I am death. It has seeped into the cracks of my body, and now I am trapped in the notion of the end. I am death, stuck in what feels like a state of death, useless, not real. I have been dwindled down and stepped on, jumped on like a cartoon to a flat slab of skin on the road. I find it hard- things, everything. I have been home a month without much stimulation, save for many anime episodes and movies while high. I desire more than I can hold onto, it seems, and I toe a line of existence in wanting and having. Childhood homes have that strange effect on you. Too much time spent at home, and you become a shadow. It’s easy to fall back into habits; it's what I find myself doing, staying up late, waking up late, a cycle on repeat. And I am faced with the throes of what it means to be set up to be an adult. I am afraid of disappointment. Disappointing myself. I am not afraid to admit I live in a sense of the world that is delusional; to strip me of that is to strip me of my joys, but I have this thought that one day I will have to settle for what is in front of me. Can I live the lifelong battle of struggling for a dream?
I would be disappointed if I said no. College is gone, I graduated with an interesting and questionable double major while not wanting to do any of the obvious things that come with majoring in those things, and while I find it quirky of me, to an extent, what if I’ve just snowballed myself into useless decisions. Murakami wrote that there are two types of mediocre people in the world: mediocre dreamers and mediocre realists, you can guess what I think I am. This is a bit of a cynical comparison, but the main character of the book is called mediocre (quite a few many times), and it's not so much of a bad thing.
I have reduced my sense of living to one goal: moving out in the fall, and until then I find that I have been trapped in the confines of this house, which in turn becomes the confines of my mind reacting to this house. I feel that my future is not a weight in the palm of my hands but rather a rope I’m running to catch, tied to an airplane leaving me behind. And no doubt this is because I’ve lost my overarching full sense of independence; I am walking on eggshells, and it is killing me.
I feel that I have things to prove, and I need to break out, be lucky. I don’t want to give up on dreams. I wonder to myself often if the life I crave is the life the social hierarchy won’t let me have. It’s all so weird, life, and in a way I am disillusioned with it. I know I will die, because that is true; what is the point in living a life you don’t want to live? I have to strive for more because otherwise I am nothing but a husk trapped into her own fears and regrets.
I am young, I’m 21, and yet I feel like my chances to gain experience are behind me. What do I do now?
I look for a job for the summer, then for the fall, then I try to go back to school for my master's in something I enjoy in hopes of a well-suited, enjoyable, higher-paying job. That too, I am disillusioned by education, but yet I yearn for it. The security, yes, in part that I can push off working in a career until later, but also that it proves that I can do things, that I can write, and that I have a mind of critical value and that my thoughts aren’t just strings of words that happen to make meaning that had been regurgitated over a hundred times. I want to be cool, want to be important.
And I feel restless, to do nothing and to do it all.
Life is strange, and I am buying into this capitalist idea of what it means to survive; fuck that. To be big and small and small and big, I am constantly running towards the past. Is that not what I’m doing, desiring to move out, to replicate my freedom of the year before me? I am praying for luck and serendipity. Most of all, the will to do it.
I don’t want to be death, i don’t want to die; I want to live so much I could cry thinking about a future where I’m not. This alone time really does it to a person. The days are long, but they could be longer; I rest greedily and yet not enough. I am not another statistic of a low-income girl who went to college and amounted to not much. I don’t know what exactly I want, and it would be nice not to live in a vague reality of hoping one day it’ll find me. Whatever, the summer heat has me thinking thoughts, this is my path to adjustment since I haven’t written any thoughts in a really long time. Here are my summer goals
