I'm feeling myself slip into a chronometric paradox. Each day seems like years, but weeks like minutes. Thinking back to a specific event only three days ago feels like digging through decades of old memories. Yet, when I think about having been in college an entire month already, it seems no time at all has passed. I suppose it's a reactionary coping method, but I'm saddened to think of all the experiences and feelings I've inadvertently glazed over.
I fear my heart's eager anticipation may once again be disappointed. The prospect of finding a girl seems much more intimidating now that Caitlin has been effectively removed from consideration. All my energy was focused on her, and I don't know where to go from here. No other girls have made a visible effort to befriend me save Jennifer from Seminar, and she also has a boyfriend. Becca's insistence notwithstanding, I certainly don't see girls flocking to me. One possibility is they are simply too shy, as I am. The other (which I, in my infinite self-pessimism, find more likely) is they simply aren't interested in the quiet guy with hobbit hair and a laptop. Every pore of my being cries "geek," and to freshman girls attempting to rediscover their place in a new environment, such a thing is most likely an aversion.
::: posted by Peter at 00:29
A groan of tedium escapes me, startling the fearful.
Is this a test? It has to be.
Otherwise I can't go on.
Draining patience. Drain vitality.
This paranoid, paralyzed vampire act's a little old.
But I'm still right here, giving blood, keeping faith.
And I'm still right here.
If there were no reward to reap,
No loving embrace to see me through this tedious path I've chosen here,
I certainly would have walked away by now.
And I still may. I still may.
I must keep reminding myself of this.
::: posted by Peter at 14:26
We were discussing the relationship between language and thought today in sociology. Leading the discussion was Diana Kendall's theory, “If people are only able to think through language, then language must precede thought.” Several examples of neglected children, whose parents threw them in an attic and gave them minimal human contact. When they were discovered, tests were run and the children were found devoid of any normal human thought. Thus, it was concluded that, due to lack of linguistic communication, they were unable to think or feel “normal” human thoughts and emotions.
I find this theory flawed. Firstly, it isn't to be assumed language is a prerequisite for sensation. If such is the case, any animal sans language is incapable of feeling pain, as are all infants who have not yet learned to verbally communicate. An objective observer would quickly conclude such ideas as false. We are capable of feeling and sensation, even if we don't have the words to describe them.
As a poet, i know this to be true. The frustration I often encounter striving to envelop what my heart pours forth in words is evidence enough. I feel these things, but haven't the language to describe them. Even when I find the words, they strain to contain the emotions I wish to express. Language is a prison for thought, not its father.
::: posted by Peter at 12:13
Tomorrow marks the advent of a new era in my life, a Rubicon event upon which hinges my future. Rarely have I ever felt such a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. So few experiences in my life parallel this sort of event. I'm entering a completely alien environment where I don't know anyone and no-one knows me. Anything can happen, and it's the thrill and fear of complete uncertainty that is flooding through my being.
The waiting is the worst, though. I feel confident enough to handle most of anything that might come, but I just want to get out there and challenge it. I want the time to move more quickly so I may hurl myself into the void of the future with reckless abandon. I'm stuck at the end of this chapter, and I want to know what happens on the next page. A new life will rise with the sun, and I will rise to meet it. I will drown in the deepest of sorrows and joys. I will temper and hone my mettle in the smithies of knowledge and the whetstones of human interaction. Now is the time to throw caution to the wind.
::: posted by Peter at 19:44
My desire to find and join with beauty is escalating rapidly. My heart is tired of happening upon beauty at random. I am in a desert, and I need an oasis, not chance happenings across pools. True, I would have perished long before had such pools not existed, but always I feel like a transient, taking only what I need to stay alive from something to which I have no right. I long to plunge into water I may call my own, drinking deeply of its sweet draught, immersing myself in its wondrous embrace. It has been over two years since I last held a girl in my arms, and they ache with remembrance and denial. My spirit burns with hope that my thirst may soon be quenched.
Some may think my desire for beauty is too specific, and to an extent I can understand this position. It is true beauty is all around me, and I drink of it as deeply as I may. However, the beauty of a sunset, a starlit sky, or a robin's breast can't be realized with all my senses. I see wildflowers in bloom, but I don't hear them. I hear a beautiful piece of music, but I don't smell it.
In this, the beauty of a woman is unique. Were there some girl I could call my own, her beauty would be so much more real to me. I could see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice, smell it in her hair, touch it on her cheek, taste it in her kiss. I could even perceive it in the mystery of the sixth sense when I feel her love. A woman's beauty also bears another form of exclusivity: her true and complete beauty can only be known by me. No other man would know her as I would. None would have the opportunity to drink long and deep from her eyes, her lips, her spirit.
::: posted by Peter at 03:17
Having just watched Daria's Is it College Yet? has once again put me in a pensive mood. I fear I'm only being redundant at this point, however.
What struck closest to home was the breakup of Tom and Daria. Daria expressed sentiments very much akin to my own when I broke up with Susie. The prospect of having to do something like that again frightens me, yet I know now it's an unavoidable risk in my inexorable quest for love and beauty. Somehow, I believe my increased understanding of myself and the world will make the next time (provided the price must once again be paid) more bearable. Not more bearable, perhaps, but at least more worthwhile. What I experienced with Susie, while certainly worthwhile, was, in retrospect, childish and naïve. The want of true substance in the relationship, which I only realized at the end, made the breakup all the more painful and seemingly meaningless. I can only hope any future relationship I experience will not be so devoid of quality.
Who am I kidding? My relationship with Susie was the epitome of childish stupidity. I was considering marriage to a girl I'd known for less than a year when I was only 15. Drunk upon the romanticism I had bitterly nursed, I eagerly saw our puppy love as a sublime impartation from the throne of God Himself. I gorged myself on the inane “expressions” of our love, which usually amounted to circular arguments over who loved the other more. I suppose there is a time and place for such silliness in Eros, but when it is the primary foundation of the relationship, said relationship is ultimately futile.
I fear, however, this wisdom born of experience will not be enough to sustain me in a healthy relationship. Simply because I know one way relationships fail doesn't mean I have the key to making them succeed. Edison could describe six thousand ways to make a light bulb that didn't work.
::: posted by Peter at 14:23
I feel very strangely tonight. I can feel a selfishness within my spirit, roiling and calling out where before was silence. It seems tidal in nature, coming and going as a matter of course. I believe it stems from my desire for happiness, enticing me to place that desire before the happiness of others. Combatting it will be easier when I more fully understand the scope of its power. I don't yet know if it's merely a shadow my present fatigue is turning into a monster or a dragon lurking in a dark corner of my soul.
::: posted by Peter at 01:53