Nothing in particular, I just detest in general. It’s like saying “I metabolize”. It’s basically ambiance at this point.
I don’t like it.
When I decided that I had to put my head down and really focus on getting through Tallulah without making notes, that was supposed to take, like, two days at most. It’s not a long manuscript, only 82k words; that’s 4k words longer than Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. It was supposed to be over and done with long before now.
Is it because I still don’t have a solid routine for Honors study? Well, what if I never have one? Am I still going to be hanging out for my “free time” to roll around, despite the seven billion times I’ve realized that there is no such thing as free time and that if I’m going to get anything done it’s going to be all at once or not at all?
And what if I do have one? Will living life through the interface of a schedule make me reluctant to do anything, just on the basis that anything I do would then become part of the schedule and feel inescapable and claustrophobic and oppressive because I have to do it?
It’s like … I don’t need a schedule. What I need is a way of organizing myself so that all of my obligated tasks (study) get done in an orderly fashion, without me noticing. A schedule is something you have to think about, and it becomes all I think about if it’s in place, regardless of whether it actually works well.
UGH I’ve gone through all this shit before; how do I move on to something else???
I recently read The Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman, and it was very moving. It is apparently the most personal (well, autobiographical) novel he’s ever written, and it certainly came across that way. I like the way he mythologizes himself, and I like not knowing which bits are historically accurate and which are fictional augments. Taking life experiences as story-seeds rather than trying to tell the story of a life, because life is not a story, or even many stories. Just like a lemon is not lemonade. But you can get one out of the other if you squeeze.
What a grim analogy. I honestly didn’t intend it to go that way.
I have almost gotten to the end of Tallulah, to be fair. I have been continuously reading it, even though, as per usual, not as fast as I’d like. I’ll probably read it all over again once I’ve finished, still not making any notes. I’ve lost the attention to potential that I had when I first read through this particular manuscript; I saw the possibilities as though I was reading somebody else’s story and wondering what would happen next, hoping I’d be rewarded for my commitment with certain avenues being explored for me. This time around I’m just absorbing it like a sponge, with the same amount of cognitive processing as a sponge. It’s not that it’s just going in one end and out the other; it’s that the excitement of speculation is not there this time. Which … I guess is fine. I just wish I could remember which bits I hoped would be expanded upon the first time I read through. I was relying on excitement to tell me what they were when I got to them, but no dice. I can sort of remember them, but it feels like I’m making them up.
I hope I wrote them down somewhere. What was it I always used to say on this blog? Always takes notes? I hope I listened.
I firmly believe that it is okay to not be okay. But I also believe – not that I have to believe it, as I’m experiencing it right now – that not knowing what you’re passionate about committing yourself to is really shitty. Schedules get in the way of passion if you have to put them in place just to get anything done. It’s the whole “putting the horse before the cart” thing. Ideally it goes the other way around; ideally your schedule comes about as a result of needing to better organize the doing of the things you can’t help but do because you’re so passionate about them. I don’t know what the hell I want to do; I don’t have a fucking horse to begin with, so the cart isn’t helping me much. And yet I still need to go. Somewhere. Nowhere I’m really dying to get to.
Maybe I need to just quit Honors. And then enter the real world, find out that I don’t have what it takes to succeed in life as an adult among other adults and have a nervous breakdown, upon which I shall revert to my pre-cognitive teenage self and wallow in freakish misery forever.
I’ll schedule it in.