Book-ends
This has been a year that, were I to plot out the events in linear sequence taking into account my general spirits, could accurately be called a roller-coaster: slow, steady ascents to peaks from which the entire countryside is visible, met entirely too soon by cliff-stark falls, and then riding along the bottom until another all-too-slow climb.
This has also been a year of secret experiments, with expectedly depressing results that I am unlikely to ever directly share. In a word: demystification. Looking inwards for methods to confirm intuitions outwards has led to understanding more deeply concepts that have eluded me in the past.
Failures and consequent fears have, in moments, led to more moments of clarity than I remember from year-to-year, but I wonder about the cost.
I wonder what else can go wrong, and whether things might turn around.
I don't know what to hope for. For another month, except for a weekend in the middle, all I can anticipate is more self-loathing rooted in my meaningless part-time job requiring me to be out of bed around 5am five days a week. If one could convince me that the rest of my life would be spent much as it has this summer, I would seek to destroy myself. Fortunately, I expect better things, or at least a better environment, when I return to school.
I've rarely felt more useless, more uninspired, more victim of the grip of nihilism.
This has also been a year of secret experiments, with expectedly depressing results that I am unlikely to ever directly share. In a word: demystification. Looking inwards for methods to confirm intuitions outwards has led to understanding more deeply concepts that have eluded me in the past.
Failures and consequent fears have, in moments, led to more moments of clarity than I remember from year-to-year, but I wonder about the cost.
I wonder what else can go wrong, and whether things might turn around.
I don't know what to hope for. For another month, except for a weekend in the middle, all I can anticipate is more self-loathing rooted in my meaningless part-time job requiring me to be out of bed around 5am five days a week. If one could convince me that the rest of my life would be spent much as it has this summer, I would seek to destroy myself. Fortunately, I expect better things, or at least a better environment, when I return to school.
I've rarely felt more useless, more uninspired, more victim of the grip of nihilism.
posted by SJ at 7/15/2008 04:07:00 PM
1 Comments:
It seems to me that most of your current mood is a result of being in a place anathema to your own interests and proclivities. You're in the dregs of summer and getting ready for another school year. Look back at last year, the year before. Are you in a cycle?
I don't buy the idea that you can't make your living in a meaningful fashion. I am.
That said, I understand not wanting to spend your life in knee-jerk activity and repetitive work.
Not to be hard-hearted, but if you're concerned with meaning, you've got three options. Find something to do with your days that brings in a paycheck AND engages your mind and creativity in a meaningful way. Find a job that pays the bills that isn't too offensive so that you can pursue your art in your spare time. Or pursue your art solely, but make yourself highly social and promote the hell out of yourself. You can do this without selling your soul. I know people doing it. Shall I connect you them?
You're at a decision point again, that's all. Break through, make some choices, and stop be-moaning your fate.
Self-determination Sean, that's the argument. Is your life dominated by internal or external forces? I choose internal and make me. You can't convince me with these rants that you don't believe the same thing. Get out of that stinky little town!
e.
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