"She might have been glad to confide all these things to someone. But how speak about so elusive a malaise, one that keeps changing its shape like clouds and its direction like the winds? She could find no words; and hence neither occasion nor courage came to hand."
Friday, September 28, 2007
Thursday, September 27, 2007
about
This isn't a blog but an eloquence of excuses.
I need output. Creation. Dialogue.
[I lack risk.]
Unintentionally, it lacks truth as well, though I have been able to gain some from reading it. I'll usually read (and edit) an entry the day after I write it, hoping that during that time I have gained some level of separation from the previous day's emotions. Through this less biased eye, I have realized numerous self-delusions and a snide, bitter tone looming over too many of the entries. There are more laments here than revelations. Do I think like this? Probably, but I just can't see it in the moment. Can this be unlearned, corrected? I seem to want to unlearn just as much as I want to learn but I'm not doing anything to reverse my bad habits: it's so much easier for me to start something new than fix something broken.
I need output. Creation. Dialogue.
[I lack risk.]
Unintentionally, it lacks truth as well, though I have been able to gain some from reading it. I'll usually read (and edit) an entry the day after I write it, hoping that during that time I have gained some level of separation from the previous day's emotions. Through this less biased eye, I have realized numerous self-delusions and a snide, bitter tone looming over too many of the entries. There are more laments here than revelations. Do I think like this? Probably, but I just can't see it in the moment. Can this be unlearned, corrected? I seem to want to unlearn just as much as I want to learn but I'm not doing anything to reverse my bad habits: it's so much easier for me to start something new than fix something broken.
detachment
A visit with family is a silent huddle around the television. I can't watch TV anymore. I don't understand how I used to waste so much time staring at bad drama. It's always the same thing every week - the set-up, the triangles, intense music, obvious jokes, and all packaged neatly with a summating narration. Am I losing my attention span or just becoming increasingly pretentious? I am losing the ability to interact not only with my television but with my peers, my family, everyone. (Okay that's not exactly new, but it's getting worse.) I have shut down. I am cold. How do I maintain social humility with my increasingly high personal expectations? I can't find commonality. I have nothing to add to the everyday. I stick out in silence as much as I would in speech.
Who could put up with me?
My interests are becoming increasingly specialized and I'm worried about the direction they're taking me. If I continue to pursue film in my current velocity of recreational torpor, never gaining the momentum I delude my ambition with, then where will that leave me say, fifteen years from now?
My fear took visual form a couple of months ago during the intermission of an Out1:Spectre screening. I was already panicked that day for other reasons and although the film provided some level of escapism, its conspiracy-driven tone probably didn't help my mood. As I sat there in my seat, waiting for the second half of the film to start, I noticed a group of men in their forties near the front of the theater, standing up to stretch their legs and talking to one another. They were spaced randomly enough among the rows to imply that they each showed up alone, but nevertheless seemed to know one another. The theater was still nearly empty and I could over-hear their conversation. One stated that he had seen the film three times. Another, in an obvious attempt to trump the first, stated that he had seen it a few times before as well and one of those occasions was in Paris. The others made similar statements, all in the same increasingly snide tones. The conversation continued in this boasting fashion until I suddenly got the image of Seymour's record party in the film Ghost World; they even looked as if they were straight out of the film. Was this my future - ostentatiously vaunting, putting more weight on the number of times I've seen a film than on the film itself? I can only imagine the eye-rolls I'd get for being a first-timer. I felt sick. I curled up into a ball, my head resting on my knees, my arms wrapped around my shins, and gently rocked in my chair, trying to tune them out until the film started up again.
All this absorption without outlet will wilt me decadent and shallow.
Who could put up with me?
My interests are becoming increasingly specialized and I'm worried about the direction they're taking me. If I continue to pursue film in my current velocity of recreational torpor, never gaining the momentum I delude my ambition with, then where will that leave me say, fifteen years from now?
My fear took visual form a couple of months ago during the intermission of an Out1:Spectre screening. I was already panicked that day for other reasons and although the film provided some level of escapism, its conspiracy-driven tone probably didn't help my mood. As I sat there in my seat, waiting for the second half of the film to start, I noticed a group of men in their forties near the front of the theater, standing up to stretch their legs and talking to one another. They were spaced randomly enough among the rows to imply that they each showed up alone, but nevertheless seemed to know one another. The theater was still nearly empty and I could over-hear their conversation. One stated that he had seen the film three times. Another, in an obvious attempt to trump the first, stated that he had seen it a few times before as well and one of those occasions was in Paris. The others made similar statements, all in the same increasingly snide tones. The conversation continued in this boasting fashion until I suddenly got the image of Seymour's record party in the film Ghost World; they even looked as if they were straight out of the film. Was this my future - ostentatiously vaunting, putting more weight on the number of times I've seen a film than on the film itself? I can only imagine the eye-rolls I'd get for being a first-timer. I felt sick. I curled up into a ball, my head resting on my knees, my arms wrapped around my shins, and gently rocked in my chair, trying to tune them out until the film started up again.
All this absorption without outlet will wilt me decadent and shallow.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
s s s s s s s
At night I cuddle with my false hopes. My skin a winter window's pane. Untouchable. Chilled. Frozen by internal agitation, eternal agitation. When is he coming? No. I am not looking for that. Relapse, relapse. I will not personify my ambitions. I will not personify my ambitions.
I must be he.
I must be he.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
strike one
I'm stuck.
For two weeks I have sequestered myself in the 'burbs to read, write, and watch films; however, I wasted the entire last week predominantly sulking for reasons of which are superfluous yet typical. Regardless, my time here is ending and I must return to my previous existence. Today marked the first in a sequence of three days of planned social interaction. It did not go well. I consistently find myself frustrated in a no-man's-land between two extremes: one that I cannot return to and another of which I cannot reach. Today was a mingling with the former and tomorrow will be one of the latter. Day three will be a frolic with an alternate yet no longer desirable version of myself (though the implication of anticipated mirth is not for the activities themselves so much as for my curiosity in how I will manage to interact with my doppelganger).
I'm being vague.
What went so wrong today? The situation and reasons are similar to a previous blog entry. I find myself bored in everyday conversation and frustrated by the so-called inappropriateness of my own interests. For too many, entertainment seems to exclude real discussion and debate and any attempt I make to contradict this is viewed as pedant. Tonight I didn't even bother trying. Repeatedly the conversation triggered ideas I have only recently acquired from the book I'm currently reading, but each time propriety withheld me from speaking. I am so unwilling to offend people and no matter how desperately I want to unlearn this, I continually shy away from every opportunity, especially when it comes to existing friends.
Actually I do have a planned attempt to challenge this inability. As soon as I finish Humanity, my friend and I are going to read Madame Bovary together and discuss it. Normally this isn't something I would agree to, but I have ulterior motives. The idea was actually hers and it came up when she was saying that she believed it was impossible for any man to write from the perspective of a woman. Although I disagreed, I left her unchallenged as usual because I have trouble sugar-coating my opinions to her in a way that she won't take personal offense to. (Actually my rebuttal thought was that her thinking that a man couldn't write through a woman's perspective was merely a reflection of her own incapacity to understand men, which would not have gone over well.) My silence to her defensiveness inhibits our friendship and I think contradicting each other indirectly via discussing a book could help break such barriers. It'll be a good challenge for me to start with.
For two weeks I have sequestered myself in the 'burbs to read, write, and watch films; however, I wasted the entire last week predominantly sulking for reasons of which are superfluous yet typical. Regardless, my time here is ending and I must return to my previous existence. Today marked the first in a sequence of three days of planned social interaction. It did not go well. I consistently find myself frustrated in a no-man's-land between two extremes: one that I cannot return to and another of which I cannot reach. Today was a mingling with the former and tomorrow will be one of the latter. Day three will be a frolic with an alternate yet no longer desirable version of myself (though the implication of anticipated mirth is not for the activities themselves so much as for my curiosity in how I will manage to interact with my doppelganger).
I'm being vague.
What went so wrong today? The situation and reasons are similar to a previous blog entry. I find myself bored in everyday conversation and frustrated by the so-called inappropriateness of my own interests. For too many, entertainment seems to exclude real discussion and debate and any attempt I make to contradict this is viewed as pedant. Tonight I didn't even bother trying. Repeatedly the conversation triggered ideas I have only recently acquired from the book I'm currently reading, but each time propriety withheld me from speaking. I am so unwilling to offend people and no matter how desperately I want to unlearn this, I continually shy away from every opportunity, especially when it comes to existing friends.
Actually I do have a planned attempt to challenge this inability. As soon as I finish Humanity, my friend and I are going to read Madame Bovary together and discuss it. Normally this isn't something I would agree to, but I have ulterior motives. The idea was actually hers and it came up when she was saying that she believed it was impossible for any man to write from the perspective of a woman. Although I disagreed, I left her unchallenged as usual because I have trouble sugar-coating my opinions to her in a way that she won't take personal offense to. (Actually my rebuttal thought was that her thinking that a man couldn't write through a woman's perspective was merely a reflection of her own incapacity to understand men, which would not have gone over well.) My silence to her defensiveness inhibits our friendship and I think contradicting each other indirectly via discussing a book could help break such barriers. It'll be a good challenge for me to start with.
familjen
I have too much text... need to break it up with something.
I can't get this out of my head (as the song title warned).
Argh, cursed be those catchy Swedish pop tunes!
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
The Up Series
"Give me a child until he is seven and I will give you the man."
This British documentary series chronicles the lives of fourteen individuals beginning at age seven and revisiting them every seven years. Seven Up! begins the series in 1964, interviewing fourteen children chosen from an array of social class backgrounds. The children are asked questions about their daily activities, their thoughts on relationships, and their dreams for their futures. The tone is playful and their answers are both amusing and insightful. Similar lines of questioning, though with increasingly higher levels of maturity and reflection, are brought up to them again every seven years. The earlier films try to draw some conclusions about how their aspirations and development are affected by their social class, but as the series unravels the uniqueness of each of the participants becomes more apparent, and where they come from becomes less important to the series than who they are as individuals.
The films are definitely not meant to be watched consecutively as much of each film consists of footage from those prior, but spacing them out appropriately can make for a fruitful, unique experience. They are hardly socio-economic studies of the English class system, which the series may have originally intended and the participants themselves have repeatedly protested during interviews as being seen as; the number of participants is far too small to represent any sort of all-encompassing spectrum. But nor are they in-depth studies of the individual participants since approximately ten minutes of Q&A every seven years can hardly be expected to sum up a person’s life.
So what is the benefit? Beyond the obvious sociological conclusions it demonstrates (such as no man is wholly a product of his environment, people can rise or fall quite easily, who we are by nature can be just as prominent at forty-nine as it was at seven, etc., etc.), I think a lot of the benefit resides in the assumptions and reflections of the audience. The viewer is really only given a sort of first impressions look at the participants over the course of their lives and is forced to fill in the gaps with their own knowledge (if not stereotypes). I found it interesting to see how my predictions after seeing them at fourteen contrasted with who they became at twenty-one. And probably like most viewers I became drawn to the personalities that most represented my own, which would change to different individuals during different years. I watched the entire series within this past year but it's interesting think how my reactions would differ if I had waited and watched each film at that prospective age.
With these films especially, it's really what the person wants to take out of it that makes it. For just as the participants are forced, usually grudgingly, to assess their lives every seven years, so are we as viewers.
This British documentary series chronicles the lives of fourteen individuals beginning at age seven and revisiting them every seven years. Seven Up! begins the series in 1964, interviewing fourteen children chosen from an array of social class backgrounds. The children are asked questions about their daily activities, their thoughts on relationships, and their dreams for their futures. The tone is playful and their answers are both amusing and insightful. Similar lines of questioning, though with increasingly higher levels of maturity and reflection, are brought up to them again every seven years. The earlier films try to draw some conclusions about how their aspirations and development are affected by their social class, but as the series unravels the uniqueness of each of the participants becomes more apparent, and where they come from becomes less important to the series than who they are as individuals.
The films are definitely not meant to be watched consecutively as much of each film consists of footage from those prior, but spacing them out appropriately can make for a fruitful, unique experience. They are hardly socio-economic studies of the English class system, which the series may have originally intended and the participants themselves have repeatedly protested during interviews as being seen as; the number of participants is far too small to represent any sort of all-encompassing spectrum. But nor are they in-depth studies of the individual participants since approximately ten minutes of Q&A every seven years can hardly be expected to sum up a person’s life.
So what is the benefit? Beyond the obvious sociological conclusions it demonstrates (such as no man is wholly a product of his environment, people can rise or fall quite easily, who we are by nature can be just as prominent at forty-nine as it was at seven, etc., etc.), I think a lot of the benefit resides in the assumptions and reflections of the audience. The viewer is really only given a sort of first impressions look at the participants over the course of their lives and is forced to fill in the gaps with their own knowledge (if not stereotypes). I found it interesting to see how my predictions after seeing them at fourteen contrasted with who they became at twenty-one. And probably like most viewers I became drawn to the personalities that most represented my own, which would change to different individuals during different years. I watched the entire series within this past year but it's interesting think how my reactions would differ if I had waited and watched each film at that prospective age.
With these films especially, it's really what the person wants to take out of it that makes it. For just as the participants are forced, usually grudgingly, to assess their lives every seven years, so are we as viewers.
nnnnnnnmmnmnnnnn
The more I learn, the more my expectations grow. Yet my skill level remains stagnant.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
dullllllllllll lllllllll lll lllllll llllllllll lll
I am thinking myself in circles and not getting anywhere, nor really saying anything. Continual absorption (mere surface level) but no creation. The bored becomes boring! Insipid. I hadn't noticed. I had. I cannot gasp nor make a sound. A frost covers my trachea. This is not new. This is typical.
No progress, only relapse. I will not survive the night.
an enginerd's remorse
I don't know how much longer I can keep up the charade of my current profession. I majored in engineering because studies in concrete, rational subjects always came easiest to me and I didn't see the point of going to college for a degree that would not earn me the financial independence I so desperately believed would to be the cure-all. My real passion at the time though was writing. At twelve I began carrying a miniature notebook and pen in my back pocket at all times, a habit of which I kept up until the age of twenty-one. I compulsively wrote every little thought I had. The majority of the time when I excused myself from public situations to go to the bathroom, I was actually rushing to write a new line or thought down, not to pee. I have a box in my closet filled with these notebooks though their content is hardly worth reviewing beyond sporadic fits of nostalgia. At the right university I could have vastly improved my rhetoric and maybe even made a profession of it but a slew of bad English teachers in high school arrogantly made me feel that it was a faculty that would be best developed on my own. And of course, given my laziness, it became a malnourished skill.
And so I went into engineering, but about three-quarters of the way through the degree my interest in the subject had wained to naught. I came very close to dropping out, but in a haze (unfortunately quite literally) I managed to stick it out. I couldn't even bring myself to start looking for a job until after graduation and even then the task was agonizing. Regardless of how close my education matched each position's qualifications, they all appeared so distant from my true aspirations, each one being more a sentence than a career. After months of applying, by shear dumb luck I got not only an interview but a job. Of all the arduous steps in the process, I remember most gruelingly sitting on the living room couch with the acceptance letter in my hand, debating to myself for over an hour as to whether I should accept the position or not. In the end, I figured it was best to have income, regardless of how it was earned, because I could always quit when I was ready.
Surprise, surprise another four years has gone by and I'm still an engineer, not anywhere closer to getting out. Earlier this year, I was seriously considering going into teaching. I worked the idea around every which way and really believed that it was the best solution. After months of deliberation I managed to fess up my plan to a friend, the one friend I go to whenever I want complete honesty, and he proceeded to laugh for a good long minute or so before saying, "X, I never thought you'd give up that completely." I tried to debate the issue with him further but he was barely listening, still trying to catch his breath from his prior spout of laughter. Needless to say I was infuriated and injured. It wasn't until the next day that I understood what he meant.
Having sufficiently debunked that prospect, I decided upon finding a career more inline with my interests. I've thought about going back to school for a degree in film preservation or restoration (at least then a technical bachelor's degree might become useful) but there are hiccups in these aspirations as well. Looking into a couple universities' programs, I don't have anywhere near the necessary prerequisites, not to mention that their tuitions would wipe out my entire savings. It would take a year or two of taking classes on top of work and volunteering before I even felt apt for applying. Frankly, it requires a long-term commitment for something that I only feel passive interest for right now.
So I am still directionless in terms of finding a dignified way to sustain myself. I only hope that as I pursue my interests outside of work, finding a means to support them will come more naturally. (Hah!)
And so I went into engineering, but about three-quarters of the way through the degree my interest in the subject had wained to naught. I came very close to dropping out, but in a haze (unfortunately quite literally) I managed to stick it out. I couldn't even bring myself to start looking for a job until after graduation and even then the task was agonizing. Regardless of how close my education matched each position's qualifications, they all appeared so distant from my true aspirations, each one being more a sentence than a career. After months of applying, by shear dumb luck I got not only an interview but a job. Of all the arduous steps in the process, I remember most gruelingly sitting on the living room couch with the acceptance letter in my hand, debating to myself for over an hour as to whether I should accept the position or not. In the end, I figured it was best to have income, regardless of how it was earned, because I could always quit when I was ready.
Surprise, surprise another four years has gone by and I'm still an engineer, not anywhere closer to getting out. Earlier this year, I was seriously considering going into teaching. I worked the idea around every which way and really believed that it was the best solution. After months of deliberation I managed to fess up my plan to a friend, the one friend I go to whenever I want complete honesty, and he proceeded to laugh for a good long minute or so before saying, "X, I never thought you'd give up that completely." I tried to debate the issue with him further but he was barely listening, still trying to catch his breath from his prior spout of laughter. Needless to say I was infuriated and injured. It wasn't until the next day that I understood what he meant.
Having sufficiently debunked that prospect, I decided upon finding a career more inline with my interests. I've thought about going back to school for a degree in film preservation or restoration (at least then a technical bachelor's degree might become useful) but there are hiccups in these aspirations as well. Looking into a couple universities' programs, I don't have anywhere near the necessary prerequisites, not to mention that their tuitions would wipe out my entire savings. It would take a year or two of taking classes on top of work and volunteering before I even felt apt for applying. Frankly, it requires a long-term commitment for something that I only feel passive interest for right now.
So I am still directionless in terms of finding a dignified way to sustain myself. I only hope that as I pursue my interests outside of work, finding a means to support them will come more naturally. (Hah!)
Monday, September 17, 2007
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
a dialogue
Not feeling particularly hungry, the girl glances about the restaurant, inspecting the people at the other tables. Her eyes stop at a table of four middle-aged women. Though she cannot make out anything that they are saying, she presumes them to be four old friends, now wives, mothers and home-makers, meeting up for a sort of girls’ night out. Although each one is different in features, they all appear as if dressed from the same closet and done-up much more so than the casual restaurant necessitates. They seem to be taking equal turns telling stories, each one wearing the same enthusiastic expression that oddly strikes the girl as fraught and lonely. They giggle in unison whenever called for by the conversation.
She looks across her own table and asks, “Do you think I’m mean?” “No,” the boy says quickly, “not at all.” She looks back at the other table and focuses on one of the women who is eagerly listening to the other with an open mouth smile and slightly nodding her head periodically in anticipatory agreement. “But I’m hateful,” the girl says, still looking at the woman and barely realizing that she has spoken. The boy continues chewing and though still not looking at the girl, his face changes into a thought-filled, distracted expression. After swallowing he says passively, “You just don’t say what you’re thinking. That's all.” He plunges his fork in for another bite. She looks away for a moment, then drops her eyes down to the plate on the table, expressionless.
She looks across her own table and asks, “Do you think I’m mean?” “No,” the boy says quickly, “not at all.” She looks back at the other table and focuses on one of the women who is eagerly listening to the other with an open mouth smile and slightly nodding her head periodically in anticipatory agreement. “But I’m hateful,” the girl says, still looking at the woman and barely realizing that she has spoken. The boy continues chewing and though still not looking at the girl, his face changes into a thought-filled, distracted expression. After swallowing he says passively, “You just don’t say what you’re thinking. That's all.” He plunges his fork in for another bite. She looks away for a moment, then drops her eyes down to the plate on the table, expressionless.
Sunday, September 9, 2007
defense
Most people are defensive but I don't mean defensive in the same way that I am. Most people are porcupines with their needles raised to any new idea that they take to undermine who they think they are. They never outright attack but instead constantly shield themselves in their bigotry from any chance of change, true intimacy, or criticism. I am more like a roly-poly, capable of concealing myself from any possible attack, but forced to expose myself if I want to make any progress. When under assault, I coil up into a ball and though my shell protects who I am I still feel the brunt of the blows, getting pushed and rolled around helplessly. When I finally feel safe enough to uncurl, I find myself lost in new terrain and forced to try and make my way back to where I was before. So much progress lost, needed to be retraced, but with all my legs - all my assets - I still trudge along so laggardly. Not that that's of much matter; I spend most of my life closed-up in curl anyway.
Saturday, September 8, 2007
lack of focus
I lack focus: I sit down to write about one subject, but begin writing about another. Then by the time I have finished, I not only did not discuss the intended subject but never even scratched more than the surface of the one I began with.
expanded tastes
What's been the most shocking for me about my interest in film is the ways it has expanded my interest into other important issues. I grew up on Hollywood melodramas and I sadly wonder if I would have been content with them if not for the by chance encounters I had with a few foreign films during my late teens, namely Tarkovsky's Stalker and von Trier's Dancer in the Dark. I ended up going to college in a town with only one movie theater and where the best I could do to feed my curiosity was a sparse shelf or two's worth of foreign films at a couple of video stores. Mind you this is all pre-Netflix and I had trouble justifying not only purchasing videos I had never seen and had little knowledge of but of renting them as well since I was on a rather limited budget. And so it remained a passing interest until recently. But I digress!
A couple months ago I watched my first to Kiarostami films and although I struggled a bit with the first (mostly due to wrongful preconceived expectations which created more distance and confusion than any sort of dislike per say), halfway through the second film I was hooked. But as I began researching Kiarostami as a director, my studies began to diverge more into an interest in modern Iranian history and culture than on cinema directly. This was in part sparked by recent viewings of a few documentaries on the Iraq War, which emphasized my complete ignorance on the Middle East. This correlation between cinema and understanding history, politics, and cultures is nothing new though. I had already struggled with this during my periods of studying early Russian, modern Chinese, and post-war Japanese cinema, among others. But this time, something in me had changed.
Before my interest was predominantly cinematic but now feels more sincere. I genuinely want to understand global issues in the hopes of becoming more actively involved/invested in them. I've used passivity as a defense mechanism for survival and always saw it as a bad habit in need of being unlearned. I think one of my friends said it best when asked if he saw me as a rebel (off one of those cheesy how-well-do-you-know-me forwards), he said he saw me as an admirer of rebels, planning her escape. I question the likelihood of that escape, but I am approaching it now with a velocity never before expected.
And so how is this all materializing? I'll expand on this tomorrow.
A couple months ago I watched my first to Kiarostami films and although I struggled a bit with the first (mostly due to wrongful preconceived expectations which created more distance and confusion than any sort of dislike per say), halfway through the second film I was hooked. But as I began researching Kiarostami as a director, my studies began to diverge more into an interest in modern Iranian history and culture than on cinema directly. This was in part sparked by recent viewings of a few documentaries on the Iraq War, which emphasized my complete ignorance on the Middle East. This correlation between cinema and understanding history, politics, and cultures is nothing new though. I had already struggled with this during my periods of studying early Russian, modern Chinese, and post-war Japanese cinema, among others. But this time, something in me had changed.
Before my interest was predominantly cinematic but now feels more sincere. I genuinely want to understand global issues in the hopes of becoming more actively involved/invested in them. I've used passivity as a defense mechanism for survival and always saw it as a bad habit in need of being unlearned. I think one of my friends said it best when asked if he saw me as a rebel (off one of those cheesy how-well-do-you-know-me forwards), he said he saw me as an admirer of rebels, planning her escape. I question the likelihood of that escape, but I am approaching it now with a velocity never before expected.
And so how is this all materializing? I'll expand on this tomorrow.
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
break away commence
Yes, it is shameful to follow, but without talent what option does life offer? I can't support myself in a life of study but nor can I accept being supported by those around me. So I continue to follow (I won't hide this) but I am planning my escape. Through my studies I have been building the strength and courage to make my break and live my life. Will I make it out the gate? As a pessimist who knows the limitations of her own mental instabilities, I doubt it. Only I no longer let this sentiment stop me.
Who wouldn't want epiphanies? Who wouldn't want to question his/her core beliefs and be reborn a new? I am so naive to think that such cravings would be common. I rush out into the world anew, desperate to share, but only find deaf ears. I was so excited to meet my friend for dinner one night. I had had a number of revelations since the last time we hung out and I couldn't wait to tell her, dumbly thinking that she would be just as enthralled in these discoveries as I. Of course this was not the case. Now granted I can be a bit inarticulate in person, but from my opening sentence I could see that she was not listening so much as waiting for her turn to speak. The excitement I walked in with dwindled and my voice once again grew meek. She was not listening. There I was trying to tell her about the plans I was beginning to implement to change my life and the only responses I could get were demeaning verbal pats-on-the-back before she'd go back to relaying her not-so-funny anecdotes.
Why do people focus conversation on fun stories? "So the other day..." Why don't people want to talk about issues and art and change? What's wrong with debate? I fight so desperately to control my natural tendency towards apathy (and silence), to become a person of substance, a person who cares, but it's difficult for me to keep up the fight with the necessary vigor when everyone around me lives in such a state of ease, passionless.
Note - I sit here not to preach, as I deem my own sins worse than others: it is worse to knowingly sin than to do so unknowing. But rather I press my fingers to these keys because it is work, because it is struggle and frustration. I suffer to find the right words, to sort through my mind, to give these abstractions clarity. I am building strength.
If not, then this is mere vanity.
Who wouldn't want epiphanies? Who wouldn't want to question his/her core beliefs and be reborn a new? I am so naive to think that such cravings would be common. I rush out into the world anew, desperate to share, but only find deaf ears. I was so excited to meet my friend for dinner one night. I had had a number of revelations since the last time we hung out and I couldn't wait to tell her, dumbly thinking that she would be just as enthralled in these discoveries as I. Of course this was not the case. Now granted I can be a bit inarticulate in person, but from my opening sentence I could see that she was not listening so much as waiting for her turn to speak. The excitement I walked in with dwindled and my voice once again grew meek. She was not listening. There I was trying to tell her about the plans I was beginning to implement to change my life and the only responses I could get were demeaning verbal pats-on-the-back before she'd go back to relaying her not-so-funny anecdotes.
Why do people focus conversation on fun stories? "So the other day..." Why don't people want to talk about issues and art and change? What's wrong with debate? I fight so desperately to control my natural tendency towards apathy (and silence), to become a person of substance, a person who cares, but it's difficult for me to keep up the fight with the necessary vigor when everyone around me lives in such a state of ease, passionless.
Note - I sit here not to preach, as I deem my own sins worse than others: it is worse to knowingly sin than to do so unknowing. But rather I press my fingers to these keys because it is work, because it is struggle and frustration. I suffer to find the right words, to sort through my mind, to give these abstractions clarity. I am building strength.
If not, then this is mere vanity.
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