I've recently taken to feeling very sorry for myself. It's a feeling similar to that felt by the Beat Generation or Dustin Hoffman's character in the movie the graduate. I finished college and am anxiously or hesitantly in many cases awaiting my next step. I can't really fathom the point to all this "relaxation" I am doing and as I see my friends take off around me I've had a mini bout of depression.
The television and news media recently has gone crazy with the subject of depression amongst celebrities as one beloved one tries to kill himself, the rest come forward to reveal there secret lives of sadness and Larry King and Greta Van Susteren host panels of experts on the subject. If I was a celebrity, it would be okay to be down. But, it would only be okay to come forward in the wake of someone else's tragedy, in their fall from grace.
My friend Joe has taken to calling my house in Denver Samiraville, maybe because of what it is - a beautiful kingdom or village over which I have absolute rule...I don't think so. More likely it is because I masterfully manipulate the comings and goings of my own life from under the table because that is the only way I know how. Given the environment I am in and the life I lead, I must live under the rules that I have been given, to a degree of course, but you understand. Of course Joe wasn't thinking all this when he said, "Are you in Boulder or Samiraville today?"
A more accurate name for where I live, all the time is Crazyville, because we're all a bit mental. The problem is you can't even cry here. So, you sneak in your moments. Where you didn't used to like to waste time in the bathroom, now you take a minute and collect yourself and you emerge a new woman, ready to greet the world. Maybe it's not that profound, but it's that kind of thing, the little things, the tiny sobs in the bathroom, the stolen kisses on the train, the last day out with our friends moving to Tanzania that keep us sane and keep me the Queen of Crazyvi...I mean Samiraville.
;)
Friday, August 31, 2007
Friday, August 24, 2007
"Is it too much to ask of you, to stay inside with me?"
It is odd for me to be here right now. HERE, in this current predicament. Everyone's going it seems and I'm staying still. I was the first of my friends to graduate and I'm staying still. Not moving, somewhat stagnant. Many of course are just returning to school but some are going to the places of their dreams and I, I can't even remember what my dreams look like. Regardless of where they are all going there is a semblance of permanence in their departures this time.
There is a suitcase sitting by my door, I brought it home with me. Usually a suitcase sitting by the door signifies some sort of impermanence, a journey yet to be begun, but for me it was the end of my journey and my coming home. The suitcase was full of my shoes and they just needed to get back where they started.
There is a suitcase sitting by my door, I brought it home with me. Usually a suitcase sitting by the door signifies some sort of impermanence, a journey yet to be begun, but for me it was the end of my journey and my coming home. The suitcase was full of my shoes and they just needed to get back where they started.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Burn Baby, Burn
When bad things happen there are several ways that people can react. Some react with anger, some with spite, some calmly and cooly display their emotions on their sleeve and some don't even react at all, not even at all. In many instances we are compelled to look for someone to blame. To find a scapegoat, when the universe seems to have collided unfairly just in our directions and sometimes we act compassionately displaying the true grandeur of our hearts, saying things like, "At least we have each other," or "Thank God no one was hurt."
In situations like those, when we hold our emotions in and in chillingly kind voices take care of eachother, we wonder if we are condemnable if we are really pissed that we crashed our new "used" VW Passat into our best friends van or that our brand new million dollar investment burned into the Florida ocean or even that we dropped our new bracelet cavalierly from our wrist on the walk to McDonald's on a Mediterannean Vacation. It's just stuff so truly it doesn't matter. We do have eachother, we didn't really need all of that, and really, thank God we are alive, so then why do we secretly mourn their losses when everyone stops looking at us to be brave and the sad eyes stop telling us how much it sucks to lose your stuff?
It's a funny world we live in, the goals we work for and the way we look at stuff, and when it all comes down in ashes what do we have, if not eachother?
In situations like those, when we hold our emotions in and in chillingly kind voices take care of eachother, we wonder if we are condemnable if we are really pissed that we crashed our new "used" VW Passat into our best friends van or that our brand new million dollar investment burned into the Florida ocean or even that we dropped our new bracelet cavalierly from our wrist on the walk to McDonald's on a Mediterannean Vacation. It's just stuff so truly it doesn't matter. We do have eachother, we didn't really need all of that, and really, thank God we are alive, so then why do we secretly mourn their losses when everyone stops looking at us to be brave and the sad eyes stop telling us how much it sucks to lose your stuff?
It's a funny world we live in, the goals we work for and the way we look at stuff, and when it all comes down in ashes what do we have, if not eachother?
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Soul Suckers
Your sitting on the brink of something, it's like that moment right before you brake when you might hit something and if you hadn't looked up you would have crashed. You most definitely would have crashed and you felt your foot hit down and your heart skip a beat.
You are sitting on the brink of something and everyone knows it. You can either give in to everyone or you can yell out what you want to say. If you give in, you will follow a path and make certain decisions always bearing in mind the things that you want but never really having them completely in your reach. If you step out and do what you want, perhaps "disappoint" everyone you may not have a clear path but you will know that things will be okay.
"Did you believe ,when they told you they discovered you? And that everything is free,as long as you do what they tell you to. You think it's true?"
Today I went to career services thinking I could keep up the game, think that they wouldn't see through my facade and they would give me a nice tidy package that consisted of career for a year, nonprofit of some kind and then graduate school. The package would have not only satisfied me but my family. After about a quarter of an hour with me and my empty plead for the career services savior to "fix it please" I had revealed the dire struggle between my sense of obligation and love to my family and my sense of self. They then realized that any help they could give me was secondary or even tertiary to any help that I might need sorting out what I could do within myself and my desire to satisfy those that mean the most to me. They can help me find jobs or do personal assesments or take prep tests but they can't help me be the black sheep of my family. They then recommended I "head upstairs." I knew what that meant, the sign that points upstairs points to Counseling and Psychological Services.
I still think I can look up before I crash and I will figure this out on my own, although the folks upstairs have helped me through things before. Ugh.
You are sitting on the brink of something and everyone knows it. You can either give in to everyone or you can yell out what you want to say. If you give in, you will follow a path and make certain decisions always bearing in mind the things that you want but never really having them completely in your reach. If you step out and do what you want, perhaps "disappoint" everyone you may not have a clear path but you will know that things will be okay.
"Did you believe ,when they told you they discovered you? And that everything is free,as long as you do what they tell you to. You think it's true?"
Today I went to career services thinking I could keep up the game, think that they wouldn't see through my facade and they would give me a nice tidy package that consisted of career for a year, nonprofit of some kind and then graduate school. The package would have not only satisfied me but my family. After about a quarter of an hour with me and my empty plead for the career services savior to "fix it please" I had revealed the dire struggle between my sense of obligation and love to my family and my sense of self. They then realized that any help they could give me was secondary or even tertiary to any help that I might need sorting out what I could do within myself and my desire to satisfy those that mean the most to me. They can help me find jobs or do personal assesments or take prep tests but they can't help me be the black sheep of my family. They then recommended I "head upstairs." I knew what that meant, the sign that points upstairs points to Counseling and Psychological Services.
I still think I can look up before I crash and I will figure this out on my own, although the folks upstairs have helped me through things before. Ugh.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
"Wait for Tomorrow, You'll Be Alright."
When I was little my brother, in an attempt to prove his God-like skills to my sister and I, put my childrens books in the oven. He was trying to highlight the scientific fact that the paper wouldn't melt or burn above or beyond a certain temperature. Of that he was sure. He was so certain and confident in what he said, he was unfaltering in what he knew. So sure that he really put our books in the oven, our beloved stories that we held so dear to our heart.
He was right, the paper didn't burn, it didn't ignite. Nothing happened to the paper. Not a damn thing. We nervously sat, shrieking and screaming, clutching his lean, stronger than our arms begging him to pull the books out and as we did, the glue and the binding that held those invincible pages together began to slowly cook. The books pages began to come apart and soon those stories were less cohesive units but just seperate pages with oozing goop, warm and soft around them. The books were ruined, pages intact.
He had been so confident, but there had been something that he had not accounted for. There are always things we don't account for. My brother, like most of my family, is wise, and has since learned to take into consideration more than just the pages. He doesn't always see the story for the book. My family, for example, sees me now as a law student. I am, taking the lsat prep courses to buy myself some time to see if that is where I should end up, or if I should go where I see myself, TFA or someother noble cause that I deem equally worthy and would be just as priviledged to work for.
In the mean time, I try to put all the pages in order for everyone to read but it seems like they were never meant to go in the right order to begin with. At least not in my stories .
He was right, the paper didn't burn, it didn't ignite. Nothing happened to the paper. Not a damn thing. We nervously sat, shrieking and screaming, clutching his lean, stronger than our arms begging him to pull the books out and as we did, the glue and the binding that held those invincible pages together began to slowly cook. The books pages began to come apart and soon those stories were less cohesive units but just seperate pages with oozing goop, warm and soft around them. The books were ruined, pages intact.
He had been so confident, but there had been something that he had not accounted for. There are always things we don't account for. My brother, like most of my family, is wise, and has since learned to take into consideration more than just the pages. He doesn't always see the story for the book. My family, for example, sees me now as a law student. I am, taking the lsat prep courses to buy myself some time to see if that is where I should end up, or if I should go where I see myself, TFA or someother noble cause that I deem equally worthy and would be just as priviledged to work for.
In the mean time, I try to put all the pages in order for everyone to read but it seems like they were never meant to go in the right order to begin with. At least not in my stories .
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