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I had received some concerned sounding comments on the last post. Don't worry! I had been feeling a little down, but that itself was apropos of nothing going on in my life. Rather, I had been ruminating a little before I was ready to head to bed about the effects of aging and wisdom. I've felt that as I've gotten older, it's certainly not age that has given me my maturity. I feel much like I did when I was 16, except more stuff has happened to me. Maybe, as I continue to grow older, my associations with youth will dim in my memory, and all I will recall sharply is the present - a me, if you will, that is better defined by the things that I've actually managed to learn then the loves and wrenches of childhood. However, nothing we know now can be told to the us of yesterday, and neither can we easily help others.
As we joke around the gaming table, 'We're all dying, all the time!'
Otherwise, I've spent a little time beating myself up about school. I've obviously been dragging my feet getting things done, and part of me had sat down trying to see if I could explain how a laid back lifestyle of running rpg games and not worrying about paying rent and groceries in the same month, while having enough money to go out every now and again might seem tempting against the possibility of stressful academics in an iffy financial situation.
Oh, there it is. I think I just did.
Obviously, I plan on going back since it's, I don't know, what I actually want to do with my life and I'm almost 27 now, living in what appears to be a box in a field working mediocre tech support on contract. When I looked that up, it was almost the definition of 'temporary' along with high school relationships and Tamogachis. Except right now, when it comes right down to it, the most important things in my life are literally what I'm running on Tuesdays and building a fucking pagoda out of a wall in Minecraft, which might be the stupidest way to spend my time, ever. I guess I just don't fucking care, because it just means I've got time to read, and play some games, and I'm not worried all the time, and my nerves literally come from the fact that I feel like I should always, always be running.
Lately, I'm reading Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale, which started off as kind of a downer, but I'd heard it highly recommended. The Jenna, I believe, said something similar at the checkout desk. In any case, I've been doing other stuff obviously, but I'm only about halfway through. Reading it before bed, something slightly good happened to the protagonist which caused my stomach to clench, almost in preparation of the inevitable kick I know will be delivered. It was that visceral. Obviously excellent writing.
I had someone else propose that I read Journey to the End of the Night by Celine. It was presented in a tone that brook no argument by someone I met in strange circumstances, which I will discuss here when the time is appropriate. Just know that it is a mildly amusing story with a potentially interesting consequence.
As we joke around the gaming table, 'We're all dying, all the time!'
Otherwise, I've spent a little time beating myself up about school. I've obviously been dragging my feet getting things done, and part of me had sat down trying to see if I could explain how a laid back lifestyle of running rpg games and not worrying about paying rent and groceries in the same month, while having enough money to go out every now and again might seem tempting against the possibility of stressful academics in an iffy financial situation.
Oh, there it is. I think I just did.
Obviously, I plan on going back since it's, I don't know, what I actually want to do with my life and I'm almost 27 now, living in what appears to be a box in a field working mediocre tech support on contract. When I looked that up, it was almost the definition of 'temporary' along with high school relationships and Tamogachis. Except right now, when it comes right down to it, the most important things in my life are literally what I'm running on Tuesdays and building a fucking pagoda out of a wall in Minecraft, which might be the stupidest way to spend my time, ever. I guess I just don't fucking care, because it just means I've got time to read, and play some games, and I'm not worried all the time, and my nerves literally come from the fact that I feel like I should always, always be running.
Lately, I'm reading Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale, which started off as kind of a downer, but I'd heard it highly recommended. The Jenna, I believe, said something similar at the checkout desk. In any case, I've been doing other stuff obviously, but I'm only about halfway through. Reading it before bed, something slightly good happened to the protagonist which caused my stomach to clench, almost in preparation of the inevitable kick I know will be delivered. It was that visceral. Obviously excellent writing.
I had someone else propose that I read Journey to the End of the Night by Celine. It was presented in a tone that brook no argument by someone I met in strange circumstances, which I will discuss here when the time is appropriate. Just know that it is a mildly amusing story with a potentially interesting consequence.
