incremental/peripheral
It's been about a month since spring semester ended and summer recouperation began and, I'm sorry to report, things in my world have been pretty lame. Things with the lovely and talented SK have been bumpy. The weather has been shitty. And I've been feeling depressed: lethargic, flat, bored, sedentary, brain-dead, regular-dead, unexcited, unentertained, uninspired and pathetic. That sucks a lot.
I've been realizing, lately, that I seem to do better when I'm really busy and only have tiny increments of time for the things I feel passionately about. When I can only read a little, I read passionately. When I can only write a little, I write passionately. My blog posts were deep and interesting during the semester when I had the least amount of time for posting -- but as soon as the world opened up before me, I found I could not manage to go deep or write interestingly about much of anything. Even with SK, I seem to shine from the periphery, but I sputter and fail when I'm experienced full-on.
What *is* that?
I'm thinking about getting a second job or volunteering somewhere. I think I'm no good at structuring my own time. As Sysiphus, I fail at establishing my own meaning for life. I've stopped bothering to even roll the boulder up the hill anymore, now I just sort of sit in its shadow and sulk. Seems very much against the rules, as Greek myths go, and my depression feels like punishment for taking myself outside the system and off my task. But what's the system, in this context? And what was my task? To get a law job over the summer? To work for birdlady? I don't know. I'm lost. At least Sysiphus's task was simple and clear. Roll boulder uphill. Rinse. Repeat. No point becoming immobilized by indecision, there was nothing to decide. Just the labor and the brief respite as he walked back to the bottom of the hill to begin again.
But, on the other hand, I'm a little disgusted with myself for this indulgence. I mean, what a privilege in this world to sit in my comfy apartment on my high-speed internet with plenty of food to eat and water to drink, safe from harm, indulging in a little existential crisis. I should go live in some third world country where the crises are less esoteric, I think my soul would suffer a little less and my body would stop rotting from lack of use.
I've been realizing, lately, that I seem to do better when I'm really busy and only have tiny increments of time for the things I feel passionately about. When I can only read a little, I read passionately. When I can only write a little, I write passionately. My blog posts were deep and interesting during the semester when I had the least amount of time for posting -- but as soon as the world opened up before me, I found I could not manage to go deep or write interestingly about much of anything. Even with SK, I seem to shine from the periphery, but I sputter and fail when I'm experienced full-on.
What *is* that?
I'm thinking about getting a second job or volunteering somewhere. I think I'm no good at structuring my own time. As Sysiphus, I fail at establishing my own meaning for life. I've stopped bothering to even roll the boulder up the hill anymore, now I just sort of sit in its shadow and sulk. Seems very much against the rules, as Greek myths go, and my depression feels like punishment for taking myself outside the system and off my task. But what's the system, in this context? And what was my task? To get a law job over the summer? To work for birdlady? I don't know. I'm lost. At least Sysiphus's task was simple and clear. Roll boulder uphill. Rinse. Repeat. No point becoming immobilized by indecision, there was nothing to decide. Just the labor and the brief respite as he walked back to the bottom of the hill to begin again.
But, on the other hand, I'm a little disgusted with myself for this indulgence. I mean, what a privilege in this world to sit in my comfy apartment on my high-speed internet with plenty of food to eat and water to drink, safe from harm, indulging in a little existential crisis. I should go live in some third world country where the crises are less esoteric, I think my soul would suffer a little less and my body would stop rotting from lack of use.
posted by reasonably prudent poet at 12:03 PM
1 Comments:
tell me about it sister. except I sit in my parents house all day waiting to hear some response from my innumerable job applications.
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