Holding On For Life


Pfft, whatever.

Last year I thought I was having a quarter life crisis. And if I was, this year is my answer to it. It seems fairly common, at least for those of us with a liberal arts degree (or two), to finish that last final exam with a triumphant arms over head ‘NEVER AGAIN!’ chant followed by the realization that you are lost without a clue what comes next. You are more lost than the day you took a train, then a bus, into the middle of ¬†we-speak-no-english Austria then proceeded to walk through a field for 3 hours looking for where you thought you knew you were going only to end up back at a train station to then board the wrong train that will take you 4 hours to get what should have taken 1. Ya, pretty damn lost. Not so lost you think you’ll die, but pretty sure you have no idea where you are going, should be going, or even if you want to go there.

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Its a mental struggle

I’ve been feeling rather uninspired lately. I’ve started and deleted many a blog post this week. Generally when I write these I get an idea, a gist of where I’d like it to go, then I sit down and let it flow. That is easiest for me, or at least I think that allows me to maintain my conversational tone.

Well maybe I should rethink that a little. My problem isn’t a lack of inspiration, it is a lack of focus. I can’t seem to keep one thought in my head clear before the next one bubbles up and takes over. Then doubt seeps in. How could anyone find this remotely interesting? Why am I even writing this? It is probably crap anyways. DELETE.

Start over. New topic. New direction. Probably crap. DELETE! Sigh. Repeat.

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Goffman’s Bedroom

Recently I started to redecorate my bedroom. That sounds a lot more dramatic than it actually is. I bought some bookshelves and removed some unused junk from my room. It is slowly looking like a room an adult might inhabit and less like the home of a poor university student. That might be a stretch but I’d like to believe my room reflects who I am.

Bedrooms are funny like that, well lots of things are funny like that. You know those private places where we feel like we get to hide away our personalities, protected by a door, a set of stairs, another door, and a lock and key. We get to be exactly who we think we ought to be.

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