24 Feb 2011

February 24, 2011

I’m not getting enough sleep. I’m reading too many books. I’m working on too many projects. I’m drinking too much coffee. I’m having crazy dreams. I’m waking up in the middle of the night. I’m not sure these are all bad things, though.

So here’s where all this comes from. All these posts and thoughts. It was Allen Ginsberg’s idea, I swear.

There is something redemptive about doing work, about making things.

Awhile ago a friend had just gotten out of a terrible relationship and she was pretty broken up about it. She told me she was just going to work and work and work and hope to not feel anything for a while. I told her that was a bad idea, that it was important for her to feel her pain, not pretend it wasn’t there. But I was 18 and what did I know about relationships and pain? What did I know about anything?

A couple weeks ago I had a friend ask me what they should do about something, and I said I had no idea.

Sometimes I want the worst for people. It’s terrible.

And I’m going to stop writing this at exactly 5:30pm.

I didn’t want to work on a paper about Jane Austen over the weekend. I didn’t want to give up lunch breaks to get all the reading done. I didn’t want to spend my tuesday night in a classroom. But when it was all done and turned in, the satisfaction was so much greater than all that free time combined. The best things are always acquired tastes. The greatest satisfactions always delayed. And so on.

I think if school is good for anything, it’s good for that. If you never get a taste of it, you never want it. Or maybe you do. I don’t know.

I’m not a relativist, I’m just unconfident. That goes back to the advice thing.

I had a friend the other day tell me, “You’re black and white. You’re so black and white.” And it took me a few days to realize that she was wrong.

I lied: it’s 5:31.

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