Just letting you know. I've been pretty sick lately, and on top of that I've been busy with club stuff and school. The weather officially sucks again, so I guess I'll continue being inactive even after I'm over whatever stomach bug I've got.
Anyway, if anybody from Marist is reading this, I miss you guys. We really have to figure out a time to meet and hang out sometime. Maybe in the spring before the new semester starts. I don't have the energy to think about driving anywhere now, but we'll see what happens.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Thursday, October 08, 2009
Tuesday, October 06, 2009
A good tweet? Maybe not.
I was going to post here just as an update, then realized I really have nothing to talk about, so I thought maybe I'd just update my twitter instead, but now this is already getting to be too many characters so I'm just going to post here.
Hey! I'm still here. Who would've thought, right? But it's true. And I've got a mid-semester break coming up, so I'm in good spirits. I need the extra sleep pretty badly right now. In fact, I need any sleep pretty badly right now.
Hey! I'm still here. Who would've thought, right? But it's true. And I've got a mid-semester break coming up, so I'm in good spirits. I need the extra sleep pretty badly right now. In fact, I need any sleep pretty badly right now.
Friday, October 02, 2009
From the Heart
I know it's usually not my style to get too personal here. I mean yeah, I'll complain about problems in my everyday life, but I usually try to do it for an audience. I try to turn my daily drudgery into something mildly amusing for the random readers of the Internet. But tonight I'm in a not-so-rare mood, and I feel I have to get this off my chest. Who knows, maybe I'll feel better afterward. I'm sorry if this isn't my best work, but with any luck someone will understand what I'm talking about.
My biggest problem seems to be life itself. Life ends. I mean, if I were immortal, I probably wouldn't care about wasting my life in this crappy little state school trying to get a stupid degree in a field I barely care about anymore. See, if I had all the time in the world, it wouldn't matter if I took life at a snail's pace. But that's just not the case.
I'm scared to death that I'll die before I ever accomplish anything I set out to do. I have big dreams, you know. I want to write and direct and be a comic, and you know all that, but before even that stuff takes off, I want to undertake a seemingly simple task: start my own webcomic. It didn't have to be anything earth-shatteringly great, and it didn't even have to have a regular update schedule, or even people to read it for that matter. I just wanted to take this screwy story of mine and put it out there.
Here's the thing: I can't draw for shit. I'm not awful, I guess, but any time I try to draw my characters, they come out all wrong. I can draw inanimate objects without trouble, but as soon as I try to draw people I fail miserably. This is a big pain for me, because I had my heart set on drawing this thing myself. I mean, I guess it would be possible to find someone else to draw for me, but I'm afraid the comic will lose a certain personal feel for me. Besides, I know I can't possibly afford to pay anyone well enough to warrant them putting up with my project, especially when there's no guarantee the thing will ever take off.
There's more to it than that, though. Even if the webcomic thing didn't take off, I could probably just write the series like I had been thinking about originally doing. For some reason, though, I've been stricken with this sick compulsion lately to just avoid writing like the plague. Be it writing for this project, for my first novel, for finishing that stupid short story I haven't touched in months, or any of the other things I'd love to finish, I seem to have this deep-seated fear of the whole thing. Somehow, the one thing in the world I'm any good at is the one thing I'm least able to do from day to day.
So, you might wonder to yourself, since Dan hasn't been updating his blog much, what has he been doing with his life? The answer is a whole lot of nothing. And it's making me sick to my stomach. I swear, I'm just completely disgusted with myself. All I do is wake up in the morning, eat breakfast, go to classes (which I'm not even always doing anymore), dick around on the Internet for a while, maybe watch a little tv once in a while, take a nap, go to dinner, come back and spend a while in the bathroom cursing God and whoever does the cooking in the dining hall, then go to bed and toss and turn, wondering what the hell I did all day. That's it.
Okay, so lately I did become the accidental leader of a club on campus, and a tentative member of another club, but these are just minor distractions, and I find I usually can't summon the will to fulfill my duties for the presidency. It's sad to think that I can't handle what is seemingly just the events of everyday life. Other people seem to handle themselves alright. Why can't I do the same? Why can't I go through life without having to grapple with a constant draining sickness in the pit of my heart, like what I'm doing will never matter to anyone ever?
Great, so it finally happened: I've become the pathetic, melodramatic emo-cuss I never wanted to be. Everything I want in life seems to be close at hand, so why can't I just reach out and take it? Why am I afraid of doing things, and talking to people, and just living my damn life?
I can still hear the rain beating on my window, and even if I couldn't, I'm sure that dismal feeling would still be here. I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired. I try like hell to wind myself up and do things, but it never lasts. Is this all just depression acting up? That's what all the television commercials would lead me to believe, but what can I do? I'm already on two medications, and taking energy supplements just to get through the day, but it's still not enough. I'm still wallowing in a pit of my own self-loathing, and I can't seem to dig myself out no matter how hard I try. For every fleeting moment I get out, I just fall right back in.
Well, here I am again, on the edge of a pit that appeared from nowhere to swallow me up, along with my energy, my dignity, my hopes and dreams, and any semblance of a life I ever had. Honestly, I know this all sounds horrible, but just the fact I've been able to type any of this out means I'm better off than I was all day. I'm still miserable, but I've gotten just far enough out of the pit to start crying for help. I don't want to worry anyone, but if you know or care anything about me, well, you've got reason to worry. Sorry, I wish it weren't the case, but this is as far as I've been able to come on my own, and it may be as far as I go.
Okay, this is starting to sound a little like a suicide note, so let me just assure you I'm not contemplating killing myself. I'll admit the thought has crossed my mind, but it seems to me that the only way things can get better is if I keep on living, so death just isn't an option right now.
I'll probably go back to bed after this, since I'm spending more and more time there lately. I'm just too tired to think anymore. I want to get out and do things, but I just don't have the physical or mental capability to be active. I don't know how I'll get out of this situation, but I'll think of something. I've decided I'm going to talk to a counselor, and I'll talk to my doctor about changing meds again, and with any luck I'll find a way out of this crappy metaphorical hole I've been sitting and stewing in.
I don't say this often, so pay attention: I can't do this on my own. If anyone, and I mean anyone, can offer any advice for me, a kind word, or even something as simple as an acknowledgment of my existence. I need to know this fight is worth something, because I can't win if I'm just fighting for myself. I need to know somebody's in my corner. If that somebody is you, just give me the good word, okay?
Peace and love, y'all. Look for me among the stars.
My biggest problem seems to be life itself. Life ends. I mean, if I were immortal, I probably wouldn't care about wasting my life in this crappy little state school trying to get a stupid degree in a field I barely care about anymore. See, if I had all the time in the world, it wouldn't matter if I took life at a snail's pace. But that's just not the case.
I'm scared to death that I'll die before I ever accomplish anything I set out to do. I have big dreams, you know. I want to write and direct and be a comic, and you know all that, but before even that stuff takes off, I want to undertake a seemingly simple task: start my own webcomic. It didn't have to be anything earth-shatteringly great, and it didn't even have to have a regular update schedule, or even people to read it for that matter. I just wanted to take this screwy story of mine and put it out there.
Here's the thing: I can't draw for shit. I'm not awful, I guess, but any time I try to draw my characters, they come out all wrong. I can draw inanimate objects without trouble, but as soon as I try to draw people I fail miserably. This is a big pain for me, because I had my heart set on drawing this thing myself. I mean, I guess it would be possible to find someone else to draw for me, but I'm afraid the comic will lose a certain personal feel for me. Besides, I know I can't possibly afford to pay anyone well enough to warrant them putting up with my project, especially when there's no guarantee the thing will ever take off.
There's more to it than that, though. Even if the webcomic thing didn't take off, I could probably just write the series like I had been thinking about originally doing. For some reason, though, I've been stricken with this sick compulsion lately to just avoid writing like the plague. Be it writing for this project, for my first novel, for finishing that stupid short story I haven't touched in months, or any of the other things I'd love to finish, I seem to have this deep-seated fear of the whole thing. Somehow, the one thing in the world I'm any good at is the one thing I'm least able to do from day to day.
So, you might wonder to yourself, since Dan hasn't been updating his blog much, what has he been doing with his life? The answer is a whole lot of nothing. And it's making me sick to my stomach. I swear, I'm just completely disgusted with myself. All I do is wake up in the morning, eat breakfast, go to classes (which I'm not even always doing anymore), dick around on the Internet for a while, maybe watch a little tv once in a while, take a nap, go to dinner, come back and spend a while in the bathroom cursing God and whoever does the cooking in the dining hall, then go to bed and toss and turn, wondering what the hell I did all day. That's it.
Okay, so lately I did become the accidental leader of a club on campus, and a tentative member of another club, but these are just minor distractions, and I find I usually can't summon the will to fulfill my duties for the presidency. It's sad to think that I can't handle what is seemingly just the events of everyday life. Other people seem to handle themselves alright. Why can't I do the same? Why can't I go through life without having to grapple with a constant draining sickness in the pit of my heart, like what I'm doing will never matter to anyone ever?
Great, so it finally happened: I've become the pathetic, melodramatic emo-cuss I never wanted to be. Everything I want in life seems to be close at hand, so why can't I just reach out and take it? Why am I afraid of doing things, and talking to people, and just living my damn life?
I can still hear the rain beating on my window, and even if I couldn't, I'm sure that dismal feeling would still be here. I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired. I try like hell to wind myself up and do things, but it never lasts. Is this all just depression acting up? That's what all the television commercials would lead me to believe, but what can I do? I'm already on two medications, and taking energy supplements just to get through the day, but it's still not enough. I'm still wallowing in a pit of my own self-loathing, and I can't seem to dig myself out no matter how hard I try. For every fleeting moment I get out, I just fall right back in.
Well, here I am again, on the edge of a pit that appeared from nowhere to swallow me up, along with my energy, my dignity, my hopes and dreams, and any semblance of a life I ever had. Honestly, I know this all sounds horrible, but just the fact I've been able to type any of this out means I'm better off than I was all day. I'm still miserable, but I've gotten just far enough out of the pit to start crying for help. I don't want to worry anyone, but if you know or care anything about me, well, you've got reason to worry. Sorry, I wish it weren't the case, but this is as far as I've been able to come on my own, and it may be as far as I go.
Okay, this is starting to sound a little like a suicide note, so let me just assure you I'm not contemplating killing myself. I'll admit the thought has crossed my mind, but it seems to me that the only way things can get better is if I keep on living, so death just isn't an option right now.
I'll probably go back to bed after this, since I'm spending more and more time there lately. I'm just too tired to think anymore. I want to get out and do things, but I just don't have the physical or mental capability to be active. I don't know how I'll get out of this situation, but I'll think of something. I've decided I'm going to talk to a counselor, and I'll talk to my doctor about changing meds again, and with any luck I'll find a way out of this crappy metaphorical hole I've been sitting and stewing in.
I don't say this often, so pay attention: I can't do this on my own. If anyone, and I mean anyone, can offer any advice for me, a kind word, or even something as simple as an acknowledgment of my existence. I need to know this fight is worth something, because I can't win if I'm just fighting for myself. I need to know somebody's in my corner. If that somebody is you, just give me the good word, okay?
Peace and love, y'all. Look for me among the stars.
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