the first face that I saw

So, it's been ages since I've posted anything, and ages still since I posted anything of substance. I'll try to make this worthwhile. The idea here is to open a song and listen to it as you read the part of the post between the link and the next link, and at song's end you move on to the next...I'll give it a try.

It's the third day or so of spring break. I haven't done any of my homework, but I have another week, so I'm not worried about it. I haven't called my parents to arrange a time for them to pick me up, but I'm not really anxious to go home. I want to see the cats, because they're getting old, but I know going home will result in me staying up super, super late, doing nothing productive online, and drinking far too much orange juice.

In High School I did blogs and I listened to music and I swam. And went through all that dumb high school first love anxiety hate my parents hate my life love my life crap that everyone goes through, and all of "that" were the catalysts for music and blogs. So when I revisit that part of my life, it's necessarily emotionally charged stuff, because it's all the much that got collected in my brain and heart during the day, or week, or month, or 10 minutes prior, that I couldn't act on and instead dumped on the page [screen] in some form.

So anyway, the point is that once I hit college I stopped doing most of this intense music-listening, hear-pouring stuff. Probably part of it had to do with living in a dorm, with readily available strangers that you nonetheless live with (so it's ok to talk with them about intensely personal things), so I didn't feel the need to chronicle it.

And I miss it. I feel like that sensitive, lyrical, sorta gay side of me is something I haven't held on to. It's been drowned in games and cheap food and liquor and simple, non-contemplative things. I don't really regret not writing everything down obsessively; 5 minutes with one of my "for me" chronicles is more than enough for anyone, let alone the author...but I had something. I look back at the way I worded things, the thought I put into sentences, because it was so very important to me that they were Right, and I really was a good writer. I don't think I've found anything since then to write about, at least not anything I felt so passionately about as the smallest of things four years ago, and I think that's because it wasn't the events themselves I felt so passionate about, it was me.

I might not have loved myself, I might not have known myself, but I was intensely interested in the process of growing up. And now I ask myself: why am I no longer so interested? Why am I brain-dead to my own youth and maturity and the swirls of personality that never quite coalesce into adulthood, but make beautiful patterns along the way?

I mean, shouldn't I be writing this down? Shouldn't I be looking at myself, trying to put my self on the page and translate my life into carefully crafted paragraphs so that I have some way of understanding me?

And I can see the end of college. That's by far the scariest part, that in like 9 months I'll be done with being uncertain of myself, I'll be done with lazy days with 1-2 hours of work, and I'll be done with blog posts that only get written because I'm exhausted of games, of eating, of drinking, and of smoking, and trying to make a pack last 2 days just to prove to myself that I can. I'll be thrown into "the real world", of REAL responsibilities, and 90% of my daily routine won't be an option anymore, which grows all the more worrisome because I have little idea what I'm going to do.

Tentatively I may be working for Blizzard Customer Service, which would be awesome, but that's just a slightly more adult and slightly less reversible version of my current dilemma; being that of me not understanding what I want to do, and spending a lot of time and money becoming somewhat qualified on a topic I want very little to do with post graduation.

Fack.

For good measure. (holy crap, look at all her stuff).