Month of May: how I felt then
Semi boy trouble. Well, I’ve done what I can, semi tastefully. Now it’s just another pot on the back burner. Feelings feel different now than they’ve been in the past, but they still get me riled up and helplessly consciously irrational. What am I, twelve?
Maybe, according to my new helmet. It’s pink and green and sports Julius the Monkey. Its sea foam matches my celeste perfectly.
Responsibilities at work are tightening up. Letdowns here and there. Tension in the team. Approaching people is becoming less of an obstacle. My daily tasks help me to identify moods in which I know I’m capable of putting on a genuine smile versus times when my inner I is raging. Hey, I’m doing research here, would you like to donate some of your blood for our study? No? Okaythanksbye. No but seriously it’s a good skill. A good but problematic skill when I realize that an attitude of “this is routine, just work” rather than “these are people whose lives have been consumed by cancer” is the only way I can get over my social ineptitude.
I’m starting two graduate classes at the public health school in a couple of weeks. Really need to get my shit together—it’s been so long since I’ve actually read anything academic in a critical light and even longer since I’ve actually written anything longer than my name. I’m not even sure why I’m enrolling. Now that I have to pay for all my own tuition and fees, going to school for fun seems slightly frivolous. Funny how perspective works.
Coachella passes for next year go on sale Monday morning. Pretty sure this music festival will be a recurrent part of my life forever.
I’m extremely behind on my personal statement. Why can’t I seem to articulate what I know is in my heart? Do I even know that it’s there, or am I just kidding myself? How am I so inexplicably attracted to both hospitals and art galleries? Art is medicine and medicine is art.
I spend too much time thinking and planning than actually making and doing. This needs to change.
Life is short, so you shouldn’t waste it on someone who doesn’t understand you, refuses to try and get you, won’t put in the time for you, who is rude to you, your friends or to other people and doesn’t even call you. Don’t worry about if they read, if they don’t read, if they watch movies or if they’re into the wrong kind of music; worry about whether they care that you do. Details are important, but if the world ends this year, it’ll be more important to say you wasted the time you have left with someone who cares.
I didn’t want to kiss you goodbye — that was the trouble — I wanted to kiss you goodnight. And there’s a lot of difference.