I kept my thoughts to myself. I received a note from my professor that said, “well, now you’re a senior…,” but she doesn’t know I have to trudge through the muck of summer school. In my opinion, classification of academic ranking takes initiative at the beginning of the fall quarter. In the fall, I will be a senior. This means that all summer long, I will be a junior. But she doesn’t need to know that. She just finished her dissertation and received her doctorate, and is currently in the process of moving to Turkey to teach English; she has other things on her mind. In any event, the process of rectifying life carries characteristics of speed, in that life seems to be flying by, and drag, in that here I am, still prodding along that venerable and valiant junior.
I found out I do not fully possess pseudo-psycho-intellectual ability. I have a tendency to take what I read at face value. People who dig and dig and dig for hyper-deep meaning in poetry phrases, they are nuts. Squeezing meaning out of a few lines of poetry is actually quite mind-absorbing, but I find I am much more interested in character interconnectivity and plot development. I think I’m seeing the types who converse in depth on the meaning of single lines of poetry are the types who can afford their own vineyards and keep vast amounts of expensive wine and cheese for their surprise dinner guests. Of course this is a gruesome stereotype that probably does not mimic truth, but I don’t know, some of the cafes I see…I just…I guess I’ve been immersed in a depraved state of poverty for too long. Does cheese even keep?
I am overwhelmed by the extent of things I have to do this summer. It all begins with money, or the problem of the lack of it. The point in time when I realize these things is strange, because the amount I have to do is so staggering, that the only thing I can do at the moment when I realize, is plop down on my floor mat and stare at the ceiling. I mean, there’s so much to do, where do I begin?
Then there is next year. The last year. I had a few friends graduate, and what a feeling that must be. I will have to lose weight and get plastic surgery to graduate, I look deplorable. What is most interesting, however, is awaiting either: an acceptance to grad school, or, will I have to get a job. The suspense is killing me and I think a xanax refill is on the horizon. My therapist continually restates the zen mantra: live in the moment, breath. This “serenity now” mindset never seems to work for me for some reason. To add in the thought of marriage on top of all this is impacting. I think I could turn wobbly like jello, fall and jiggly-vibrate on the floor when I realize how unorganized, how much the lack of stability runs amuck in my life.
I think I fell apart at the seams for a minute there, and I encountered a fascinating thing when I did. The difference between strength and weakness is powerful. Being weak means losing, feeling terrible, being laughed at even, yelled at, and more. Being weak means being incapable of dealing with life as it comes. In addition, being self-deprecatory in a world that is already out to destroy a person compounds the debilitating effect of a weak mind.
Strength on the other hand. Being strong means adapting, overcoming fear, facing facts and not being lazy. Strength requires courage and innovation. Strength is self-confidence and staggering persona without taking on the characteristics of arrogance. Strength is wisdom and wisdom is beauty. Strength is reliability and passion, the ability to rise to the occasion and accept the challenges. Is their a gray area between strength and weakness?
I was lucky to have a little break by which I will have to address many factors and prepare for more, because I have a theme in my life that I simply cannot escape: I went through a terribly frightening time, and when I see how much I’ve lost to those execrably black years, I see the reason why I can’t let the amorphous cloud of failure loom to form over my life.
But any type of advice is welcome and appreciated.