Tuesday, October 8, 2013

3 Hour Night Class Ramble

I don't know if I want to be a psychologist.
I don't want to be a psych major.
In the last 2.5 months of being a psych major, I haven't admitted that.
Francisco, I think his name was.
Dr. Francisco...something.
He's partially to blame for me trying to keep my head above water while drowning in the non-major-related work of my 3rd chosen major in 4 years of college.
I got chills when he introduced himself.
Doctor.
That must feel good.
This dude couldn't have been 3 years older than me & he'd completed grad school & had a room room of 500+ used-to-be-peers referring to him as "doctor".
He was handsome & looked semi-nervous.
Tall, dark shaggy hair & a smile that, when unleashed, knocked the air out of my lungs so hard, I felt like I was falling out of a skyscraper.

Anyway, I think part of me wanted to be Francisco.
Dr. Francisco.
More so than I wanted to be a psychologist, no less a psychology student.
I even tore the University website apart looking for Francisco, about a month later.
There was no trace of him.
Nowhere.
Like he didn't exist.
Like he NEVER existed.
Like I imagined this dude.
Then, it was just me.
Alone.
In this gigantic major.

Now I'm taking Psych 101, learning about how rats fuck & sleep & eat.
I don't care.
Not even a little bit.
I just want a PhD to say I have one.
To say I'm smarter than my brother & my mom.
To prove I'm better than the last note I played on guitar.
Better than the last back-handspring I did as a gymnast.
Better than the last dirty tissue I purposely threw on my bedroom floor rather than in the garbage.
Better than the failure my anxiety tells me I am.
Every second of every day.
Never good enough.
No possible way to be.
There's grad students auditing in all of my classes.
They'll sit up with the professor or lean all cool up against a wall.
Some of them even have the nerve to stroll around the lecture center, checking for cell phones like some sort of teacher's pet-Nazi.
They're my age.
Some of them may even have just as many years of college under their belt as I do.
But they didn't fail anything.
But they didn't withdraw from anything.
Anxiety never crawled into their bed with them at 3 am, stroked their hair & told them that it's okay not to try because they'll never amount to anything anyway.

Every time one of them walks past me, I want to trip them.
I want to remind them just how close the ground always is.
That they're really not that high up.
That, just that quickly, I can be the one looking down on them.
I want to run to the front of the room, shove my professor out of the way & show everyone the inside of my mind.
Wide & open like a Montana sky.
Busy like Times Square during Christmas season.
Lush with vegetation like a tropical rain forest.
Lonely & powerful as an ocean.

Someone give me a PhD for my thoughts.
Someone tell me regurgitation isn't education.
Someone tell me the truth.

My hamster wheel is getting rusty & I get the feeling that once it breaks, I'm likely to find a way out of this cage.
I don't think I want to be a psychologist.
Maybe it's time I jump another train.
Maybe I should wait.
Maybe college really isn't for me & I'm running a race I couldn't win if I tried.
Maybe that's the anxiety talking.
Maybe that's enough writing for one class period.

Tuesday, February 26, 2013

Greetings From: Somewhere Between Knowing & Not...

Oh hey.
Gotta be honest, for a few months there I totally forgot I had a blog site... online diary?
Whatever the hell this place is.
I can't say I'm back forever & everything will go back to the way it was before I started college & got a job & I'll never have any sort of absence from this site again.

I can't promise that kind of shit anymore.
I don't know why I ever did in the first place.
Truth be told: Unless I mention a band or celebrity in one of my posts, & a random person happens to stumble upon my blog that way, no one visits this site.
I think that sort of disregard is what has always made me feel safe here.
However, these days I've been so worn out, some nights I can't even eat dinner let alone do some online self-reflecting.

My last post was 4 months ago.
4 months.
A lot has happened in that time, but not much worth mentioning.
No love, no lust, no crazy college shit like I used to constantly write about.

Over the summer, I took my nephews out to Lake George.
While I sat out there by the water, I started thinking like a typical-tired-college-kid about how college is taking all of my money just to run me in circles.
Long story shy, I decided not to go back to school for at least one semester.
My GPA was on the brink of a 4.0, I was dead-tired of schoolwork, & I figured I could pick up some more hours at work, save my money, & see the rest of the country if not just the gorgeous state of New York.

It all sounded perfect in my head.
That is, until the deadline for Fall semester started haunting me & I eventually caved, paid my tuition on the last possible day, & informed my best friend that instead of taking the semester off like the fucking rebels we were supposed to be, I was going back to school...full-time...again.
Education is a huge deal in my family.
My mom is a retired psychologist.
My brother is a lawyer in D.C.
& I'm the one that was born way too late & constantly trying to keep my head above water.
I had to go back to school.
I don't know why, but I did.

Last semester was pretty awful.
I completely fucked up my 4.0 with one grade, & for the past 2 & a half months I've been spiraling.
I finally took this semester off to focus on life (a.k.a. working sometimes 7 days a week).
I just got over a weird stint where I was sick for 2 months straight & no one knew what was wrong with me.
That was fun.

The best I can do at this point in my life is to say Fuck It.
In two months, I'l be 22 & I'm just about in the same place I was in at age 19.
I just applied to another University & more than anything, I hope I'm accepted.
I'm ready to start over.
I miss the excitement of college.
Even though the majority of it was in my head (DisasterCrush, Poetry Boy, etc...).

I haven't been writing as much as I used to & that's something that really bums me out.
I don't know what's getting into me, man.
Some nights, all I want to do is write but I get in the bed, turn off the light & try not to think about everything that needs to be said.
I want to get back to good.
I want to be in a new environment that can give me fresh shit to write about.
Sure, all of my DisasterCrush posts were ridiculous and somewhat psychotic, but I miss feeling that strongly about something or someone.

I just want to get back to life.
I see my boss who's in her 50's.
She gets up at 3:30 am, to open the gym at 4.
She is the last thing I ever want to be.
Fat, lazy, tired-looking, uninspired.
Fuck that.
I just want to be happy.

& I am happy, but I want to keep moving.
Half the bitches I graduated high school with are doing absolutely nothing with their life.
My best friend in high school is now 8 months pregnant, with a bad back, working for some company she could give a shit about.
I don't want to get stuck like that.
I refuse to get stuck like that.

As I say in the end of just about every post: I don't know where I'm going with this.
It's been a while since I've been on here, so excuse me if this was more of a mindless ramble rather than an update.
But whatever.
Hopefully, I'll get all this shit straightened out.

Again, I'll be back when I come back.
Time to get some writing done.

Goodnight.