It’s like drugs I think, working towards something you love. Each and every day I feel consumed by it, consumed by wanting it, always pushing for it. From dawn til dusk and from dusk til dawn I work or think about working all the time which I know isn’t the most balanced way to live but if I wanted a balanced life I wouldn’t have chosen academia as a goal. But it reminds me of a saying from high school when they made us do drug prevention education. One’s too much, a thousand not enough.
It’s hard sometimes because it always feels like I’m behind. When I am sitting alone with my thoughts, it comes up. I should be productive right now, the better me would be productive. My imagined competition doesn’t have these problems or worries, they simply work. They are a machine and by the time we both apply, their long grocery list of accomplishments dwarfs the lines on my applications I managed to throw together. These thoughts have started to peek into my normal life, my social life, my relaxation.
I know I should keep many of these things in life separate, but I can’t, or more like I won’t. It flows through me, and in some ways is me. To be so intertwined is ultimately detrimental for my wellbeing, for I will live and die in this small world that has no reason or recourse to reciprocate my feelings. It’s a dangerous thing, dreaming, not because of what happens when you’re doing it but what happens after you wake up. So I must tear myself away from it kicking and screaming, enjoy the world around me while it lasts, invest in other things knowing full well that each moment I spend away is a moment deprived from my goal. I should think of it as an investment, it’s always good to diversify my portfolio, but I found the one thing I want to be the best at, so it’s hard to pull away from feeding this monster.
I have to turn off at some point. Let go and drift for a while to rest. Other people deserve my attention, and I should give it to them. It’s what they deserve, and it’s with them that I will make it through.
These restless moments, this forlorn daydreaming keeps me going and pushing forward into the day where everything is always slightly out of reach.
It feels like it flows from my fingertips
The expression of memory and intimacy
Flashes of feeling and memory
A vividness that captures my attention
They are escaping me
Like as memory
Each time remembered becomes softer
If feels like the flash is the memories life
The feeling trying to resurface and live
Gasping for air, one last stand before being left behind
It’s too late now
I can’t go back to relive the memories
Can’t go back to make any more
So sit motionless waiting for them to pass
Hoping to capture those last moments
There they go.
Another day beckons me
Calling for my ceasing of action.
Calling for me rest my head so it can prepare itself.
I am ready for it now
Sleep is on the horizon
I am waiting for the sun
To call my name as it arises
To rouse me from my bed
As It tells me whats in store
I can’t wait to see
What tomorrow may bring to me
What next expeirnces will show
And what memories to be made
Another day beckons me
and I am ready.
I saw it clear as day, as if I had just woken up. There was single spotlight beaming down, illuminating my arms and legs which were attached to wires extending into the infinite above me.
I was hanging in a black void, dangling from thread unable to move. The strings seem to pull, and my body starts to animate. My limbs moved more like clockwork, with an unnatural flow and began reaching into the nothingness in front of me.
Suspended from these strings, I started getting used to my motion and after a time the spotlight dimmed. I found myself in front of the world that was like a small orb that exuded light.
This world that looked and moved very much like our own. All around it were small strings jutting from this blue-green globe. I sat there observing as days and nights seem to pass, and I grew to admire this world. I wanted to reach out and pull strings, to influence the world in front of me. My hands moved as if on their own, reached down and started to pull these strings. Each time is affecting a little bit more of this world in between my hands. With time, I learned what each string did, learned all the ways to use them to make what I wanted to happen. But every time I pulled strings they became more and more entangled in my fingertips.
That’s when the spotlight came back, my fingers all tangled up in string. I was just an actor in a much larger system, I was a just marionette who learned to puppeteer but, truth be told, I never knew who was pulling my strings. I wanted to know why, and for what purpose did I have to learn that no matter what strings I pull that someone was pulling mine.