Highly relatable and topical post coming at you now my friends.
Okay, so I love university. Learning and researching, reading and writing, the marvellous people I get to meet and know, it’s all wonderful. Really, I’d recommend that anyone wanting to go should. Yet, right now, nearing the end of the semester and academic year, things are getting intense. Major essays are now due and despite the fact that I’m not behind on anything, I am panicking.
Here is my problem: I prematurely panic. I don’t procrastinate work all that often, I’ll start well before any due date and plough my way through coursework and reading at a sustained pace. Despite this, despite the fact that you’d think this would be an awesome asset in the world of academia, I am unable to rationally conclude that I am doing all I can to the best of my ability. I am consumed by some dumb, unfounded idea that I am always behind, that I could always be doing more, that it’s never enough, that I’m never enough.
Even as I make decent personal progress, even as I improve or tick off those due dates, I am unable to feel a complete sense of pride or accomplishment.
I love the process of learning, researching and simply acquiring knowledge. I really do. If I am to continue past undergrad, I probably need to get a hold on this. Sure, my grades aren’t suffering and productivity is certainly ideal. Yet, I honestly believe that I cannot continue to put myself through this ridiculous, insular process.
that incur international shipping rates
while buying skirts
and three dollar shirts
from op shops down the street.
For all the times you’ve held my hand
I know, you have a strong grip, your spirit
never ceases to brighten, or radiate
warmth from your fingers, to mine
Of secrets, I have one worth hiding
One mark on pale skin
I can trace it from my forearm
lacing the edges of my mouth
the corners of my lips
Their words make small incisions,
cruelty sleeps between my bones
I trace invisible scars to feel
the rise the fall
I’m taking a brief departure from my usual slosh of poetry, prose and odd diary-like entries to write more plainly and probably less effectively about feelings. Specifically, the process of having them and then turning them into art. Or at least trying to.
Also, just a disclaimer, I’m using the term ‘art’ to describe all ‘creative practice’, not in any way to imply quality or merit to what I do here, just as an encompassing term for making stuff and honing in on creativity. So let’s get down to it. Continue reading Emotions are very difficult and my thoughts on this are not so profound
i cannot pen my thoughts
if the silence echoes words
to vulgar for this century.
i dress today in blue
in alone in mind in space
i cannot be but half of me
if the truth will not will out.
Spring is here. I can feel it seeping into my skin, crawling up my bones, a warm tingle spreading from once cold fingers.
I am a winter person, or autumn, to be more accurate but I’ll deal with extremes. What I mean is that given the choice to live my last day in either excessive heat or cold I’d choose the second. For heat is stifling. Spring means summer is on the way and that reality leaves me conflicted. Eyes looking constantly forward are bound to be disappointed.
So to make a cringe-worthy metaphor, to find positivity, to spring to a spring cliche, I can pluck a small flower of optimism and let words like renew and re-birth cloud my formerly pessimistic vision.
Eyes wide open.
This change of season and late afternoons spent outside in the fading light. The buzz of insects and the rumbling purrs of my cat and the smell of grass and growing humidity lets me breathe a little deeper, a little longer.
Change is in the air.