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Thursday, March 31st, 2005
1:05a - Grown up
The event is days before my birthday.

current mood: sad

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1:07a - Grown up, part deux
Procrastinating as usual. Perusing old "beloved books," screaming. Agonizing over life, thinking that I have grown. And yet, I will read this too at a later date, and it will be just as peurile (sp?) as the others. Have I grown at all? Makes me think that human life will be overtaken by canines. They're so much smarter, and so much more beautiful, perceptive, optimistic and kind.

That is not to say that I am representative of all human life. Just mine. But in the ginx-centric way I have, what I feel is what everyone feels. Why is it such a difficult thing to realize that this is just not true?

Three books ago produced some of my finest writing as a supposed adult. 10 years ago produced my finest writing, ever. How could one ever be that smart. That was a different person. That person memorized Mozart and Chopin and especially Sonatinas, mere exercises. That person had too high of a tolerance for pain.

The same themes emerge, harping, harping on that same instrument of trying to find blame and then giving up with a reminder that life isn't fair.

What the hell is this. This is supposed to be a journal about finding a dissertation topic. And yet it has inevitably become a rant, not even disguised in any way. I must now relegate this to the personal, and begin another blog, one fit for public perusal.

Today a returning student of mine admitted to me that she was really intimidated by me at first. But then she said, looking back over the quarter that she was my student, she realized that she learned a lot. So I guess she is not intimidated anymore, which is a good thing, because she is a serious student and is polite. But why the intimidation? I think it's my face, among other things. She is not the first to tell me this. I wonder if this attribute is some sort of protection that I have unwittingly developed within myself. Perhaps this is my chosen disguise for the insecurity, or my confidence uniform. I think I am easy to figure out. Could I be so wrong? Must ask a friend. What kind of a friend, I can't say.

Sad, because I'm reminded that engaging with people means hurting them, being hurt. Believing in them means disappointment. Writing these lines denotes negativity. Wallowing, I know. Wallowing, wallowing. Optimism will be forthcoming, just not now. I don't feel like it.

Numbness is not the answer anymore. In fact it never was, but I had to do something.

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