I’m sure this is the last thing any of us want, but I kind of miss writing unnecessary narcissistic self-pitying posts on Tumblr. It’s different from journalling. My private journal is just an unconscious vomit of thoughts and feelings, and when I read through after I can draw the patterns and make sense of things. Writing with the chance of being read forces me to think things through as I put the words together. The process and results are different.
Work has me really stressed lately. I love the organization and all the cool initiatives I get to be involved in, and I’m learning more than I have at any other job which feels good, but so much has temporarily fallen onto my plate and I’m feeling kind of crushed. There aren’t enough hours in the day to do it all. I don’t have a second to even think straight. I hate that it probably makes it look to everyone else like I’m not doing a good job.
That makes my job sound kind of shitty, but it is a temporary thing and should get better in the next month. And in taking on the increased responsibility I’ve gotten to learn really quickly and work on some interesting stuff. There are so many things I’ve liked about it. If I do well here I feel like I’ll be in a good position later on to find a good job here in this field (it’s arts administration) in this city. But now I don’t even know if this is what I want. I keep lucking into great opportunities and then not making the most of them and maybe subconsciously self-sabotaging because I can’t dive in because I’m always hesitating at the edge, glancing around at all the other further away pools. What if there’s something I’m meant to do? What if I’m just a lazy coward who isn’t meant to do anything?
Also I don’t think I can stay in Vancouver anymore. I don’t want to “settle down” here. I don’t really want to be here much longer at all. In Japan I missed nostalgia, but now being surrounded by so much familiarity makes me feel trapped. For the first time in a while I’m getting this strong urge to be alone on a mountaintop somewhere—but even there I’d still have to deal with myself.
I feel sick of myself and this city and myself and everyone else and myself and society and myself and the world falling apart and myself and of course myself most of all. There’s no escape in any direction wheeeee
From the last thing I read, Kafka’s Zürau Aphorisms:
94. Two tasks of the beginning of life: to keep reducing your circle, and to keep making sure you’re not hiding somewhere outside it.
NAILED IT! But how, Kafka? I’m not at the beginning of my life anymore. I was supposed to get past all this shit and become a real person ages ago. I don’t think I’ll ever make it. It’s just that the periods of forgetting are getting longer now. But that’s definitely not what I want either. I don’t want to just conveniently forget that I hate myself.
5. From a certain point on, there is no more turning back. That is the point that must be reached.
Ok. I’ll go there. If I can ever make it there via pitiful crawling. It’s so slow. I feel like I’m going to be dead before I catch up to anyone else.
Wtf I just read this post over and never mind, it was more vomit after all. Next time things will be different and I’ll write a happy post, or a thoughtful one. It would have been happy just a month or two ago! Hell, maybe even a couple of days ago! The minute something passes I can’t remember a single thing about it. I guess that’s why I have to write all this bullshit down.
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