All The Small Things in The Stuff That's Not Interesting But Is The Most Interesting Stuff I'll Write

I know it’s been a while. School started and brought a huge wave of issues and sort of swallowed me whole. Plus, I started tugging at some frayed strands in the tapestry and realized some pretty ludicrous things.

Edgar is off traveling the southern states, doing comedy wherever he can and basically finding himself. I’m so proud of Edgar which is very depressing. There is no pride for myself. I’m seriously within sight of the finish line of college and there’s absolutely nothing beyond graduation within my vision. For some reason, I thought I’d be different than the rest of these college graduates when it came to my direction afterward. However, there are parts of me that feel like I’m completely incapable of doing anything.

I look back at the last five years and wonder what exactly all of this education has brought me. I feel like I know less than I did before I started because the only thing I’ve really identified is the way in which institutional systems are set-up to perpetuate existing cycles. There is nothing new; there are no revelations; there are no happy endings.

In fact, there are no endings. One cycle leads to another confusing cycle like Los Angeles freeway interchanges.

I’m discovering that my hang ups with men go much deeper than I really ever knew. I’m understanding that my repeated relationships with 19 year olds are a reflection of the feelings I have about my relationship with Joe being unfinished. Relationships are another cycle that eventually work themselves out because uncoupling and distancing from one another are a natural part of the process. Not having that has constantly brought me back to a previous point to try and finish that cycle with someone. I’m glad that that someone is Edgar because, although he doesn’t always understand the extreme depths of my neuroses, he rides the wave and doesn’t take anything too personally.

I found out yesterday that I’m exactly one year too old to go teach in France, someone I had had my heart on doing since I got back from Paris.

Supposedly, I’m wiser. Supposedly, I don’t give a shit. Supposedly, I’m too old care about the small things.

All I have are the small things.
I don’t own a house.
I have no desire to own a house.
I’m not in a relationship or married.
I don’t really have a desire for a traditional imitation-heterosexual relationship, although I do desire companionship.
I have no career.
I don’t really have an idea in my mind of what my career would look like to keep me interested in the long-run.

All I have are daily mini-crises to try and keep my mind occupied from going insane. It’s like I’m back in high school. I’m completely directionless. Still waters run deep, they say. Sometimes still waters are just still waters, and depth is not something that can yet be calculated.