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Sep. 20th, 2010 10:32 pmOne hour until the library closes. Finally I'm writing.
Finally I'm rid of the noise and distraction (mostly). I'm here and my fingers dance out the Story So Far, as their master contemplate his future.
Every day I waste, my heartbeat makes me pay for it in my sleeping hours. I hear it thumping in my chest and every day I'm reminded of my mortality, of how few years I have left before I'm old. The urge to start something rages within me, and I burn to learn discipline... to hone my mind like a razor sharp blade.
Like a ninja. A writing ninja.
I'm in the University of Victoria now, and things are mostly sweet. The dishwasher and oven at my place are both broken, and two of my roommates might as well come from different planets (let alone different provinces), but I am content with my living space. And my classmates are wonderful people... really feel like I can get along with them. Classes are also great, and I think I'll be expanding my workload next term, now that I am starting to adapt to the system.
The library is almost painfully quiet... it's awesome. Right now it's an hour before they close, but here I am nestled within its cozy passages, in an empty classroom at a handicapped-reserved desk. Almost nothing here but me, or at least that's what it feels like.
Also, I'm addicted to a new song, and its crazy-ass limbo music video:
I don't know why, but it reminds me of the girl I just ended my relationship with. I'd share it with her, but I'd be worried that she'd read into it as much as I do and get all depressed about it.
It strikes a tone with me mainly because the lyrics speak of being together, of sacrificing freedom for love and "completeness"... but emphasizes mostly on what is lost more than what is gained. I suppose I've always shifted away from the idea of being chained... of settling down and having a life that might be expected of me. A life where I take an unassuming, respectable job and care for a family unit.
The subject of kids keeps coming up, now that a certain of sibling of mine has moved in with her boyfriend. It's strange how much I despise children, yet still keep coming back to the question of raising one, even without thinking about it. I look forward to the times when I'll be thirty years old and taking my nephew out for a day around town. I think about the kind of person I'd be as a mentor to young minds. I think about the connections I could make... my role as a teacher of the real things in life. And I find myself similarly grossed out and fascinated by the concept of pregnancy.
When I was eighteen, I swore that if I didn't change my mind about not having kids in ten years, I'd get a vasectomy. I wish my views didn't change so much, sometimes. I also sometimes wish that a passionate, conscious thought could be ironclad, that the lurking unconscious feeling could just go away. But that road leads to a hardened heart, and I'm wise enough to avoid such pitfalls.
What other things to talk about? I'm trying to form a checklist of all the things I need to do. It's not working yet, but at least I'm not beating myself up over it. And my homework situation is mostly manageable. I'm reading the Oresteia and finding it completely freaking fascinating, so that's a thing! Should make for good bedtime reading now that I'm shunning The Imperfectionists after one terribly tragic chapter that made me want to cry. (That's more material I could talk about, but I've waxed enough about familial situations.
Less than half an hour before the library closes. They've already engaged in psychological warfare. I should probably get out of here.
Good to be back.
Finally I'm rid of the noise and distraction (mostly). I'm here and my fingers dance out the Story So Far, as their master contemplate his future.
Every day I waste, my heartbeat makes me pay for it in my sleeping hours. I hear it thumping in my chest and every day I'm reminded of my mortality, of how few years I have left before I'm old. The urge to start something rages within me, and I burn to learn discipline... to hone my mind like a razor sharp blade.
Like a ninja. A writing ninja.
I'm in the University of Victoria now, and things are mostly sweet. The dishwasher and oven at my place are both broken, and two of my roommates might as well come from different planets (let alone different provinces), but I am content with my living space. And my classmates are wonderful people... really feel like I can get along with them. Classes are also great, and I think I'll be expanding my workload next term, now that I am starting to adapt to the system.
The library is almost painfully quiet... it's awesome. Right now it's an hour before they close, but here I am nestled within its cozy passages, in an empty classroom at a handicapped-reserved desk. Almost nothing here but me, or at least that's what it feels like.
Also, I'm addicted to a new song, and its crazy-ass limbo music video:
I don't know why, but it reminds me of the girl I just ended my relationship with. I'd share it with her, but I'd be worried that she'd read into it as much as I do and get all depressed about it.
It strikes a tone with me mainly because the lyrics speak of being together, of sacrificing freedom for love and "completeness"... but emphasizes mostly on what is lost more than what is gained. I suppose I've always shifted away from the idea of being chained... of settling down and having a life that might be expected of me. A life where I take an unassuming, respectable job and care for a family unit.
The subject of kids keeps coming up, now that a certain of sibling of mine has moved in with her boyfriend. It's strange how much I despise children, yet still keep coming back to the question of raising one, even without thinking about it. I look forward to the times when I'll be thirty years old and taking my nephew out for a day around town. I think about the kind of person I'd be as a mentor to young minds. I think about the connections I could make... my role as a teacher of the real things in life. And I find myself similarly grossed out and fascinated by the concept of pregnancy.
When I was eighteen, I swore that if I didn't change my mind about not having kids in ten years, I'd get a vasectomy. I wish my views didn't change so much, sometimes. I also sometimes wish that a passionate, conscious thought could be ironclad, that the lurking unconscious feeling could just go away. But that road leads to a hardened heart, and I'm wise enough to avoid such pitfalls.
What other things to talk about? I'm trying to form a checklist of all the things I need to do. It's not working yet, but at least I'm not beating myself up over it. And my homework situation is mostly manageable. I'm reading the Oresteia and finding it completely freaking fascinating, so that's a thing! Should make for good bedtime reading now that I'm shunning The Imperfectionists after one terribly tragic chapter that made me want to cry. (That's more material I could talk about, but I've waxed enough about familial situations.
Less than half an hour before the library closes. They've already engaged in psychological warfare. I should probably get out of here.
Good to be back.