30.09.21

30.09.21

“I can’t explain what I mean. And even if I could, I’m not sure if feel like it.” —J.D. Salinger

Today was a day, I guess. I’m not sure where it went, but I’ve been waiting to go back to sleep since I woke up. My essay is due tomorrow, but I’m just sitting here waiting. I got through a bit of my linguistics notes and with some discipline I’ll finish writing some more discussion board posts tonight.

“I can’t exactly describe how I feel, but it’s not quite right. And it leaves me cold.” —F. Scott Fitzgerald

I’ll be going home for the weekend and with a minor miracle the rain will pass and I’ll be able to catch up on my coursework.

“Please believe that things are good with me, and even when they’re not, they will be soon enough.” —Stephen Chbosky

Tonight’s playlist:

Asleep—The Smiths

MLK—U2

Blackbird—The Beatles

“It was September. In the last days when things are getting sad for no reason.”

— Ray Bradbury, “The Lake”, The October Country 

I love when I realize that I’m handling a situation better than my old self would have.

Stephen Chbosky; The Perks of Being a Wallflower

academia feels like…

the wave of accomplishment after you finish an essay.

the warmth hot coffee gives you.

losing track of time while reading.

getting the answer right in class. 

the pride of knowing random facts. 

soft rain falling on your face. 

29.09.21

"All art is at once surface and symbol. Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril." —Oscar Wilde

Don’t be fooled by the facade of aesthetically attractive academia. Last night I played the self-sacrificing tragic hero with the cool inner monologue and stunning apparel, destined for martyrdom in the noblest and thematically meaningful fashion. I worked late to finish assignments, stayed up later for the sake of living a life of stoic discipline, and insomnia came free with the anxiety, depression, and existential dread.

“We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.” —Kurt Vonnegut

This morning my Sisyphean boulder rolled back down the hill as I faced the consequences of my ill-conceived notions of academic success. Objects at rest want to stay at rest and though my day was not horridly unproductive, I was able to bring myself to do little in way of schoolwork. As an aside, chocolate—similarly to the more conventional means of self-medication and escapism—requires hydration. Tomorrow, I’ll begin my absurd task once more.

“One must imagine Sisyphus happy.” —Albert Camus