Crossroads

I've arrived and have come to the point where the decisions I make now will become the crux of the remainder of my life. The past couple weeks have been trying and painful in that I have been forced, through specific circumstances, to make life, mind, and spirit altering decisions. I realize now that I hold a love hate feeling toward those particular types of decisions. In earlier posts it seemed as though I was almost complaining about the lack of struggle in my life, but I have come to realize that I merely need to look beyond what is immediately apparent in my life to find these struggles. I realized that struggle is so deeply rooted in my life that I have taken it for granted.

It is not my assumption that no one else goes through struggle, and I'm well aware that if there were a tree with post-it's of people's problems I would most likely be overwhelmed at the immensity of some and taken aback by the number of them all. I just figured that in trying to write down my feelings about my own, personal, internal, war I could somehow make steps toward adequately solving it.

All this to say, I'm torn between up and down, left and right.....correct...and incorrect. I can't seem to determine whether or not it is the deep turmoil that the problem causes or the diametrically apposed answers to the problem that troubles me so. I acknowledge the fact that neither solution will leave me completely satisfied with their respective results; it is only the possibility that one will leave me significantly happier that drives me to begin with.

If I could live my life in the gray area and be content I most definitely would, but I believe everyone would agree that living life in a state that is always awkward and uncomfortable is no life at all. However, I can't allow this to effect me in such a way that it consumes all of my thoughts and energy. I must strive to live in such a manner that leaves a door open for answers to come in their due time, without false persuasion by my desire to attain closure, and hopefully in doing so, I will reach a conclusion that is truly right.

Sometimes...

I think life would be much easier if I didn't think so much. If I didn't constantly analyzes things and were content with viewing things, accepting things and writing things on the surface level, I wouldn't have this horendous burden of high expectations constantly placed upon my shoulders. My father wouldn't have to work his fingers to the bone, semi-literally to keep me in this institution of higher learning, and I wouldn't be overwhelmed with feelings of unworthiness...

Because I have no plans for the immediate or not so immediate future, I live day to day and hope that no one ever realizes that I am, on a whole, clueless about life in general. In this world of fast food, instant pregnancy tests and globalized news, I feel so inadequate, and sadly I know I’m not the only one. Although this fact should be what comforts me, it ultimately robs me of hope solely because I wonder: if I’m not the only one confused, why do I feel so alone? How do individuals live with never being certain of anything? Why do these individuals choose to act as though the world is their oyster when they are, in all actuality, a smidgen of matter in this immense universe?

Maybe the entire purpose of our existence is not to deny the truth, but to accept it and become comfortable enough with the implications of it to embrace each new day with open arms.

Art....

I'm about three minutes from attempting to read the remainder of Virginia Woolfe's A Room of One's Own. At least that's what i've been thinking for the past half hour. Before you applaud me for trying to "culture" myself, I must let you know that it's not with my own free will that I read the book. No, the book is for English class. I don't make a practice of reading about women who, instead of trying to activly change the misogynistic world in which they live, take the whiny, materialistic, elititst road (as if that path is not already filled with men who possibly hold more disdain for them then any others).

Anyway, the reason for me reading this "book" is to try to find the definition of art and to discover what conditions are nessessary for its creation. I don't think it's possible, but since I have not yet recieved my Phd, (I am in fact a freshmen and will therefore not be seeing those letters preceeding my name for a few years and possibly a couple hundred thousand dollar's from now) my opinion, apparently, holds no weight in the midst of the great (dead) thinkers. I believe that art is a thing which does not and can not have a concise definition. Like most ideas such as love, happiness, and peace, art can only be accurately described by the individual who experiences it. When there is a group "definition" for art, it looses much of what makes it what it is, and that is something that we as human beings cannot afford.

Just dropping my two cents into the bottom of the world sized opinion jar.

Random Thoughts as Usual

I'm back in school, back to normal. I don't know why, but recently I feel most at home in this place. I go back home and I feel more like a spectator then a participator. I mean, I know the same love and affection is there, it's just that it reaches me differently now that I am more or less absent from the family dynamic. I come here and realize that I want to cut my hair. Big desision sense it has become a part of me now. It's similar to finally throwing away your favorite shirt. You know, the one that seemingly represents how you view yourself and and how you wish the world to view you. With this hair I feel (or have felt rather) like a rebel. A aestheticly deviant individual if you feel where i'm coming from. Now....I don't know so much. Maby it's because my enviornment has changed. Maby it is more diviant to be different when you look less different. It is almost expected for those who appear unique to be unique... but is it not even more unique to look less unique and act unique anyway... maby i'm reading into this thing too much, but seriously, it seems like the more orgional I try to be, the more like others I become... I get clumped into the group that consists of the "unique" folk and my efforts are defeated. I can't be the only one who see's the irony in my predicament. In order for me to become truly different I feel i should adopt physical apparences ( at least where my hair is concearned) that I once viewed as common. Life is funny that way I guess. All this to say .. I think I will cut my hair.

seven in the morning

I awoke to fox news this morning. My mother had the remote last night, so I had no control over what channels I would watch. I went to sleep to "Mystic River" playing in the background. For there to be so many motion pictures in the world HBO sure has a nack for showing the same ones with almost sickning regularity. I had to sleep for work this morning so I chose to forsake the movie in favor of my job. I couldn't seem to get to sleep after some jaded newsperson woke me at around six. Maby it made me think too much. I love to think...when its condusive to my body's healty operation, but at that moment I wish I could have stopped. Why anyone's mind, when trying to sleep, would race at 60 miles per second at six something in the morning is beyond my comprehension. Being as though I have a whole two hours before I have to be at work I figured I'd write this down. Not that it's profound or anything...as a matter of fact, I don't know if anything that I write is profound. Maby it is, I don't know and right now I can't honestly say that I care. Hope anyone reading this has a nice day. I'm praying that I have one too.