Right now, all I want to do is crawl under a blanket and pretend to be a turtle as though pretending to be a turtle will make all the human worries go away. I don’t feel like an adult, I don’t know what I’m doing and worse of all – I’m wondering why I’m doing a masters in the first place when I don’t even know what I’m doing next.
I envy people who seem so sure of themselves, secure and stable and legal in their world. Often, I feel like I’m teetering at the edge of a tightrope where the slightest push either way would send me falling down down down the cracks; past the wonderland and rabbit holes and spacetime wraps – to become a ghost. The truth is I have no real status of any kind, I’m an alien on alien soil, a foreigner, an intruder, an immigrant and migrant and nomad all at once; homeless to the extreme; a wanderer and on good days I’m an explorer and traveller and reveller of sights; come night and I feel more and more like a matchstick girl running out of fire.
I worry so much about it – do you? it goes beyond anxiety or stress, to the exactitude of the word: to fret. I fret about it needlessly, and it seems that every reassurance is akin to pouring water on desert soil. On the darkest, lowest days I wonder if it’s even worth it. Be another cog in the capitalism machine, give birth to a 2.3 replacement rate children, eke a living secure in my semi-hipster sustainability practice but still buy a macbookpro despite it’s rare earth content. I wonder if there’s any point in living or in creating art at all, when humanity seems to be strolling happily down the road of destruction. I try to find answers in ontological philosophy – up and down Deleuze and Nietzsche and Foucoult and Aristotle and Heidegger, pouring over their works as though it’ll pop up with sparkles and go YES! THIS IS IT! THIS IS A GUIDEBOOK/WALKTHROUGH TO LIFE! in giant, blinking caps. And then, when it doesn’t happen – all I want to do is lie down, close my eyes and dream forever. Is it wrong to wish for an easier existence?
I say this now, because I want people to be aware of it. I read so often about so-and-so path’s to success or interviews they give to people who have “made it”. The problem is that once you’ve “made it”, you have essentially moved to a different time and you can never recover or remember how shit-tastic life really was. Well. Now I’m recording it. I’m recording that doing an MFA is both bloody awesome and bloody awful and you’ll wake up doubting and hating yourself several times a month, possibly more during finals. I want you to know it without the cynicism that accompanies this kind of feeling – because what I’m feeling is not cynicism but a despair over my future. “You’re so young” or “you have youth on your side” but what does that even mean to me? That means I’ll merely live a different period from the one before (not longer, but just starting and ending at different points) and the period seems to be full of madness: the world is going crazy when pregnant women have different rights’ from humans, when telcos play police and scout you for copyright violations, when the poor pays more taxes than the rich and social justice has become a meme catchphrase.
wargh I hate being 20-something. I still feel like I want someone to hold my hand and tell me it’s going to be OK and the world is a fairytale of beautiful wonder; and at the same time I still want to be able to make my own way through the world – except I really have no fucking clue how.
ok rant over, back to work!