From the throes of a (not) existential crisis.

I am in the throes of an existential crisis.

This is a complete lie, but it feels more concise (and, frankly, fun) than "I have my first college exams this week and my body has decided to attempt illness in protest (thanks, yo)." I am convinced that I am doomed to crushing and total failure, but this is hardly breaking news and more of an occupational hazard than anything else. A preliminary count totals six humans who have assured me that I will not fail these exams, college, or life in general. It is also apparent that all I do is a) study, b) put stuffed animals on my head, c) consume caffeine and/or dairy products, and d) view the internet with longing.

Granted, I am a citizen of the Internet, future crazy cat lady and douse myself in glitter with increasing regularity, but it occurs to me to wonder what exactly I would be doing were I entrenched in a thrilling and active social scene. From what I observe through thorough and exact research, "fun" in college quite often includes alcohol and illicit activity, neither of which I am interested in partaking. While I am fairly certain intellectually stimulating conversation occurs somewhere on campus, I am currently too terrified and immersed in study (i.e. panic) to seek it out.

I may be slightly biased at the present time, as I have been studying the ins and outs of genitalia* for the past two days in preparation for an exam in Human Sexuality. Unfortunately it is not a practical exam, as we all know I am the loosest of women, constantly whipping men and ladies into a froth of raging hormones, and would thus be prepared to bring such an examination to a satisfactory finish.

Such is life.


* I have also been making all of the terrible innuendos. All of them.

A brief note on my lack of sudden and complete happiness.

I often (almost always, of late) avoid writing because I feel that I am required to maintain a certain image. I feel that I am meant to be in a certain place and am expected fit into a guideline; the few words that occur to me are distinct only in their disjointedness and lack of zest.

I didn't expect to find happiness here immediately and I haven't. Do I expect to get there eventually? Yes and... yes? I hate complaining, for it feels unnecessarily whiny and disrespectful of the trials of others. Look at me! College is so hard! I miss my mom and I want to cry all the time but can't let myself!

But it's true. I'm not happy. I do miss my mom. I've set the most potent of my emotions on the back burner, which plays a big part in the fact that I don't know what to say when asked how I am. A great deal of the time I don't feel anything.

I say these things without wishing to be overdramatic. I want to press that I will be okay. I mean, probably. As terrifying as stasis is to me (it demands disaster), I always find it again.

As for happiness? I'm starting to lose the idea that happiness is something one finds. A dear friend told me many months ago: "[Happiness] is not a location, not a prize. It's inside of you, already." This remains one of the best things anyone has ever told me.

I'm not giving up. I'm just... very much overwhelmed. Sad. Shaken. Tired. And entitled to these feelings, as lacking in poetry as they are.