It's 2:03am already?
...guess so, huh?
I just finished watching the first half of the Angels in America HBO movie(s) and I'm debating whether or not to stay up and watch the rest of the film tonight or attempt to sleep without finishing the thing. Of course, if I had actually done my homework during my first year in college- I would already know what is going to happen. But, silly me didn't do much reading in my history of dramatic literature class- even during spring quarter when the plays obviously got interesting. I'm such a bad student.
Anyway, now I think I can appreciate reading/viewing dramatic literature a lot more than I could two years back. I've thought about retaking that class... maybe just spring quarter of it... but do I really want to get up at 8:30am three days a week when I don't have to?
Umm... let me think about that.
I could just read the plays on my own. Now that's a novel idea. Geez, I am the most unmotivated person on earth.
Kind of amusing how the most unmotivated person on earth takes 7 classes a quarter. Shockingly enough, I managed to do well during the fall term this year. If I keep these grades up, I might actually have a shot at attending grad school one day. Maybe even a *good* grad school.
Well, I've got my fingers crossed. If only I could get myself to actually do homework a few days before the night before it's due, I'd be... a lot better off.
Anyway- since I still don't know what the fuck I want to do with my life, I'm kind of... floating... but at least I've decided to enjoy my education (instead of suffer in my previous major... god, I can't sew.)--- Well. I kind of miss painting. I look at my old artwork and think- god, I did that? I mean, I didn't think that then. Then I thought I was never going to be a decent artist. --Being in Arizona... on that service trip... teaching those art lessons to those kids who never had an art lesson a day in their life... seeing how happy they were drawing-- suddenly finding-- my own passion for art- again. Sort of.
There was so much beauty there. The mountains. The children. The sky-- god, the sky-- I wanted to take a picture of every last inch of it throughout the day-- and while the sunset was beautiful, it was the blue at noon that I was most impressed with. If I opened my mouth and I choked on the blue as the heavens fell between my parted chapped lips right then and there, I wouldn't have minded...
I'm scared. Of a lot of things I won't go into detail about here. Unimportant things. Personal things. Universal things. I want to accomplish... something in life. And I know I love... so many things. I have passions. That's not the issue. So I guess I'm lucky? Am I? Too many passions. So many fears. There are two seperate planes to my life- to anyones life- that which is personal and that which is financial. Geez, if you can have both in one than-- you're doing good. But can you really? If the personal becomes-- I mean, if the emotional becomes a job, then, it looses something. It is no longer- well, it's just like everything else on the other side. So I was afraid to go into art for a living. I thought if I majored in it, I'd hate it. And it's true- I would have. But that doesn't mean that I still don't miss it.
What am I majoring in anyway? I don't know. The educators I respect think I'm intelligent, but crazy. I have been told this by quite a number of people. I don't believe in intelligence, but- sanity? In Angels in America, the crazy woman said, "In the next century, everyone will be insane." -- aren't we already? Look around... lunatics everywhere. Pretending to be normal. They just do a much better job than I do. Instead of pretending, I often make the mistake (?) of embaressing myself beyond belief. Why do I do this over and over and over again- I- fall- head over heals in-fatuated with-- ideas of the impossible. People. Things. And I know if I was to obtain these physical renditions of euphoria I would in turn be quite unsatisfied. What is there that makes me happy? I have been happy... lately, even. When I'm with people, but when I'm with people and comfortable enough as a seperate entity- where, I do not feel my body copying the posture of those around me, where my speech does not mimic the tonation of those I'm conversing with and...
it feels funny- looking at my face-- the profile picture here, staring back at me. I don't feel like that's me, there. I grew up with a mother addicted to photo-taking. There are a million pictures of me, I'm sure. Not too many recently. Not since I went away to school. The one in my profile now is from a year ago. I don't even know what I look like now. I try to avoid mirrors. I hate my face. My body. Not only for the fact that it doesn't work, but also for it's visual display of the antithesis of American Beauty. Again, I won't go into detail over every last thing that bothers me about... that face... there. Even with all the makeup and the fancy dress and the hair blow dried under after aleast a half hour of fussing over it to get it to curl right, there is still something so ugly about my face. Perhaps it is just the person underneath. Sometimes I'm convinced this is the case. I don't know how to change it.
My ex bf has said, "every human act is a selfish act." -- I believe him. But I think this is even moreso true for myself and my actions. But- what can I do? I try to help people and deep down I'm doing it so I can feel good. I wish I could just do something completely unselfish... without any ulterior motivation of- finding acceptance and love and-- whatnot. I just want to act without prior complex rationalizing over the result... why does everything have to be such a game? It isn't. This isn't fucking Monopoly. This is life. Not the life with little plastic cars with 6 tiny holes to fit in pink and blue pegs. And you don't give birth to twins if you roll the right number-- although-- a lot of life has to do with luck and chance and...
where am I going with this? I don't know. It's 2:25am now and I'm anything but tired. A little disoriented, I guess. Sad... after watching the movie. Still wanting to see what happens. I don't know if I can handle the rest now. And watching... those people with AIDS... I think about how I have grown up knowing about the syndrome-- being told over and over again about it- but never letting the knowledge truely sink in. It is our culture to teach our children to stay away, but not to let them know the truth. Finally, at the age of 20, I am learning the truth about... people.
About how the people who I have respected-- who I have looked up to as ethical and sane-- are actually quite... well-- anything but. My mother, my father- two sad, sad people. For various reasons. And I can't help them. There is nothing I can do. I did make things worse for them when I was born, but they were already heading down the wrong path. There is nothing I can do. I am useless, even in my own family.
Oh well. This is where my mind is at... where it's always at. Always thinking about me, me, me, me, me. Seeing the faces of those who have, in my past, stared at me like I'm crazy- because I am. Not in the way the people in A.I.A. were/are... I mean, I don't hallucinate. I just-- I read too much into things. I'm not on drugs or... I mean, I barely drink... don't do anything else. Not that that makes me better than the next person. Nah. I often wonder if drugs are the answer. I mean, there isn't a real answer, but maybe if I could just get myself out of my brain enough to-- stop thinking about me for a moment, then- maybe that's what I need to do. Even if I could see talking animals and dancing furniture-- it might be nice... going crazy might actually send me in the direction of sanity. I don't know.
Anyway... that's enough of this bullshit for now. Why is it that I'm always writing depressing, self-absorbed shit- all the fucking time?
One day, I'll be productive.
Until then, it's more of this... useless babble. Joy.
...guess so, huh?
I just finished watching the first half of the Angels in America HBO movie(s) and I'm debating whether or not to stay up and watch the rest of the film tonight or attempt to sleep without finishing the thing. Of course, if I had actually done my homework during my first year in college- I would already know what is going to happen. But, silly me didn't do much reading in my history of dramatic literature class- even during spring quarter when the plays obviously got interesting. I'm such a bad student.
Anyway, now I think I can appreciate reading/viewing dramatic literature a lot more than I could two years back. I've thought about retaking that class... maybe just spring quarter of it... but do I really want to get up at 8:30am three days a week when I don't have to?
Umm... let me think about that.
I could just read the plays on my own. Now that's a novel idea. Geez, I am the most unmotivated person on earth.
Kind of amusing how the most unmotivated person on earth takes 7 classes a quarter. Shockingly enough, I managed to do well during the fall term this year. If I keep these grades up, I might actually have a shot at attending grad school one day. Maybe even a *good* grad school.
Well, I've got my fingers crossed. If only I could get myself to actually do homework a few days before the night before it's due, I'd be... a lot better off.
Anyway- since I still don't know what the fuck I want to do with my life, I'm kind of... floating... but at least I've decided to enjoy my education (instead of suffer in my previous major... god, I can't sew.)--- Well. I kind of miss painting. I look at my old artwork and think- god, I did that? I mean, I didn't think that then. Then I thought I was never going to be a decent artist. --Being in Arizona... on that service trip... teaching those art lessons to those kids who never had an art lesson a day in their life... seeing how happy they were drawing-- suddenly finding-- my own passion for art- again. Sort of.
There was so much beauty there. The mountains. The children. The sky-- god, the sky-- I wanted to take a picture of every last inch of it throughout the day-- and while the sunset was beautiful, it was the blue at noon that I was most impressed with. If I opened my mouth and I choked on the blue as the heavens fell between my parted chapped lips right then and there, I wouldn't have minded...
I'm scared. Of a lot of things I won't go into detail about here. Unimportant things. Personal things. Universal things. I want to accomplish... something in life. And I know I love... so many things. I have passions. That's not the issue. So I guess I'm lucky? Am I? Too many passions. So many fears. There are two seperate planes to my life- to anyones life- that which is personal and that which is financial. Geez, if you can have both in one than-- you're doing good. But can you really? If the personal becomes-- I mean, if the emotional becomes a job, then, it looses something. It is no longer- well, it's just like everything else on the other side. So I was afraid to go into art for a living. I thought if I majored in it, I'd hate it. And it's true- I would have. But that doesn't mean that I still don't miss it.
What am I majoring in anyway? I don't know. The educators I respect think I'm intelligent, but crazy. I have been told this by quite a number of people. I don't believe in intelligence, but- sanity? In Angels in America, the crazy woman said, "In the next century, everyone will be insane." -- aren't we already? Look around... lunatics everywhere. Pretending to be normal. They just do a much better job than I do. Instead of pretending, I often make the mistake (?) of embaressing myself beyond belief. Why do I do this over and over and over again- I- fall- head over heals in-fatuated with-- ideas of the impossible. People. Things. And I know if I was to obtain these physical renditions of euphoria I would in turn be quite unsatisfied. What is there that makes me happy? I have been happy... lately, even. When I'm with people, but when I'm with people and comfortable enough as a seperate entity- where, I do not feel my body copying the posture of those around me, where my speech does not mimic the tonation of those I'm conversing with and...
it feels funny- looking at my face-- the profile picture here, staring back at me. I don't feel like that's me, there. I grew up with a mother addicted to photo-taking. There are a million pictures of me, I'm sure. Not too many recently. Not since I went away to school. The one in my profile now is from a year ago. I don't even know what I look like now. I try to avoid mirrors. I hate my face. My body. Not only for the fact that it doesn't work, but also for it's visual display of the antithesis of American Beauty. Again, I won't go into detail over every last thing that bothers me about... that face... there. Even with all the makeup and the fancy dress and the hair blow dried under after aleast a half hour of fussing over it to get it to curl right, there is still something so ugly about my face. Perhaps it is just the person underneath. Sometimes I'm convinced this is the case. I don't know how to change it.
My ex bf has said, "every human act is a selfish act." -- I believe him. But I think this is even moreso true for myself and my actions. But- what can I do? I try to help people and deep down I'm doing it so I can feel good. I wish I could just do something completely unselfish... without any ulterior motivation of- finding acceptance and love and-- whatnot. I just want to act without prior complex rationalizing over the result... why does everything have to be such a game? It isn't. This isn't fucking Monopoly. This is life. Not the life with little plastic cars with 6 tiny holes to fit in pink and blue pegs. And you don't give birth to twins if you roll the right number-- although-- a lot of life has to do with luck and chance and...
where am I going with this? I don't know. It's 2:25am now and I'm anything but tired. A little disoriented, I guess. Sad... after watching the movie. Still wanting to see what happens. I don't know if I can handle the rest now. And watching... those people with AIDS... I think about how I have grown up knowing about the syndrome-- being told over and over again about it- but never letting the knowledge truely sink in. It is our culture to teach our children to stay away, but not to let them know the truth. Finally, at the age of 20, I am learning the truth about... people.
About how the people who I have respected-- who I have looked up to as ethical and sane-- are actually quite... well-- anything but. My mother, my father- two sad, sad people. For various reasons. And I can't help them. There is nothing I can do. I did make things worse for them when I was born, but they were already heading down the wrong path. There is nothing I can do. I am useless, even in my own family.
Oh well. This is where my mind is at... where it's always at. Always thinking about me, me, me, me, me. Seeing the faces of those who have, in my past, stared at me like I'm crazy- because I am. Not in the way the people in A.I.A. were/are... I mean, I don't hallucinate. I just-- I read too much into things. I'm not on drugs or... I mean, I barely drink... don't do anything else. Not that that makes me better than the next person. Nah. I often wonder if drugs are the answer. I mean, there isn't a real answer, but maybe if I could just get myself out of my brain enough to-- stop thinking about me for a moment, then- maybe that's what I need to do. Even if I could see talking animals and dancing furniture-- it might be nice... going crazy might actually send me in the direction of sanity. I don't know.
Anyway... that's enough of this bullshit for now. Why is it that I'm always writing depressing, self-absorbed shit- all the fucking time?
One day, I'll be productive.
Until then, it's more of this... useless babble. Joy.
I hope you can find peace with your body, and I am sorry about things not going so well personally. I will send good thoughts your way.