Busy...

It's been a while... The time flies by so quickly; hours, days, weeks, months enter and exit at the blink of an eye, and I am still standing in the same place, grabbing at air as I just miss every thing I attempt to reach for. I wish that life would slow down enough for me to at least see what's going on. It's like sitting in a car on the highway and watching the railings go by in one extended blur. Each individual spoke is discernible up until a certain point. Your eye can compensate for the speed until the pace of your surroundings begins to eclipse your physical ability to follow. They become an indefinite mass of things you once knew to be, individually, familiar.
* * *
This semester sucks...hard. I can't focus on anything completely, my prospective future looks, at best, bleak and I'm an adult in a world that only seems to care about those on either extremes of life. The young are to be protected and the old are to be pitied but those in between…well… I'm "studying" for the GRE's, taking classes, working two jobs, constructing a senior thesis, beginning my "statement of purpose", looking for letters of recommendation, researching grad schools and having a life. Is this some "rite of passage"? Am I really going to have to deal with this sort of ridiculousness for the rest of my life? If not, will there be new types of ridiculousness? If so, will I be able to justify the extent of these trials in the title that will eventually appear before my name? Are the (highly) possible 10+ years of a brutal, hyper-Darwinian, subsistence living, "apprenticeship" even worth it?
* * *
I wish I didn't have to ask myself questions to which I already know the answers, but it seems to be the only way I can be sure that I’m not crazy. I know that life isn't fair. Things that require the most work often receive the least (perceivable) payment. Still, seeing the punch coming doesn't make it hurt any less. If anything, it only serves to frustrate, because just as sure as I know it's coming, I also know that I can't move out of its way. In this decision to grow and learn, I’ve chosen my fate: to be a proverbial punching bag until I’ve grown strong enough to wield gloves of my own. This I understand. I'm just frustrated at those individuals and systems that constantly deal thinly veiled "low blows"/ unnecessary hits/ obstacles that only serve to further assuage their fear of internal inadequacy. My cross is heavy enough to bear without the guilt, anger and pain of theirs.
* * *
If the spokes are going to remain indistinguishable, if this is, like a rite of passage, unavoidable, if I must continue to take the punches, if this cup will not pass from me and I must bear this cross, if I am forced to be the scapegoat for other's insecurities, I will, through clenched teeth, frustrated gesticulations and ironic smiles, endure it all, because, in the end, I will be the better for it. I just pray that I have the strength to forgive after it's all said and done.