You are currently browsing the monthly archive for December 2008.

Merry Christmas Eve to y’all. I’ve been feeling better these last few days, which probably explains my lack of blogging. Well, that and my internet at home has decided to stop working. I love that. I pay 30 dollars a month for nothing. I’m truly considering switching services to Qwest, even though I’ve heard such terrible things. What’s a boy to do?

In a meeting the other day with my boss, who also happens to be one of my professors, she reminded me of everything I’ve done this semester, which made me start to think of the entire year. It’s been one hell of a 2008. When did the bar of excellence suddenly get placed at the level of graduate work for me as an undergrad who’s also doing University Dance Theatre pieces? I feel like a grad student with a ridiculously busy undergrad’s schedule…this basically equals zero time for anything…or equalled rather. I lost all sense of self this past year, became lost in theory because I had to in order to survive the rigours. I’m not trying to say poor me or anything. I just put myself through a lot of shit, and really for what? I don’t feel any different…maybe smarter? Idk. What do I have to show for it but huge circles under my eyes and no money because I have no time for a job? What do you think will become of me next year? I hope it’s less stressful and more successful? I mean, fuck, I’ve never accomplished more in my life, but I’m only 24. I don’t have to rush to get it all in now. Maybe I’ll write a novel, a collection of short stories, or your papers for you.

One half hour of work and then I’m off for the week. Hopefully I’ll have internet in that time. If not, I’m sure I’ll find some coffee shop or something to post here. My heart, brain, sanity all need it.

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If my internet starts working again today, I’ll post this blog.

I’m writing it on one of those sticky notes you can put on your computer. I don’t like word documents; they feel too much like homework. This morning I woke up thinking about him again. It’s been a month now, and it was his birthday on Thursday. Wednesday was a good day, though. I felt good, independent, happy. Today, I feel kind of blaze, tired, lost. It isn’t enough to know that each day gets easier; it’s a lie we tell ourselves to get through the one we’re in. When do we stop telling lies and start looking at truths? What are the truths though? No one has the same truth; it’s all a complicated web of intersubjectivity. In the betweens is where truth lives, which is why we can never find it, never feel it, never taste it. Why do crazy people like me, then, constantly try to find it? What’s the use? What difference does it really make to know the truth rather than looking at the consequences? I guess I’d like to think in truth lies knowledge, the knowledge of why that escapes all understanding.

I used to think I could make myself into an optimist, a person who looks happily on things, someone with a positive outlook on the future, on the present, and on the past. This was just a lie I told myself. I still dream, I still live in that dream world but I can separate it from reality. I am a walking contradiction. I suppose most people are. The more people I know the less I want to know them.

It’s warm underneath all my layers. I cover up my body so you can’t see my face. It doesn’t make sense and everyone can actually see it but I continue to do so. When I was little and ashamed of my body, I would wear heavy clothes, double extra larges and baggy jeans. Now I wear double extra smalls and jeans that my junk hardly fits in. What happened to me in the 10 years?

I was informed yesterday that I think too much. I think too much about time, about age, about life, about what I want. I should just think about something else, he says. I cannot describe the impossibility of that order. I can’t think about something else. I can’t not think. I think too much, all the time, every day, overanalyze. Don’t other people do the same thing? How do they survive? How do they not fall into circles of ideas, of paradigms. I slip into the romanticism of ideologies because I can understand them, I can know them. I suppose I live in the theoretical when I’m depressed; I’m not sure if that’s what I am right now. It’s been worse; much worse. This isn’t just about him. If it were, I could be ok. It’s just a lot of things. A lot of nonsense that I can’t site Said or Foucault about. Maybe I should learn how to do such a thing. Apply theory to my life isntead of everyone elses.

No thanks, too much work. I hate sitting in class and not having anything to do. We’re lighting pieces and I did mine on Friday. Just sitting here blogging. And my scarf is making me so warm. I’m jumping out now. I’ll be back later today. This thing is gonna get real full real fast.

I want to be a hermit.

I want to curl up and stop feeling. My heart is done, it’s reached its limit. I’m starting to want to close everything down, making everyone far away. Too many people have ripped it out. I’ve ripped it out. I’m so dramatic right now it makes me ache. I shouldn’t write when I’m like this but I have no one to talk to, I cannot tell you this. I cannot tell him this. I cannot tell anyone. Slowly eating away at me. I feel my eyes start to close and see his face.