) and listening to music. I think that I did this a lot in high school, but now it seems to be something which has to be scheduled in along with writing papers, doing work, sleeping, seeing friends, etc. In other words, everything. I cherish Friday afternoons because they are the only part of my week when time slips away and I don't mind one bit. I've been having lunch with my friend Caitlin, wandering around campus, and cooking dinner at Drew's and while it didn't quite relax me last week, it did wonders for me today. But I'm still tired, just plain tired. Dragged down by not getting enough sleep, for one, and the events in the world, for another, and the events in the lives of those I know and care about. Even though quite a few of those lives have started to be filled by what I've taken to referring to as "the blush of first love."
We were talking today about all of the levels of stress. I should make a diagram analgous to the 9 circles of hell or something, because I could probably come up with 9 and it would be oh so witty, too. It's those concentric circles, starting from one person and extending out to the circumference of, say, "the world," though who the hell really understands how big that is? Measurements don't count-- I'm talking about understanding about 6 billion people and their joys and problems and this and that and the other. This used to scare me but now I find that I can't write for more than a few paragraphs without running out of things to say. Those two things seem entirely unconnected but I don't think that they really are.
There's a professor here, in psychology, who does a lot of work with decision making. He doesn't understand why we're all so stressed; this society offers too many choices and we need to maximize something or other and blah blah blah. Apparently he applied to three colleges, two grad schools, one job (this one) and married his junior high school sweetheart. Of course he is astounded by us, with 16 brands of peanut butter and 20 choices of jeans and applying to 13 colleges "just to see where I get in." I haven't talked to my junior high school sweetheart for nearly three years. I haven't talked to my end-of-high-school boyfriend for almost a year-- at least, not when he's talked back. I haven't had anyone tell me what I need to hear for a very long time.
We were talking today about all of the levels of stress. I should make a diagram analgous to the 9 circles of hell or something, because I could probably come up with 9 and it would be oh so witty, too. It's those concentric circles, starting from one person and extending out to the circumference of, say, "the world," though who the hell really understands how big that is? Measurements don't count-- I'm talking about understanding about 6 billion people and their joys and problems and this and that and the other. This used to scare me but now I find that I can't write for more than a few paragraphs without running out of things to say. Those two things seem entirely unconnected but I don't think that they really are.
There's a professor here, in psychology, who does a lot of work with decision making. He doesn't understand why we're all so stressed; this society offers too many choices and we need to maximize something or other and blah blah blah. Apparently he applied to three colleges, two grad schools, one job (this one) and married his junior high school sweetheart. Of course he is astounded by us, with 16 brands of peanut butter and 20 choices of jeans and applying to 13 colleges "just to see where I get in." I haven't talked to my junior high school sweetheart for nearly three years. I haven't talked to my end-of-high-school boyfriend for almost a year-- at least, not when he's talked back. I haven't had anyone tell me what I need to hear for a very long time.