I am already caged
Let me be,
Society is a prison,
from which no one is free.
-Jessica Leigh 1998
Monday, November 12, 2007
Friday, November 9, 2007
Malfunctioning
Today I've been industrious. Somewhat. I feel lazy.
I've been doing my essay wrong. I need three outside sources. I've just been using the text since it was what I based my presentation on. Now I have to research the points I've already made and hope I can find quotes that will fit. Now I have to hand it in a day late. Now I'm late for work.
The things I have accomplished are outweighed by what I have not.
Part of me doesn't care.
I was up till 5am this morning.
I don't know why.
I wasn't doing work.
Somewhere inbetween sleeping and thinking.
I'm exhausted and angry with myself for allowing myself to be overwhelmed and procrastinate.
I know that sentence has all sorts of things wrong with it.
Part of me doesn't care.
It's only an essay.
It's only work.
It's only momentary panic.
These things too shall pass.
Life seems long from this perspective. In a few years, I will look back on my former self and laugh at my naivitee.
Still, I feel like my birthday was last week and it's almost part-way through November.
Time is funny like that. Fast, slow...stopping occasionally and passing in the blink of an eye. Can we control it? Or are we at the whim of Time?
If I fail my courses this semester and have to go back to school next year, will I *really* care past my initial upset?
I know I am capable of great things.
I do not need a piece of paper to tell me that I know my shit.
It's only that my view of the way things should be done differs from the Institution.
I am not a stickler for details like deadlines, MLA format and correct word selection.
If the idea is sound, what matters the execution? Does that somehow detract from the validity of the arguement?
So why do I still feel like a loser who can't do anything right?
Like I've let myself down for not finishing my work on time.
Society has trained me well.
Am I to live my life constantly ensconsed in guilt?
Sometimes I wish I was someone else.
Sometimes I could burst for being so happy to be me.
What are you doing to me, Life?
Listen, I like rollercoasters and all, but even I get sick from constantly spinning.
Stop.
Shower.
Go to work.
This is enough.
Enough.
I've been doing my essay wrong. I need three outside sources. I've just been using the text since it was what I based my presentation on. Now I have to research the points I've already made and hope I can find quotes that will fit. Now I have to hand it in a day late. Now I'm late for work.
The things I have accomplished are outweighed by what I have not.
Part of me doesn't care.
I was up till 5am this morning.
I don't know why.
I wasn't doing work.
Somewhere inbetween sleeping and thinking.
I'm exhausted and angry with myself for allowing myself to be overwhelmed and procrastinate.
I know that sentence has all sorts of things wrong with it.
Part of me doesn't care.
It's only an essay.
It's only work.
It's only momentary panic.
These things too shall pass.
Life seems long from this perspective. In a few years, I will look back on my former self and laugh at my naivitee.
Still, I feel like my birthday was last week and it's almost part-way through November.
Time is funny like that. Fast, slow...stopping occasionally and passing in the blink of an eye. Can we control it? Or are we at the whim of Time?
If I fail my courses this semester and have to go back to school next year, will I *really* care past my initial upset?
I know I am capable of great things.
I do not need a piece of paper to tell me that I know my shit.
It's only that my view of the way things should be done differs from the Institution.
I am not a stickler for details like deadlines, MLA format and correct word selection.
If the idea is sound, what matters the execution? Does that somehow detract from the validity of the arguement?
So why do I still feel like a loser who can't do anything right?
Like I've let myself down for not finishing my work on time.
Society has trained me well.
Am I to live my life constantly ensconsed in guilt?
Sometimes I wish I was someone else.
Sometimes I could burst for being so happy to be me.
What are you doing to me, Life?
Listen, I like rollercoasters and all, but even I get sick from constantly spinning.
Stop.
Shower.
Go to work.
This is enough.
Enough.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
It's been an A- type of day...
I love hockey.
I love the feel of ice under my blades, cleaving in two under my force. I love the feeling of wind on my face. I love the sound the ice makes as I glide along. I love the effortlessness of it, like walking or breathing. The feel of a stick in my hands; puck dancing along the ice at the slightest difference in pressure, is one I will cherish forever. The core of hockey is the heart of the people who play it. The people who love it.
I can't wait for winter. Crispy, sunny days when the world is white is what I pine for.
Hockey, winter...they're in my blood. Deeper than I had ever suspected. Integral to my definition of the world, my definition of myself.
Hockey has shaped my view of the world. In a way, it is an idealized world. Wrong-doers are punished, hard work rewarded, and fraternity and loyalty celebrated.
Winter has done much the same. Only the hardy survive winter. The change in seasons too, defines what a year is for me.
I wrote this last year, around this time, and promptly never bothered to look at it again. I read it again last night and think some parts of it are worth salvaging, but on the whole it seems garbled to me.
Blunt
"You don't deserve this anymore"
She yelled at the side of my face,
"I disagree" I said, as I walked on
She always felt a little out of place.
Her look was a little strange,
Too much here,
Not enough there,
And everyone always noticed
That nothing ever changed.
The best defence is a good offence,
or was it...
The best offence is a better defence?
Either way, you win.
You are the most offensive,
And always have the best defence-
Society Sucks! and so do you,
Every other male you've met.
What I am to you is not real,
The fabric of this friendship
Was worn a little thin
But no patches were applied...
Just pressure.
-Jessica Leigh Nov. 2006
~last night i saw the fireworks, the kind of pain that never hurts, the one you hate to love, who's made for you, another unsuspecting sunday afternoon...~
I love the feel of ice under my blades, cleaving in two under my force. I love the feeling of wind on my face. I love the sound the ice makes as I glide along. I love the effortlessness of it, like walking or breathing. The feel of a stick in my hands; puck dancing along the ice at the slightest difference in pressure, is one I will cherish forever. The core of hockey is the heart of the people who play it. The people who love it.
I can't wait for winter. Crispy, sunny days when the world is white is what I pine for.
Hockey, winter...they're in my blood. Deeper than I had ever suspected. Integral to my definition of the world, my definition of myself.
Hockey has shaped my view of the world. In a way, it is an idealized world. Wrong-doers are punished, hard work rewarded, and fraternity and loyalty celebrated.
Winter has done much the same. Only the hardy survive winter. The change in seasons too, defines what a year is for me.
I wrote this last year, around this time, and promptly never bothered to look at it again. I read it again last night and think some parts of it are worth salvaging, but on the whole it seems garbled to me.
Blunt
"You don't deserve this anymore"
She yelled at the side of my face,
"I disagree" I said, as I walked on
She always felt a little out of place.
Her look was a little strange,
Too much here,
Not enough there,
And everyone always noticed
That nothing ever changed.
The best defence is a good offence,
or was it...
The best offence is a better defence?
Either way, you win.
You are the most offensive,
And always have the best defence-
Society Sucks! and so do you,
Every other male you've met.
What I am to you is not real,
The fabric of this friendship
Was worn a little thin
But no patches were applied...
Just pressure.
-Jessica Leigh Nov. 2006
~last night i saw the fireworks, the kind of pain that never hurts, the one you hate to love, who's made for you, another unsuspecting sunday afternoon...~
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