a point

I wanted to say this to someone: " The point is to recognize signs, how you act and what you do in certain situations and how you affect others around you." But maybe I should be saying it to myself. Go Figure.

tarnished idealism

same place, eight months later
thinking of one last paper
troubles greater
single is clearer
nowhere nearer, O dear reader
such a big dreamer

me time

Thought I would finally catch up on some writing today, especially since I took a personal "day off," but guess what?

Web/blog surfing= 1 Writing: 0

It takes me so long to sit and start writing something. Today's task is to write a simple journal, well, really a brainstorm based on a novel I read last week. How hard can it be to put some thoughts down on Word? I mean, it doesn't have to be polished writing. Sigh.

I feel like I've been so away from writing. Guilt, don't I know it.

before today

When I lived in my first apt in grad city about two years ago, I used to spend countless saturday nights -- just like tonight -- in front of the computer, reading various things (blogs, doubtless). Of course, there were times when I was productive, for instance, an hour's worth of devotion to actual research, academic stimulation -- oh how I'd love to bathe in inspiration about now.

Trying to read non-related essay by david savran, and then back to brainstorming on an essay. I miss those saturday nights of reckless eating and reading and sleeping.

not ready

I feel like renaming this occasional space and calling it Uninspired. How did I get to be so dull and unexcited about anything? Been lousy and moody for a few months now. I'd like to be back in the place when all I cared about was me and my books -- a happy place. Where are the Ruby red shoes when I need them?

Waiting

I must've mention many entries ago about the anxiety of waiting. I loathe the waiting period, or just waiting. Period. Finally I thought I should just blog it out so I can move on to something else, refocus and actually make progress.

I seem to always question why this day wound up being frustrating. Of course, I am trying to write 20 pages in, oh, I guess two days now. So, that's stressful, and then having an erratic eating schedule tops it off. Nowadays, it seems harder to cope with expectations falling short, or not materializing at all for that matter. Maybe I just had a crappy, useless day. Maybe I procrastinated too much on e-scrabble or whatever. Maybe I found myself waiting for a phonecall foolishly and then realized I wasn't going to get a call back. Maybe I just needed control of something to satisfy me.

...I wanted instant gratification so that I can move from point A to point B. I wanted someone to reassure me that my frustration was going to be over in a matter of 2 and 1/2 days, and I'll be free to run around like everyone else (or at least have the illusion of freedom).

It's true that I find myself creating small obstacles--or distractions -- that, more often than not, keep me from focusing on finishing up these damned papers, only to find myself feeling guilty at the end of night. Finally I think it means I want to be punished. And by the way, writing about this makes me feel like an overgrown 5 year old.
Boy, do I hate the way this day is turning out.

I have 3 hours before bedtime and I just have to write something, however crapped out it turns out. One more time to make me feel better? Boy, do I loathe this day and hope it is over soon so I can wake up feeling much better. I hope writing about this helps me tonight!

It hurts so bad.

That's right: reading an essay that quotes Zizek and Lacan's work. Why do I do this? Why do I give myself headaches? Why the compulsion to repeat? Is it really to master trauma?

One more week to go and I am free, sort of. So mentally exhausted. I can hibernate for a whole month.