The Aftermaths
This, after the frustrations of a magical, but now deleted post on dreams.
Long nights under soggy tears, realizing that around about 3 am you stop thinking. Pressure pressing down from all around, as if one weight weren't enough to bear. The one you ran to becomes your enemy - because you refuse to accept it anymore. The one you thought you knew you were becoming the bigger burden on your cracking shoulder blades.
One...more...day.
Just one more day and things will start looking brighter, better. Just one more day and you'll get one more thing done - and you'll feel okay again. And it will all be in just one more day...
the day that never comes. The sun that doesn't shine. The weight that won't let up. Everybody asking something of you - expecting you to still somehow be perfect and care about everything and do it all with grace.
Nobody said you were allowed to fail, or fall, or not do well. That just isn't you...isn't it?
Sometimes, I wonder.
Sometimes, I want to do really badly at something. I mean really badly. I want to take something and jsut mess it up beyond repair - to really make big mistakes...the sorts you regret for the rest of your life; the sorts you look back and are forced to make the dismissive comment, "but that was in college" just because the horror, the embaressment, the terror of it is just too great to really brush aside.
Sometimes, I want to be just like that. Like the loads of people haunted by their pasts because of the stupid things they did, when they were still in college. But I am in college - aren't I alotted those mistakes as well?
Or do some of us have to still pretend to be the angels - the ones that care and comfort...the ones that everyone runs to but isn't allowed to run anywhere else. Do we still have to be those kinds of kids? Can't we, just for once, be the messed up ones. The ones with neon colored hair that go to parties instead of studying for a quiz. The kinds that have fun regardless of what it costs...I mean, after all - we are in college. Can't we just act like it?
...I guess you could say that writing that lit crit paper really did me in. Or maybe it was the tea or the biscuts or, heck, even the fact that my computer ate my paper file and then spewed error messages all over me, while I - in vain attempts - tried everything in my power. I mean, sure the paper probably came out 50 times better than before...but that really wasn't the point.
No, but perhaps it is my problem. So now? I have an Indian music concert to go to and Shakespeare on Film to read. But I'm ecstatic that the paper is done. I felt it was good - which probably means it was nonsensical babblish crap - but that isn't the point. At least it sounded good and it's done. That really is the most significant part of all of this - it's done.
But of course now I am left with this moorish feeling of dread and sense of the world coming crashing down all around me - or maybe just little bits of the sky falling out of place while I'm the only one to notice. Either way, there is an omen of disaster in the air, and I'd rather not confront it. It distrubs my sleep; it stirs up unwanted feelings inside of me; it causes chills that shouldn't be here.
So I'd rather just avoid it. Avoid the falling, avoid the ending of it - the coming of it - the dawning and dying of it. The crying, screaming, begging way of it. The helpless mass of it. The dead ill-stiff feeling of it. The iced cruel touch of it.
No, no. I'd rather just avoid it. As long as I can; avoid it until I can't run any further - until I have to face it.
But until then, I'll just sit here and think about better things - like candy and chocolate and European cruises over the Milwakee desert. Yes, truely - those must be better things...better things for me to think upon.
-RK
Long nights under soggy tears, realizing that around about 3 am you stop thinking. Pressure pressing down from all around, as if one weight weren't enough to bear. The one you ran to becomes your enemy - because you refuse to accept it anymore. The one you thought you knew you were becoming the bigger burden on your cracking shoulder blades.
One...more...day.
Just one more day and things will start looking brighter, better. Just one more day and you'll get one more thing done - and you'll feel okay again. And it will all be in just one more day...
the day that never comes. The sun that doesn't shine. The weight that won't let up. Everybody asking something of you - expecting you to still somehow be perfect and care about everything and do it all with grace.
Nobody said you were allowed to fail, or fall, or not do well. That just isn't you...isn't it?
Sometimes, I wonder.
Sometimes, I want to do really badly at something. I mean really badly. I want to take something and jsut mess it up beyond repair - to really make big mistakes...the sorts you regret for the rest of your life; the sorts you look back and are forced to make the dismissive comment, "but that was in college" just because the horror, the embaressment, the terror of it is just too great to really brush aside.
Sometimes, I want to be just like that. Like the loads of people haunted by their pasts because of the stupid things they did, when they were still in college. But I am in college - aren't I alotted those mistakes as well?
Or do some of us have to still pretend to be the angels - the ones that care and comfort...the ones that everyone runs to but isn't allowed to run anywhere else. Do we still have to be those kinds of kids? Can't we, just for once, be the messed up ones. The ones with neon colored hair that go to parties instead of studying for a quiz. The kinds that have fun regardless of what it costs...I mean, after all - we are in college. Can't we just act like it?
...I guess you could say that writing that lit crit paper really did me in. Or maybe it was the tea or the biscuts or, heck, even the fact that my computer ate my paper file and then spewed error messages all over me, while I - in vain attempts - tried everything in my power. I mean, sure the paper probably came out 50 times better than before...but that really wasn't the point.
No, but perhaps it is my problem. So now? I have an Indian music concert to go to and Shakespeare on Film to read. But I'm ecstatic that the paper is done. I felt it was good - which probably means it was nonsensical babblish crap - but that isn't the point. At least it sounded good and it's done. That really is the most significant part of all of this - it's done.
But of course now I am left with this moorish feeling of dread and sense of the world coming crashing down all around me - or maybe just little bits of the sky falling out of place while I'm the only one to notice. Either way, there is an omen of disaster in the air, and I'd rather not confront it. It distrubs my sleep; it stirs up unwanted feelings inside of me; it causes chills that shouldn't be here.
So I'd rather just avoid it. Avoid the falling, avoid the ending of it - the coming of it - the dawning and dying of it. The crying, screaming, begging way of it. The helpless mass of it. The dead ill-stiff feeling of it. The iced cruel touch of it.
No, no. I'd rather just avoid it. As long as I can; avoid it until I can't run any further - until I have to face it.
But until then, I'll just sit here and think about better things - like candy and chocolate and European cruises over the Milwakee desert. Yes, truely - those must be better things...better things for me to think upon.
-RK
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