Friday, March 26, 2010

This is me, Falling through the roof

I've determined I need to write, free-association style. History tends to restrict how and what I write about, the ways I write, you know, one must be all privy to the Chicago Style of citations and to not use "I" or "you" in a sentence.

That is all well and dandy, but I've determined if I really want to grow I should just force myself to write whatever is on my mind, whenever. And since no one ever reads this, looks like I'll have free reign over writing whatever I'd damn well please!

I guess this sense of... a want to write without being graded hit me yesterday. KP from that fancy camp I work at during the summers emailed out a questionnaire a few weeks ago, and I finally got around to answering it yesterday. And holy shit, did I answer it hard. It felt so good, the words just appearing on my computer screen, I didn't even feel as though I was typing. I thought, and they were there. It was liberating.

I recently looked back at my LiveJournal entries, and I'm envious. I wonder where that guy went. This year has seemed to consume me. I feel like a nervous wreck most of the time, like a clock is always ticking, like I'm wasting my own time. I feel isolated in the city. Other people are just waves, crashing against my lonely island. I don't like it. This program is luckily only two years. I feel so disconnected. There are friends I have here, but I'm stuck in between two places- Indiana and Boston- where the majority of my friends and loves reside. It is like being in some sort of sadistic state of limbo in which all I do is read about Soviet relations all day. I love the reading, I just don't like the state of social limbo. It's constricting.

I've been batting around the idea that maybe I get seasonally depressed- the more winters I experience the harder they are to battle through. Then there is that first sunny day in late February, and then everything blossoms. Summer is only a few steps away, New Hampshire greatness is on the horizon. I just have but a few more months, even weeks, until I can celebrate that. Like racing towards a finish line... some sort of a finish line where when you reach it, you meet a bunch of kids that call you a "cunt licker" a "baby raper" a "assfuck," those kids try to hit you with sticks. They bite. But I love it. That's the unusual, painful finish line I run to- but that finish line is a relief. I'll be with friends this summer- it will make up for the past 7 months.

This isn't to say I've been miserable, I haven't. I've just felt disjointed. Disconnected. Confused. Why did I pick Philadelphia? Well, I got a good deal at Villanova for one. But it just seemed like a good idea. So I'll roll with it. And I'll fix my eye on May.

I guess I like to think I feel like some sort of Buddhist monk. Kickin' it on a mountain ridge, a study of the self and the surrounding. Yes... I am the Buddhist monk of grilled cheese sandwiches, PBJ's, and early Soviet history. Also, I drink a lot of coffee. And I'm a Wii Bowling professional.

I'm that kind of a Buddhist monk.

Well now, do you hear that? A book. It calls my name.