Oh hey there.
I I were to put a number on my blogging average it would probably be "sucks" but with my defensiveness kicking in I feel compelled to remind you that I began this blog as a personal outlet and while I sure am sorry if my hiatus has caused you any inconvenience or existential longing, the reality is that I don't actually care.
For the better part o the last month I've been failing to work up the courage to post a diatribe on deities that I composed on my recent stay in hell (otherwise known as keeping the company of 39 teens in Israel for 3 weeks). It was irreverent and eloquent but also incredibly personal and while I imagine that I like all you anonymous numbers who accumulate into pageviews, it's actually the people I know that scare me more. So, I'm not offering my thoughts on the powers-that-be just yet, but I am offering thoughts.
Specifically, my thoughts on being 22. Taylor Swift has all but incorporated her thoughts on this subject into the national anthem, so I though it only appropriate that one of us mere mortals shout back. "Happy, free, confused, and lonely" at the same time isn't a bad start. Kudos, Taylor. But I feel like there are some nuances that a pop ditty can't necessarily accommodate. Confused? maybe. But questioning the validity of my self doubt would probably be more accurate. Lonely? not so much. I certainly have my moments, but of all the sensations that hit me like sponges in the face at a cruel carnival game, I would prioritize boredom and an unidentifiable longing high above loneliness. Happy? Every once in a while. But comparing to a college-happy, the 22-post-grad happy feels an awful lot like acceptably sociable. And I feel like free is probably just a lot more relevant to those who have achieved financial independence.
So...I am feeling 22. But I'm also feeling a little tired and a little lost and a little always in need of a glass of red wine.
So t.swift, Imma let you finish, so please do me a favor and fill in the blanks. Because I just can't figure out which of your four categories I should slot "losing interest in previously entertaining activities."
Saturday, August 31, 2013
Sunday, August 4, 2013
I'm BA-ack...
At long last the moment has arrived.
My three week hiatus with 39 16 year olds (by the way, my new least favorite age - all the sass with none of the redemption) was a convenient way to deflect people during the graduation inquisition, but that mistake has come and gone and now I'm really just applying to grad programs (a terrifying mountain of to-do lists) and seeking reasonable underemployment to finance travel in the Spring.
And so the Quarter Life Crisis begins. Until this point my anxieties have really just revolved around the onset of the QLC. Now it's really here. And while my pockets are full of a fresh 1K from 3 weeks in a dessert like hell, my pockets are also full of excuses.
I told myself (in a fit of delusion and defiance) that I couldn't look for a job because I was working this 3 week job in the summer I couldn't find a real job, and so I took this terrible position at a terrible camp to fill in the gaps. The cycle of frustration and misery is self imposed and self perpetuating, which is a fine classification but does nothing to explain why I insist on doing it to myself. Why should I preclude myself from gainful employment? Why should I set up a life that is underwhelming and unfulfilling? In short, why am I being my own worst enemy?
And then I remember that in a year where I actually want to be is a top Postcolonial PhD program, and I realize that these things are fairly irrelevant, but why should I let a single year of my life be irrelevant? Why can't it all be incredible and life changing? And that, I guess, comes back to me too.
Which brings me to a new appendage to my QLC definition: a self induced cycle of doubt and self-hate resulting in nothing positive but successfully impairing any sense of fulfillment or achievement.
Welcome to Euphoria. Your call is very important to us. Your call will be answered by a representative in approximately eight years.
In the mean time, dial Hell and I'll answer.
My three week hiatus with 39 16 year olds (by the way, my new least favorite age - all the sass with none of the redemption) was a convenient way to deflect people during the graduation inquisition, but that mistake has come and gone and now I'm really just applying to grad programs (a terrifying mountain of to-do lists) and seeking reasonable underemployment to finance travel in the Spring.
And so the Quarter Life Crisis begins. Until this point my anxieties have really just revolved around the onset of the QLC. Now it's really here. And while my pockets are full of a fresh 1K from 3 weeks in a dessert like hell, my pockets are also full of excuses.
I told myself (in a fit of delusion and defiance) that I couldn't look for a job because I was working this 3 week job in the summer I couldn't find a real job, and so I took this terrible position at a terrible camp to fill in the gaps. The cycle of frustration and misery is self imposed and self perpetuating, which is a fine classification but does nothing to explain why I insist on doing it to myself. Why should I preclude myself from gainful employment? Why should I set up a life that is underwhelming and unfulfilling? In short, why am I being my own worst enemy?
And then I remember that in a year where I actually want to be is a top Postcolonial PhD program, and I realize that these things are fairly irrelevant, but why should I let a single year of my life be irrelevant? Why can't it all be incredible and life changing? And that, I guess, comes back to me too.
Which brings me to a new appendage to my QLC definition: a self induced cycle of doubt and self-hate resulting in nothing positive but successfully impairing any sense of fulfillment or achievement.
Welcome to Euphoria. Your call is very important to us. Your call will be answered by a representative in approximately eight years.
In the mean time, dial Hell and I'll answer.
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