It might be this kind of time that one young man starts to think about what the hell its all about, why are you here, ectera. I'm not entirely sure that there are any answers, let along my ability to know them. I'm going back to go see a "councilor" on monday, and the following monday I'm having my brain looked at my MACHINES. Apart for the awesomeness of being, like, a cyborg, and crap, I really don't want to go back on those green and purple happy pills. Even though I feel the worst that I have felt in some time, I don't want that kind of chemical influence over my life again. I know that those of you on such medication will sympathize with my position.
"Am I here?" "What the hell am I all about?" sometimes seem like more pertinent questions, although just as difficult to answer. It is a continual source of disquiet for me that I am not yet grown up. When you are eight and want to be fourteen, you are told to just wait. When you have your first breakdown as a teenager, you are assured that everything will be fine later. When you are in you early twenties, and finding that it is just a little harder to more, a little harder to get out of bed, you are reminded that you are still young. But apparently, at 25, well past the time of legal adulthood, you still face quandaries about your identity, your direction, your purpose.
This month I came very close to giving up on my Master's study. I have now been in study 7 years, and probably, one of the biggest reasons I decided not to stop study is that, according to the rules of assistance put forth by the government, this is the last year I can be enrolled in a NZ institution of study and be allowed to put my course costs on my student loan. Effectively this means full time study is an impossibility if I wanted to continue immediately after this year. I cannot go out of this path on a failure.
Have I talked about the bias against academia. I think it strange that in our "knowledge economy" a student cannot get assistance for the entirety of their study from high-school to phd.
Fantastic.
Anyway.
Has anyone read "The Wasteland" by T.S. Elliot? I'm becoming slightly obsessed by it. It seems true, which I suppose is what poetry attempts. Also of great truth to me is "the Rock" by Wallace Stevens. I guess that is what poetry tries to do: to arrive at truth through emotion, not reason (which are probably opposites). Why not.
"Come in under the shadow of this red rock"
Well.
Apologies for this ramble. A more cohesive post sometime.
In other news: summer is actually quite nice sometimes.
2 comments:
I can't believe you still have this blog. It's been 3 yrs since i read it. I thought you became a teacher, but still at uni, I see.
How would I remember who I was if I didn't post here occasionally? And it is where some people come to catch up on my life, of course. Well, the pissy, rambly bits of my life that is.
I was a teacher once, but yes, back at the learning: which I enjoy more anyway.
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