tavie.com

Do you know how everything in your life is sort of boiling around in a jolly, stinky mess held down by a thin, rubbery skin of denial and the resultant temporary composure that denial lends?

My skin's getting holes in it. Can anyone lend me a tire-patch kit?

I am going to ruminate, in the manner of dumb, cloven plains animals:
How do you come to terms with who you were supposed to have been? What do you do when you've gotten so good at Overcoming Difficulties that you forget you had any difficulties to overcome in the first place and begin to be unsatisfied with your signficantly lowered status as a developing member of society? What, most importantly, do you do to get rid of the impossible standards imposed by too much television and too many movies and too much contact with the rosy promises of a bright future they pretend that anyone can attain? (Or, worse, too much contact with Those More Privileged/Those More Capable than yourself?) How can you maintain your lowered standards of success when memory of failed potential constantly looms under the dampened towel of Chemical Mood Stabilizers, poking its pointy head through whenever the ratio of chemical-to-bloodstream gets too low?

How the fuck can the only school that I could get into, as a high school dropout with a fake diploma (and they didn't even need to see the diploma-- they don't even care if their students know how to read, much less graduate!), lower their standards so much that a degree from them has become virtually worthless? What, exactly, am I working for? Either I'm here to Learn Something or I'm here because I need a piece of paper that will enable me to attain financial security as an adult. If I tell myself I'm here to Learn Something, then I must deal with the fact that I'm forced to glean what knowledge I can from an instutition with radically lowered academic standards because they're the only ones who would deign to teach me. If I tell myself I'm here for the piece of paper, I must recognize that that piece of paper command no respect from prospective employers/graduate schools/Keepers Of My Future, because of aforementioned lowered standards.

I must remember the depths from which I've come. That's what important: that I rose from depths.

It's all bullshit, you know, and it stays neatly tucked under its tarp most of the time. But sometimes one edge of the flap comes untied. Usually on sad anniversaries. I'll just sleep on this one and it'll go away again.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 2:23 AM | shower me with attention