Mental Constipation and Brain Vomit
We got our English essays back today. A few random thoughts struck me, as erring in their target as the arrows in Hero.
I need to strip down my essay to the bare minimum. This reminds me a someone being flayed to the bone alive for heresy.
My essay needs to lose weight. There is too much fat accumulated around the middle. It needs to be slim and toned.
I am performing a rather clever monologue on a stage--with my back to the audience.
I am drowning and someone is pushing my head down. That's not helpful.
My essay is a eunuch. It has been cut, castrated.
This all reminds me of a game in which the character is supposed to pick up treasures on the ground. I let the character just go on its merry way, and every so often it scored points. More often, I died.
And about Fahrenheit 451--the part where Montag burns his own house down. I can't help thinking that the fiery flower, the "seed" Clarisse planted, the gushing, the torrents, the plastic fireproof covering--it sounds like a condom didn't work.
~~~~
There is a hard little ball of something inside me, as if I started playing with some rubber and kept winding it around and around...it gets bigger and bigger.
It might be anger. It might be hate. It's certainly a general negative feeling towards the whole world.
This all goes to show that one can't do anything with good advice except pass it on--it's never of any use to oneself. A paraphrasing of Oscar Wilde.
These days I go home and stare at my ceiling. It's so hard for me to accept that something I care so passionately for, something I think could work so well, doesn't strike a chord in others. Oh, some people respond, and I can't begin to express my appreciation to them for caring, but the majority completely ignored me.
Ignored me. I say that to myself again. Maybe there's nothing worth paying attention to--I'm not a compelling public speaker, I'm not brilliant, and I'm not really a good person. Mediocrity seems to be a calling for me, and I answer dully.
The knot in my chest began when I started taking Theatre. I cannot describe the mental anguish and exhaustion that plagued me. I was like a snail stripped of its shell by academic living and then thrown into salt water.
I can't cry all the time. I can't plead with people to please, please work because this is something they should care about. And yet, I can't sit by and do nothing.
So I do all the work. All the worrying. And I'm tired.
I'm not a leader. I know that. In the scheme of things I am clearly a Beta, destined for behind-the-scenes work. I don't mind, really. But I can't get things done, not the things I want to do.
So I shouldn't stress. Take over my life for a minute, and then feel free to offer your advice. Stop telling me there are people with worse problems out there. Solve my problems first.
The self-centered life is pretty unbearable. I know the curtains will drop on this stage in my life, and I'll move on...but I can't forget.
I can't forget the people who stick around when I'm at a high point in my life, the people who insist on calling me "smart" and think it's some kind of magic and not years of hard work. Their smiling faces, so flattering and for that sycophantic moment, so blank, like the stones on the beach rubbed smooth by the waves.
But these are nice people, really. Everyone has these moments. It's just...when it happens, it's hard to remember that these are people.
And then the low times, when the waves of people ebb. No one wants to stick around for after the show, when the makeup is washed off and I change back into old clothes.
I used to think people were perfect until last year. Honestly. I didn't realize that each person has flaws. I see it now with a vengeance, and no one has more petty scrapes and bruises than I do, without the imprinted valor of worthy wounds.
I need help. Desperately. And the first thing I need to do is to take out the "I."
I need to strip down my essay to the bare minimum. This reminds me a someone being flayed to the bone alive for heresy.
My essay needs to lose weight. There is too much fat accumulated around the middle. It needs to be slim and toned.
I am performing a rather clever monologue on a stage--with my back to the audience.
I am drowning and someone is pushing my head down. That's not helpful.
My essay is a eunuch. It has been cut, castrated.
This all reminds me of a game in which the character is supposed to pick up treasures on the ground. I let the character just go on its merry way, and every so often it scored points. More often, I died.
And about Fahrenheit 451--the part where Montag burns his own house down. I can't help thinking that the fiery flower, the "seed" Clarisse planted, the gushing, the torrents, the plastic fireproof covering--it sounds like a condom didn't work.
~~~~
There is a hard little ball of something inside me, as if I started playing with some rubber and kept winding it around and around...it gets bigger and bigger.
It might be anger. It might be hate. It's certainly a general negative feeling towards the whole world.
This all goes to show that one can't do anything with good advice except pass it on--it's never of any use to oneself. A paraphrasing of Oscar Wilde.
These days I go home and stare at my ceiling. It's so hard for me to accept that something I care so passionately for, something I think could work so well, doesn't strike a chord in others. Oh, some people respond, and I can't begin to express my appreciation to them for caring, but the majority completely ignored me.
Ignored me. I say that to myself again. Maybe there's nothing worth paying attention to--I'm not a compelling public speaker, I'm not brilliant, and I'm not really a good person. Mediocrity seems to be a calling for me, and I answer dully.
The knot in my chest began when I started taking Theatre. I cannot describe the mental anguish and exhaustion that plagued me. I was like a snail stripped of its shell by academic living and then thrown into salt water.
I can't cry all the time. I can't plead with people to please, please work because this is something they should care about. And yet, I can't sit by and do nothing.
So I do all the work. All the worrying. And I'm tired.
I'm not a leader. I know that. In the scheme of things I am clearly a Beta, destined for behind-the-scenes work. I don't mind, really. But I can't get things done, not the things I want to do.
So I shouldn't stress. Take over my life for a minute, and then feel free to offer your advice. Stop telling me there are people with worse problems out there. Solve my problems first.
The self-centered life is pretty unbearable. I know the curtains will drop on this stage in my life, and I'll move on...but I can't forget.
I can't forget the people who stick around when I'm at a high point in my life, the people who insist on calling me "smart" and think it's some kind of magic and not years of hard work. Their smiling faces, so flattering and for that sycophantic moment, so blank, like the stones on the beach rubbed smooth by the waves.
But these are nice people, really. Everyone has these moments. It's just...when it happens, it's hard to remember that these are people.
And then the low times, when the waves of people ebb. No one wants to stick around for after the show, when the makeup is washed off and I change back into old clothes.
I used to think people were perfect until last year. Honestly. I didn't realize that each person has flaws. I see it now with a vengeance, and no one has more petty scrapes and bruises than I do, without the imprinted valor of worthy wounds.
I need help. Desperately. And the first thing I need to do is to take out the "I."
wow. that's loaded. if i can do anything to help, then just tell me.
Posted by
joy...! |
4:10 PM
Winnie, dear. I think we're both screwed like that...but I guess I'm lucky- your problems seem far worse.
I'll always be there for you too! And I'm not just saying that because Joy said that and if I didn't then I'd look mean (!)-I'm saying that because I really will be there when you need me to, just like you are for me. I could go on and on, but my perfect sister who I oh-so-love "needs" the computer and I'm too lazy to fight with her.
I command you to feel better. NOW. :)
-sheena
Posted by
Anonymous |
5:52 PM