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i shall be free, i-
Mar. 31st, 2005 10:29 pmTerri Schiavo is dead.
Mitch Hedberg is dead.
One of those I feel is justified. And fair. Despite the inherent sadness of any death.
I grow weary. Not just tired. Bone weary. Time is dragging, yet blazing past incomprehensibly fast, and it's hard to keep track of where the shift comes in. I am simultaneously tired of being a student and afraid of what I'll do when I graduate, in only a year. I've been writing a lot of songs, all of which are too complicated to fit into a reasonable structure, and too dark for anyone to reasonably listen to. I'm missing deadlines left and right, it seems, and I don't want to have slack cut for me almost as much as I want to be able to bend the rules a little. I think I'm too young to be jaded, so I think this is just another irritating quality of mine.
I'm afraid, for the first time, that I might just go quietly unhinged and not notice.
I know you've heard it all from me before, but in the end, I'm not writing for you.
Why do I to want to go home when there's nothing of the future waiting for me there? I can answer that, I think. I've always had an affinity for the past. The ancient Greek word for "spine" is the same as the word for "future" - they believed that the future is behind us, and the past is before us - that's why we can see the past so well, but the future is a mystery. Somewhere along the line that got turned around. Sounded fine the first way to me.
I do want to go home, though. Actually, I want to find someplace that I'll be able to identify as "home." It can't always be "where my parents are." It's not London, not this time around, and it's not Vassar anymore (and would only be for another year). Feel kind of... drifty.
and tired of talking.
Mitch Hedberg is dead.
One of those I feel is justified. And fair. Despite the inherent sadness of any death.
I grow weary. Not just tired. Bone weary. Time is dragging, yet blazing past incomprehensibly fast, and it's hard to keep track of where the shift comes in. I am simultaneously tired of being a student and afraid of what I'll do when I graduate, in only a year. I've been writing a lot of songs, all of which are too complicated to fit into a reasonable structure, and too dark for anyone to reasonably listen to. I'm missing deadlines left and right, it seems, and I don't want to have slack cut for me almost as much as I want to be able to bend the rules a little. I think I'm too young to be jaded, so I think this is just another irritating quality of mine.
I'm afraid, for the first time, that I might just go quietly unhinged and not notice.
I know you've heard it all from me before, but in the end, I'm not writing for you.
Why do I to want to go home when there's nothing of the future waiting for me there? I can answer that, I think. I've always had an affinity for the past. The ancient Greek word for "spine" is the same as the word for "future" - they believed that the future is behind us, and the past is before us - that's why we can see the past so well, but the future is a mystery. Somewhere along the line that got turned around. Sounded fine the first way to me.
I do want to go home, though. Actually, I want to find someplace that I'll be able to identify as "home." It can't always be "where my parents are." It's not London, not this time around, and it's not Vassar anymore (and would only be for another year). Feel kind of... drifty.
and tired of talking.
