Time is moving oh so quickly. Quickly beyond me, and I often wonder--do I know what I'm doing?
This week has been the week from hell. I am deathly sick, and I just want it to go away. I haven't suffered from allergies this bad in all of my short 20 years, but I wish that it would be over with already. Maybe the move to Florida will be good for me.
Aside from that, I've gone through a lot of emotional explorations, and have wound up full circle. I have been contemplating my role in life, in family, in the world, and I see that I have a long way to go before I am who I want to be--but then the sad truth faces me and tells me that I may never change. The days just go by, a promise of change to come that never really does. Maybe I was born to stay this way--selfish, exposed, smart enough to want more, but not smart enough to get there.
Or maybe I am just making excuses, allowing my mind subconsciously to accept the fact that depression and its suitors have woven a thickly paled line in my genes and DNA. I had a close friend tell me that I was depressed last night, and that I ought to seek care. Am I really depressed, or am I just misunderstood, even by myself?
Too often we allow ourselves the ability to just let go, to submit to our minds preoccupations instead of fighting back. But I guess when you think about it, life is really just one big fight, whether it be with a physical human or just with ones' self. Maybe we aren't strong enough to lift ourselves from the harrowing destruction we face to safety. Or maybe we never were. Maybe all those inspirational stories and those uplifting tales of the American Dream and Fairy Tales so delicately fabricated by Disney are merely that--tales, perhaps to keep us from finding the truth and warranting our own self-destruction at the realization that we are incapable of saving ourselves from ourselves.
Anyway...this entry hasn't been about anything I intended it to be about, but I guess that's where my mind took me. Writing never seems to be that way for me, but we'll see. I hope you all have a great day, and maybe I can get this cough to be tamed, just a little.
Okay, so I was uploading music to my new ipod (yes, I finally gave in to the mass hysteria, although it took a lot of teeth pulling. I've finally admitted that the little gadgets are pretty neat, and I enjoy having all of my music in one central location without having to keep changing cd's), and I realized something:
I hate the categorization of music.
I was uploading My Morning Jacket, and the label said Rock. If any of you have ever listened to the album, there is like...one song that sounds like a true rock song. The rest of it is almost folky/americana stuff.
Who classifies this stuff? And who gives them the right to classify it the way that they classify it? Is it some underpaid governmental type that only really listens to one genre of music and picks the one that they think best fits? I mean, this isn't the SAT's, there is no "best answer." Sometimes music doesn't fit into a category. What do we do with it then? Lump it under miscellaneous? Sorry, America, I don't want to buy that.
Although I find it upsetting that we must classify music into genres, I understand the need for people that aren't as musically tolerant as I am, but I think the classification systems that we have come to bear are showing the truth about our culture. Have we come so far technologically that we need classify everything for a "rapid lineup" so that we can quickly choose and move on with our day? It takes the guess work out of life. Take a chance. Listen to something new--experience the thrill of newness! You might find you like it.
I'm not just talking about music here, although that's where this rant started. We classify everything these days. We classify our food, our body types, our music, people's personalities, schools, religion, people's looks. When are we going to stop being so caught up in oursleves and get past the categorization of our culture for the convenience factor?
I don't like puzzles. Someone put me back together?
p.s. I would like to know how Belle & Sebastian is Alternative & Punk. That is a joke.
Okay, so the day has been pretty eventful, and in my obsessiveness with getting all of my music on my new iPod, I've resorted to watching daytime tv (on the satellite)--and there is one conclusion that I've come to.
If I see another ad for diet pills, I am going to shoot someone.
I realize that the majority of America is obese with the onslaught of fast food and technological conveniences. But should we really resort to diet pills? Yes, the diet and food industry gross billions and billions of dollars per year, but let's think about this America.
There are so many different diet pills out there, that even if one were to purchase a diet pill, how could one tell what the best decision would be? See, that's the problem with dieting and with the media. There are so many different options, so many different avenues that affect you differently, so many different points of view--how could someone possible make an informed decision in this day in age, when media advertisments don't have to tell the whole truth.
I find it hard to digest. The information superhighway and its mass media counterparts have infiltrated our society and overwhelmed to the max. That's for sure.
But seriously, do we need that many different diet pills?
Sorry for the long delay in a post, but things have been crazy busy down here in the good 'ol sunshine state. But with it, some changes and new life perspectives have arisen in my all-too often naive self.
The move was successful, even though my mother (who followed me down in an SUV with all of my crap) was sans brakes for most of the 24-hour trip. That was fun. On arrival, the apartment and furniture situation was a little hectic with arrival schedules and office hours, but alas--I do have furniture. It is nice. I think it's worth the $188 a month; at least I don't have to move it.
So...the apartment. It's cute. I like it, for the most part. I mean, it's nice, beautiful, cute and all that junk. I like everything about it, except---the Florida part. It's hot, muggy, sweaty, and buggy. The only saving grace is the cute little lizards that jump around outside. Other than that, it's like global warming hell. With bugs. Really, really big ones.
On the topic of bugs, I've already had waaay too many encounters for one lifetime. The first was on move in day when I found a cockroach, aka "palmetto bug" in the sink. I never understood this since I got there. Everyone refers to them as "palmetto bugs," as if that makes their ickiness less daunting. Or perhaps to make you feel better about yourself because "cockroaches" are typically associated with dirtiness. Regardless, it's still a fucking cockroach. It's still dirty. It's still ugly, and it still makes me scream.
The second encounter was with a much smaller bug sitting on the wall. I came out late at night for a glass of water, hoping to whet my appetite,a nd saw a black thing on the wall. My first thought was, "oh cool, a nail to hang my keys on. I didn't see that before." I then went to inspect it and said "nail" moved. I proceeded to scream and beat at it until it was dead.
The third was with this bug they call the "silverfish." I can commiserate with it's name 'cause a) it's silver and b) it's sly and slippery and moves like a fish. This little fucker darted out of nowhere like a flahs of lightning on one of my midnight drink runs. I tried to swat him, but it was hard. He was a quick little bugger. Finally, I killed him. Proud? Nah, more pissed because I had to clean up the silver residue left behind from my swatting spree.
The last was more recent. My friend Brandy (who was staying with me for the weekend until she moved in) and I got back, and she immediately went to the bathroom. As she opened the door, this HUGE cockroach about 2 inches long started crawling on the floor. It's the biggest, ugliest bug I've ever seen. She rolled away, being she's in a wheelchair, and I screamed into my room. We debated for about 5 minutes on who and how we were going to kill it. Finally, I killed it with a shoe.
Other than the move, weather, and bugs, not much has been going on other than school. School is really a whole 'nother story, though. It's crazy. My school is open 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. I have class for four hours at a time, and labs three times a week, all at different times. I also have a Midterm on a Saturday, and a couple of 1am labs. That should be fun--not. I'll keep you posted on the school thing. At least there are A LOT of hot boys. That makes me happy.