So I have no homework. Not real homework. I should be studying for my 3 prelims that occur over a span of 3 school days beginning on Thursday, but that time will come (Thursday at 3:21 AM). So downtime. Downtime to read what other people write. Downtime to think about what other people say. Downtime to apply that to my life.
Everything has been moving in a positive direction. (Huzzah!) To a certain extent I feel uncomfortable writing about “kicking depression” or whatever awkward emotions I had to endure over the last six months. It was probably the roughest stretch of my nineteen years of existence. It was just a culmination of a variety of aspects– and though I like to blame it on a select group of people, that’s probably unfair– latent emotions were exhumed, but not caused by a few specific persons and actions. But looking back, maybe it’s a good thing that’s all over and done with. Hopefully, it’s one of those chicken pox events– since it’s happened before, it can’t happen again. Which is probably not an appropriate explanation– it’s just that I have hopefully learned enough not to get blindsided like I did. Dreams come, dreams go. I’ll keep on having them, but I’ve learned not to bank on them. Once in a while, if you’re lucky, they’ll come true- but just remember that no matter how far your dream crashes, you’ll always wake up.
It all begins with that human interaction, doesn’t it?
So do I try to hard, or not hard enough? It’s not that I’m anti-social, and I don’t really think it’s applicable to call myself shy or introverted. I think it’s just I have this fear of not putting the best forward to begin. Everytime I attempt to branch out, I inevitably say/do something that my mind interprets miserably. I feel like yelling “Wow, that was fucking awkward of me!” See, I had eighteen years to make my friends, and for some of them, relationships actually didn’t develop because of mutual effort. What, you are forced to be with me every day for 3 hours? Well, might as well make the most of it. College is different– but that’s what was cool about freshman year. It was in essence like high school– you took the same classes, you lived with the same people– you were forced to interact– so no matter how awkward or dorky or retarded I looked, they had to deal. And then this summer went downhill, and then I am isolated when I come back to Ithaca for a second go around? I’m off campus, in an apartment with other isolated folk, while I’m transitioning from the astrophysics department to meteorology– new classes, new people– Friendships, relationships– they have to be a result of me reaching out, I can’t sit back and wait for them to come to me. But that results in philosophy changes now doesn’t it? For me it’s just not that easy, I am not innately a conversation starter. What’s funny, is if someone else initiates the contact, then I feel an ultimate comfort. Maybe it’s because they reached out to me, which means that they saw something in me that they liked. That’s always good. So therefore, is it possible that a lot more people have the same problem that I do? Are we all that afraid of awkward rejection– of a crush to our self-esteem that we box ourselves in? It’s possible, although my sample size doesn’t necessarily indicate that. But either way, I’m going to have to try and get better. I’m good once the ball gets rolling– I just need to get the ball rolling easier and more often.
Oh yes, and did I mention I love my music. Completely unrelated (or is it?) but I didn’t listen to anything this summer– be it too busy rerouting skimmer lines or replacing laterals and multiport valves, or too busy feeling sorry for myself, but I just didn’t listen. But now, I’m listening. And it’s music to my ears. Do my feelings influence the choice of song, or my choice of song influence the feelings? That’s how powerful it’s been.
Pardon the puns. And the rambling. And the dyslexia. You know you love it. And if you love it and read it, reach out. Say hi. Rekindle our friendship, or start a new one. I’m here, and I’ll give you a chance 100% of the time.
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