They say it takes time.
Well freak.
Tuesday, December 25, 2012
Monday, December 24, 2012
Now.
This post is another accumulation of almost a month of writing sporadically and never finding the willpower or creativity to finish a complete thought, not that this one has any singular purpose. Humor me, I'm tired.
This is a test.
Not an academic test, like one that assesses pseudo life skills, like math or chemistry or vocabulary. Even the well-designed advanced placements exams only measure our capacity to focus for one to three hours on one very narrow subject. They are hinged on chance; an accurate reflection of knowledge is dependent on the student's exposure to the chosen test-day topics. For the most part though, I commend our district's education program. Even bad teachers give good tests, even if pampered students protest about difficulty. I'm just bitter about my B+.
"The test will measure whether you are an informed, engaged, and productive citizen of the world, and it will take place in schools and bars and hospitals and dorm rooms and in places of worship. You will be tested on first dates, in job interviews, while watching football, and while scrolling through your Twitter feed. The test will judge your ability to think about things other than celebrity marriages, whether you’ll be easily persuaded by empty political rhetoric, and whether you’ll be able to place your life and your community in a broader context. The test will last your entire life, and it will be comprised of the millions of decisions that, when taken together, will make your life yours. And everything, everything, will be on it." John Green
This test is called life. However, this is still a different test. It's in response to a prompt, kind of, from the Peaceful Warrior. The point is to live in the now, to be at the here, to be, always, the moment. Something is always happening, everything is always moving forward. Entropy is always increasing (heho), time is propagating in only one direction. I think Socrates neglected reflection too much, but the idea is still the same - don't dwell, and don't worry. And this was an unnecessarily prolonged introduction to my first and likely last direct reference to inspiration.
***
I am sitting, for once, legs unfolded, on a hardwood chair, in a way such that my thighs don't touch the seat and such that the seat is only 25% occupied by my body. My eyes are very dry, my legs are bobbing impatiently, and my slouch is grossly pronounced from many months of switching between intense physical extenuation and then absolute loafing.
Cogito ergo sum. Carpe collum. What is the grass, captain?
There are so many things I don't know. I've wanted to take the easy way out of building my body, attaining my grades, writing at the bare minimum and studying at the last minute. It is, in general, effective, at about a B+/A- rate. For the most part, that satisfies me.
But once in a while, I find the energy to try. It comes more naturally when I'm doing math - that one, blessed hour I can't fall asleep. But once in while, it comes in during a timed writing, an SAT test, a French project, even though I don't remember a single physics lecture, and even though I have never remained conscious for more than half of a history lecture. In Hack the SATs (it'll help you connect to me and improve you standardized testing scores!!!), the author talks about pretending the love everything. Critical reading is boring until there is a falsely genuine and passionate attacking of the passage - and that is the approach I've started utilizing, out of nowhere, in seemingly unrelated periods and areas of my life.
Suddenly, history is almost fascinating. Physics is almost worth further investigation. Wikipedia is my new pasttime. Poetry is the big deal, and math has great dreams. But almost, and almost never. False passion dies, fatigue approaches, and once again, I'm laying alone on my bedroom carpet, wondering what to do with myself at 1 AM in the morning. The tiredness approaches more easily now, as failure becomes easier and disappointment comes faster. Reaction time to conversation decreases exponentially. The only component of my mind that becomes more active controls rash decision making, and it does so, so now, at the epitome of one of the deeper troughs, I am staring at nothing and hoping that stillness can settle.
This is a test.
Not an academic test, like one that assesses pseudo life skills, like math or chemistry or vocabulary. Even the well-designed advanced placements exams only measure our capacity to focus for one to three hours on one very narrow subject. They are hinged on chance; an accurate reflection of knowledge is dependent on the student's exposure to the chosen test-day topics. For the most part though, I commend our district's education program. Even bad teachers give good tests, even if pampered students protest about difficulty. I'm just bitter about my B+.
"The test will measure whether you are an informed, engaged, and productive citizen of the world, and it will take place in schools and bars and hospitals and dorm rooms and in places of worship. You will be tested on first dates, in job interviews, while watching football, and while scrolling through your Twitter feed. The test will judge your ability to think about things other than celebrity marriages, whether you’ll be easily persuaded by empty political rhetoric, and whether you’ll be able to place your life and your community in a broader context. The test will last your entire life, and it will be comprised of the millions of decisions that, when taken together, will make your life yours. And everything, everything, will be on it." John Green
This test is called life. However, this is still a different test. It's in response to a prompt, kind of, from the Peaceful Warrior. The point is to live in the now, to be at the here, to be, always, the moment. Something is always happening, everything is always moving forward. Entropy is always increasing (heho), time is propagating in only one direction. I think Socrates neglected reflection too much, but the idea is still the same - don't dwell, and don't worry. And this was an unnecessarily prolonged introduction to my first and likely last direct reference to inspiration.
***
I am sitting, for once, legs unfolded, on a hardwood chair, in a way such that my thighs don't touch the seat and such that the seat is only 25% occupied by my body. My eyes are very dry, my legs are bobbing impatiently, and my slouch is grossly pronounced from many months of switching between intense physical extenuation and then absolute loafing.
Cogito ergo sum. Carpe collum. What is the grass, captain?
There are so many things I don't know. I've wanted to take the easy way out of building my body, attaining my grades, writing at the bare minimum and studying at the last minute. It is, in general, effective, at about a B+/A- rate. For the most part, that satisfies me.
But once in a while, I find the energy to try. It comes more naturally when I'm doing math - that one, blessed hour I can't fall asleep. But once in while, it comes in during a timed writing, an SAT test, a French project, even though I don't remember a single physics lecture, and even though I have never remained conscious for more than half of a history lecture. In Hack the SATs (it'll help you connect to me and improve you standardized testing scores!!!), the author talks about pretending the love everything. Critical reading is boring until there is a falsely genuine and passionate attacking of the passage - and that is the approach I've started utilizing, out of nowhere, in seemingly unrelated periods and areas of my life.
Suddenly, history is almost fascinating. Physics is almost worth further investigation. Wikipedia is my new pasttime. Poetry is the big deal, and math has great dreams. But almost, and almost never. False passion dies, fatigue approaches, and once again, I'm laying alone on my bedroom carpet, wondering what to do with myself at 1 AM in the morning. The tiredness approaches more easily now, as failure becomes easier and disappointment comes faster. Reaction time to conversation decreases exponentially. The only component of my mind that becomes more active controls rash decision making, and it does so, so now, at the epitome of one of the deeper troughs, I am staring at nothing and hoping that stillness can settle.
Friday, December 21, 2012
GG.
Since I am still in shock, this post may come off as emotionless and unrealistic. It feels that way to me. I am sorry, but my academic image has just been blemished in a way that cannot be ratified.
Finals. Ouch. Actually, its not really finals. It was one final, and now a deep and moving reflection upon this blind and falsely confident semester.
Athletic Training: I thought I wouldn't make new friends, and I didn't make new friends. Congratulations, I have successfully predicted my own social elusiveness around people of different races and unweighted classes once again. Some education was wasted, but meeting who white people consider white trash, nice black people, and decent Indians was refreshing in the midst of my high achieving Asian schedule.
AP Physics B: I learned to respect my teacher, which I guess is progress from last year. In the last few weeks, I didn't even fall asleep. A lot of grapes and almonds were stolen from 8:41 to 9:35, and only once was the textbook opened ... and slept upon. This is my final project, if you can see, if you care. It was the only good thing produced, and it's only because I can work aesthetics, and apparently nothing else. Especially not chemistry. https://naperville.instructure.com/eportfolios/13154/Home/Welcome
AP French: Either I have suddenly become extraordinarily eloquent in interpretive and interpersonal presentation in the French language, or the teacher is being nice to only me and the rest of the class is suddenly also getting B's and C's. Or both. I almost want to tell myself good job on getting an 86% in the class I thought I would dominate effortlessly, except that's a B, my precious, infant B, born of 16 weeks of C+. I actually appreciate the manipulation and combination of language. I cherish my Chinese culture, even if I think it sounds silly to speak to my parents in the tongue. French exposed me to the intricacies of true grammar, and I am grateful for every one of the 7 to 10 tenses it has taught me. Foreign life is fascinating, but apparently, foreign classes are sickening. I should thank my teachers for what they have done for me, even when I don't participate and make them impatient. C'etait un bon 2.5 annees d'apprendre la francais.
AP Chemistry: And here is my humbling D+, B+ class. The pride of my freshman silver test tube pride shot in one glance on IC. B+. Ouch. I have a couple rules for life, and number 2 (I guess it's number 2, but I haven't made an official list, so it doesn't really count) concerns hard work. There is a threshold of work that one has to expend in order to earn a certain level of achievement. In most cases, a relative minimum is at 90%, which is what constitutes an A-, a 5.0 at this school. I thought I peaked at this minimum long ago, almost naturally, but this week, clearly, I have slipped into a cusp... or something. I do have some things to say about the depth at which we cover certain topics, similarly to Physics B. Chemistry is not like calculus. Not everything is explained, and not everything could be questioned, especially when the teacher is mad at Benny. Still, it was possible to get that A, since people did do so, so I am a noob, and I need to focus.
BC Calculus: No. The level of engagement to polar coordinates and integrals makes it impossible for me to even think about sleeping. I am in love with my table, but only infatuated enough to be the best quiz group and talk about college. Everything is good, even if I didn't get A's until halfway through the semester. Calcchat also saved me homework time... and math team? My heart is at rest.
Lunch: Contrary to previous assumptions, I did end up eating 40% of this semester, which is an improvement, except weight-wise... supposedly. People are nice.
APUSH: For working so hard, I went clutch mode for the last month because I gave up too early. I am stupid, and history is okay. It helped me in SATs if not anything else, and it has taught me what grass really is. Very well, I contradict myself. I am large. I contain multitudes. Do you ever want to jump off a bridge? But you can't say that at a cocktail party. Of all classes, this is the one that made me question my beliefs and values seriously, regarding morals, academia, and values. Of all classes in which to sleep in the front of the class, this was it. I learned and forgot an unprecedented amount of bull right here. And words, I appreciate words.
AP Lang: Speaking of words, I have never done rhetorical analysis formally until now, and it's actually fun when I'm genuinely trying to make my bs authentic. Above all, this class made the best community. Our analysis groups were phenomenal, and they carried me hard. I watched my friend and teacher dress the same way, and then my teacher cry because we stood on our desks and saluted Oh Captain, my Captain, on finals day. She kept crying as she passed out our scantrons, and thanked us for ending her day so well. I think we honored her, accidentally, through our collaboration of mistakenly passionate pursuits of knowledge, and she accepted our antics. There were feels.
And thus ends my dispicable 4.54 junior year. I will update when my dad takes away my other force-fed and cutesy community, club badminton.
Finals. Ouch. Actually, its not really finals. It was one final, and now a deep and moving reflection upon this blind and falsely confident semester.
Athletic Training: I thought I wouldn't make new friends, and I didn't make new friends. Congratulations, I have successfully predicted my own social elusiveness around people of different races and unweighted classes once again. Some education was wasted, but meeting who white people consider white trash, nice black people, and decent Indians was refreshing in the midst of my high achieving Asian schedule.
AP Physics B: I learned to respect my teacher, which I guess is progress from last year. In the last few weeks, I didn't even fall asleep. A lot of grapes and almonds were stolen from 8:41 to 9:35, and only once was the textbook opened ... and slept upon. This is my final project, if you can see, if you care. It was the only good thing produced, and it's only because I can work aesthetics, and apparently nothing else. Especially not chemistry. https://naperville.instructure.com/eportfolios/13154/Home/Welcome
AP French: Either I have suddenly become extraordinarily eloquent in interpretive and interpersonal presentation in the French language, or the teacher is being nice to only me and the rest of the class is suddenly also getting B's and C's. Or both. I almost want to tell myself good job on getting an 86% in the class I thought I would dominate effortlessly, except that's a B, my precious, infant B, born of 16 weeks of C+. I actually appreciate the manipulation and combination of language. I cherish my Chinese culture, even if I think it sounds silly to speak to my parents in the tongue. French exposed me to the intricacies of true grammar, and I am grateful for every one of the 7 to 10 tenses it has taught me. Foreign life is fascinating, but apparently, foreign classes are sickening. I should thank my teachers for what they have done for me, even when I don't participate and make them impatient. C'etait un bon 2.5 annees d'apprendre la francais.
AP Chemistry: And here is my humbling D+, B+ class. The pride of my freshman silver test tube pride shot in one glance on IC. B+. Ouch. I have a couple rules for life, and number 2 (I guess it's number 2, but I haven't made an official list, so it doesn't really count) concerns hard work. There is a threshold of work that one has to expend in order to earn a certain level of achievement. In most cases, a relative minimum is at 90%, which is what constitutes an A-, a 5.0 at this school. I thought I peaked at this minimum long ago, almost naturally, but this week, clearly, I have slipped into a cusp... or something. I do have some things to say about the depth at which we cover certain topics, similarly to Physics B. Chemistry is not like calculus. Not everything is explained, and not everything could be questioned, especially when the teacher is mad at Benny. Still, it was possible to get that A, since people did do so, so I am a noob, and I need to focus.
BC Calculus: No. The level of engagement to polar coordinates and integrals makes it impossible for me to even think about sleeping. I am in love with my table, but only infatuated enough to be the best quiz group and talk about college. Everything is good, even if I didn't get A's until halfway through the semester. Calcchat also saved me homework time... and math team? My heart is at rest.
Lunch: Contrary to previous assumptions, I did end up eating 40% of this semester, which is an improvement, except weight-wise... supposedly. People are nice.
APUSH: For working so hard, I went clutch mode for the last month because I gave up too early. I am stupid, and history is okay. It helped me in SATs if not anything else, and it has taught me what grass really is. Very well, I contradict myself. I am large. I contain multitudes. Do you ever want to jump off a bridge? But you can't say that at a cocktail party. Of all classes, this is the one that made me question my beliefs and values seriously, regarding morals, academia, and values. Of all classes in which to sleep in the front of the class, this was it. I learned and forgot an unprecedented amount of bull right here. And words, I appreciate words.
AP Lang: Speaking of words, I have never done rhetorical analysis formally until now, and it's actually fun when I'm genuinely trying to make my bs authentic. Above all, this class made the best community. Our analysis groups were phenomenal, and they carried me hard. I watched my friend and teacher dress the same way, and then my teacher cry because we stood on our desks and saluted Oh Captain, my Captain, on finals day. She kept crying as she passed out our scantrons, and thanked us for ending her day so well. I think we honored her, accidentally, through our collaboration of mistakenly passionate pursuits of knowledge, and she accepted our antics. There were feels.
And thus ends my dispicable 4.54 junior year. I will update when my dad takes away my other force-fed and cutesy community, club badminton.
Monday, December 17, 2012
Math Team
Its so relieving to be back. I am spoiled, so I'm not going to complain about having to think coherently at 7 am, because more likely than not, most good teachers and managers and workers to the same at 5 am. I look forward to this stabilizer, the one good 30 minutes in a semester of hates last year.
God is so good. I'm too blessed.
Other note. I have missed other people. Finally, I have awoken myself to laughing at bad jokes. It could be the relaxed curriculum changes in physics, but finally, I'm not falling asleep and instead am thinking and conversing with, le gasp, other students. Finally, I've taken a few moments out of my own wasted time to catch up and even pretend to be bright-spirited, so we can be friends again. The cold is no longer an excuse, the food is no longer the bait (actually it is. It is becoming not the bait though). People are not disappointments.
For the first time, I have made myself truly vulnerable. I told a considerably large following of people about the roots of becoming so worn, and the responses were surprising. It was not my Christian friends who replied emphatically but the people who only tolerate my beliefs. I asked for prayer, and what I received was incredible care from the most unexpected people. It throws me, actually, that the one person who I had been mildly and silently cursing an hour ago was the one who shared my story with a resource to my benefit. I am humbled, and for a few seconds, tear-stained.
Is it just the holiday spirit? I feel my curses slowly draining out of me, and it makes me ecstatic. Freedom is my theme this year (I called it after Arrival last year... ha), and finally, I am opening my eyes to service once more. It feels so good to be back. It feels so good to be alive again.
God is so good. I'm too blessed.
Other note. I have missed other people. Finally, I have awoken myself to laughing at bad jokes. It could be the relaxed curriculum changes in physics, but finally, I'm not falling asleep and instead am thinking and conversing with, le gasp, other students. Finally, I've taken a few moments out of my own wasted time to catch up and even pretend to be bright-spirited, so we can be friends again. The cold is no longer an excuse, the food is no longer the bait (actually it is. It is becoming not the bait though). People are not disappointments.
For the first time, I have made myself truly vulnerable. I told a considerably large following of people about the roots of becoming so worn, and the responses were surprising. It was not my Christian friends who replied emphatically but the people who only tolerate my beliefs. I asked for prayer, and what I received was incredible care from the most unexpected people. It throws me, actually, that the one person who I had been mildly and silently cursing an hour ago was the one who shared my story with a resource to my benefit. I am humbled, and for a few seconds, tear-stained.
Is it just the holiday spirit? I feel my curses slowly draining out of me, and it makes me ecstatic. Freedom is my theme this year (I called it after Arrival last year... ha), and finally, I am opening my eyes to service once more. It feels so good to be back. It feels so good to be alive again.
Sunday, December 16, 2012
Ugly Duckling
The most beautiful flower will die when it's surrounded by ugly weeds.
This week has been full of cocktail parties. Do you ever feel like jumping off a bridge? And I will probably be referencing this quote quite often now, so expect it, and assume only that I am uncomfortable at cocktail parties, nothing more.
Fatigue is taxing. I can pretend to be so enthusiastic about math that I always survive BC and math team, although only at a 92.0% success rate. I have cut it very close in Chemistry, even though I respect the science and teacher to no end. My eyes have shut for abnormally long periods of time when my physics teacher stares directly at me; my face has made intimate contact with my APUSH desk for hours. I am tired.
I have become ugly. The circles under my eyes have become semi permanent, which apparently, is unattractive, at least more so than when they are not present, according to a respected male in the surrounding community. Flat hair and hair loss are the norm. All of my skin is cracked, and sooner or later, my nose will be too cold. Apparently. These are all metaphors for the state of my heart. Read carefully.
Comparison is dangerous, but boys like danger (I just saw it on Tumblr, excuse my fallacy filled rage). Shouldn't there be a time when comparison is no longer valid, when one person owns something permanently, and the lack of that something is insignificant? Shouldn't there be a time when people stop telling me what and when and why to eat, as if I haven't thought about it all day out of absolute paranoia and undeserving spite? There should be a time when I don't even have to think about it anymore, and I can be at peace, preferably before Arrival or GraceCon.
Not caring is also dangerous, but I am just stupid and should never not care again. Everything has a purpose, and I've totally missed it for too long, and now its too late. I am completely ugly and too soft and too weak to lift my eyes up. I'm worn...ha (tenth avenue north?), and I hope that if anything, I can help other people not be so ugly and soft and weak.
This week has been full of cocktail parties. Do you ever feel like jumping off a bridge? And I will probably be referencing this quote quite often now, so expect it, and assume only that I am uncomfortable at cocktail parties, nothing more.
Fatigue is taxing. I can pretend to be so enthusiastic about math that I always survive BC and math team, although only at a 92.0% success rate. I have cut it very close in Chemistry, even though I respect the science and teacher to no end. My eyes have shut for abnormally long periods of time when my physics teacher stares directly at me; my face has made intimate contact with my APUSH desk for hours. I am tired.
I have become ugly. The circles under my eyes have become semi permanent, which apparently, is unattractive, at least more so than when they are not present, according to a respected male in the surrounding community. Flat hair and hair loss are the norm. All of my skin is cracked, and sooner or later, my nose will be too cold. Apparently. These are all metaphors for the state of my heart. Read carefully.
Comparison is dangerous, but boys like danger (I just saw it on Tumblr, excuse my fallacy filled rage). Shouldn't there be a time when comparison is no longer valid, when one person owns something permanently, and the lack of that something is insignificant? Shouldn't there be a time when people stop telling me what and when and why to eat, as if I haven't thought about it all day out of absolute paranoia and undeserving spite? There should be a time when I don't even have to think about it anymore, and I can be at peace, preferably before Arrival or GraceCon.
Not caring is also dangerous, but I am just stupid and should never not care again. Everything has a purpose, and I've totally missed it for too long, and now its too late. I am completely ugly and too soft and too weak to lift my eyes up. I'm worn...ha (tenth avenue north?), and I hope that if anything, I can help other people not be so ugly and soft and weak.
Listless.
Note? I wrote this two weeks ago but apparently was in such a subconscious state that I neglected to publish it. But I am going to publish it, because I hate having saved drafts. For the records, I have an 84% in French now.
The irony and other rhetorical strategy I try to subconsciously employ have become ineffective. What do I do.
I have spent a lot of time in silence recently. Part of this phenomenon is my lack of original thoughts; part of it is my inadequacy of self expression. Its almost interesting that to the people I feel closest to, I still can't find a way to sufficiently embody my thoughts in words. This could be a root cause for my 78.01% in French. Ouch.
Here is a collection of thoughts.
1. Acadamia
2. I have a calculus test tomorrow. I can't tell if I'm not studying out of pride or a subtle, listless depression.
3. I have become progressively uglier and egocentric. This is probably no good for anyone.
4. Serving is of utmost importance. My uncle told me that math would not fulfill my designated serving duties well.
5. Atrophying musclays
6. Indians
7. Abdominal muscles, and how to flex them
8. I suck.
9. Math team tryouts are this week. It seems as if many of the assessments I care about have been and are badly timed to the chronology of personal traumas, but I think these traumas are predominately self induced
10. Where did prayer go?
11. I hope that losing my straight A streak is a transcript change that will land THAT college in which I am supposed to serve.
12. Maybe I should have cheated in APUSH. Just kidding, but its not okay.
13. Losing, and other Tenth Avenue North
The irony and other rhetorical strategy I try to subconsciously employ have become ineffective. What do I do.
I have spent a lot of time in silence recently. Part of this phenomenon is my lack of original thoughts; part of it is my inadequacy of self expression. Its almost interesting that to the people I feel closest to, I still can't find a way to sufficiently embody my thoughts in words. This could be a root cause for my 78.01% in French. Ouch.
Here is a collection of thoughts.
1. Acadamia
2. I have a calculus test tomorrow. I can't tell if I'm not studying out of pride or a subtle, listless depression.
3. I have become progressively uglier and egocentric. This is probably no good for anyone.
4. Serving is of utmost importance. My uncle told me that math would not fulfill my designated serving duties well.
5. Atrophying musclays
6. Indians
7. Abdominal muscles, and how to flex them
8. I suck.
9. Math team tryouts are this week. It seems as if many of the assessments I care about have been and are badly timed to the chronology of personal traumas, but I think these traumas are predominately self induced
10. Where did prayer go?
11. I hope that losing my straight A streak is a transcript change that will land THAT college in which I am supposed to serve.
12. Maybe I should have cheated in APUSH. Just kidding, but its not okay.
13. Losing, and other Tenth Avenue North
Monday, December 3, 2012
Elephant.
This is the kind of stress than pulls my head in every direction and in no direction. If there was a net force, it would be zero, no acceleration anywhere, even if my incapable brain had any mass at all.
So basically I have done nothing, and in some twisted way, I have no desire to do anything, and this isn't justification for sloth. There are just no feelings.
In the past weeks, I've opened blogspot and tumblr every single day with the intention to write something. I have considered confessions, outpourings, and sermons alike (not sermons.... I jk. I'm not in the place for that), but not once have I formed a single cohesive paragraph. Exhibit A, take large number.
A quote by Paul Gilmartin, author of (tumblr credited) the Mental Illness Happy Hour
“I cannot stand small talk, because I feel like there’s an elephant standing in the room shitting all over everything and nobody is saying anything. I’m just dying to say, “Hey, do you ever feel like jumping off a bridge?” or “Do you feel an emptiness inside your chest at night that is going to swallow you?” But you can’t say that at a cocktail party.”
Do you ever feel like jumping off a bridge? One day I will ask someone, although hopefully it won't be out of such desperate measures. Bridges are useful and romantic if used the right way. In all seriousness, I think something is going to swallow me, and its breath stinks. The odor reminds of me people I can't forgive and a mix of bad meals. The warmth of the swallowing breath is much like elephants' poo, too soft, too large, too messy to clean up.
In an extended metaphorical and not so twisted way, I also want to jump off a bridge. I want to take the withdrawal with fail; I want to stop running, huddle in a blanket, read, and forget to eat. It would be so easy to stop eating and habitually lie to everyone... isn't that already the default? It would be so easy, but it would be so hard to feel alive again. At the lowest trough of the waves, I want to stop talking and stare at sweater patterns with whatever frequency comes most easily. If I stare long enough, I forget to see the ugly and only see the world (but not in a guru universe way. more like a yoga way). But mostly I'm just weak. Those were all spineless desires to express. Its not that the elephant is being ignored but that it is grossly protruding and defecating all over, and I just hate the smell of poo.
The problem isn't even that I feel this way; emotions are fleeting, not defining. The problem is Paul Gilmartin. Nobody is saying anything. I'm just dying to say, "Hey, do you ever feel like jumping off a bridge?" and in now a truly twisted way, I'm dying to here someone say, "Yeah."
So basically I have done nothing, and in some twisted way, I have no desire to do anything, and this isn't justification for sloth. There are just no feelings.
In the past weeks, I've opened blogspot and tumblr every single day with the intention to write something. I have considered confessions, outpourings, and sermons alike (not sermons.... I jk. I'm not in the place for that), but not once have I formed a single cohesive paragraph. Exhibit A, take large number.
A quote by Paul Gilmartin, author of (tumblr credited) the Mental Illness Happy Hour
“I cannot stand small talk, because I feel like there’s an elephant standing in the room shitting all over everything and nobody is saying anything. I’m just dying to say, “Hey, do you ever feel like jumping off a bridge?” or “Do you feel an emptiness inside your chest at night that is going to swallow you?” But you can’t say that at a cocktail party.”
Do you ever feel like jumping off a bridge? One day I will ask someone, although hopefully it won't be out of such desperate measures. Bridges are useful and romantic if used the right way. In all seriousness, I think something is going to swallow me, and its breath stinks. The odor reminds of me people I can't forgive and a mix of bad meals. The warmth of the swallowing breath is much like elephants' poo, too soft, too large, too messy to clean up.
In an extended metaphorical and not so twisted way, I also want to jump off a bridge. I want to take the withdrawal with fail; I want to stop running, huddle in a blanket, read, and forget to eat. It would be so easy to stop eating and habitually lie to everyone... isn't that already the default? It would be so easy, but it would be so hard to feel alive again. At the lowest trough of the waves, I want to stop talking and stare at sweater patterns with whatever frequency comes most easily. If I stare long enough, I forget to see the ugly and only see the world (but not in a guru universe way. more like a yoga way). But mostly I'm just weak. Those were all spineless desires to express. Its not that the elephant is being ignored but that it is grossly protruding and defecating all over, and I just hate the smell of poo.
The problem isn't even that I feel this way; emotions are fleeting, not defining. The problem is Paul Gilmartin. Nobody is saying anything. I'm just dying to say, "Hey, do you ever feel like jumping off a bridge?" and in now a truly twisted way, I'm dying to here someone say, "Yeah."
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