evitae.net

It’s true, there is always hope. I am not a particularly religious person, but I had a remarkable spiritual experience between my previous post and today. I feel as though the little prayer closing that one has been answered, and in as little as a few hours. Maybe it’s the budding poet in me. Or maybe I have always had faith, and I underestimate just how strong it is sometimes.

I didn’t realize that my frustration has been showing through to people, or at least to those that care to take notice. One of my professors pulled me aside after class today and asked me if anything was wrong, that I seemed tensed and stressed, particularly last week. It would be the poet that would notice the subtleties in her students’ personalities and the minor shifts, even in knowing them for so little time. I was shocked and absolutely touched that she actually cares. It made me realize just how lucky I am to be at an institution like this where people even have the energy and capacity to do that. It truly is remarkable.

She’s like something of a sage. Other people sometimes make her out to be this crazy old poet lady, but there is really a lot of caring, insight, and interest in her words, and I haven’t felt that in a long time. It made me realize just how much I miss my parents. It’s not enough to talk to them over the phone. I haven’t seen them since early June. What is that, four months? It’s kind of ridiculous. I felt the professor was projecting her previous experience with seniors on to me a little, but her caring is ultimately the most important thing about this particular moment. In the little bit of time it took her to talk to me, I suddenly feel renewed.

She advised that I visit another professor whose class I’ve been struggling with, and I am so glad I took her advice, even though I was afraid to at first. It was refreshing to have him tell me things, though I already knew them, because sometimes I just need a push. Sometimes I get so overwhelmed after having to do this for myself for so long. I’m not saying I didn’t always have the support available to me, but it has long been a great source of pride to me that I am typically so resourceful on my own. I guess it’s important that I finally recognize and own up to the fact that … well, as trite as it may sound, we all need somebody to lean on.

I can’t believe how cold its gotten over night. I am not really prepared because a lot of my warmer clothing is still stored away. But it was kind of refreshing to enjoy the wind on my skin, especially since I usually bundle up for even the smallest amount of cold. I was watching the way the trees sway in the wind. It kind of has the same serenity of the ocean. It’s constant and yet not at the same time. I don’t have the words to really describe it right now. That will be a task for a future poetry assignment. I am inspired. It will take some time to catch up, but I am well on my way. Thanks, God. n_n

It all makes sense now. Senioritus is a serious condition, and it has hit me harder than I could have ever imagined. I enjoy all of my classes. Aside from the requisite seminars for my major and minor, they don’t particularly bore me. But I just can’t bring myself to do the work. I want to. It’s fun, it’s exciting. These are exactly the kind of assignments I like to do. But once confronted by the blankness of a page, I am distracted, forgetful of what my initial task might have been in the first place.

The smallest things distract me, from the rain outside my window, to the chatter of other students in the library. No matter where I am, I find something to divert my attentions, and hours later, I remain at square one. I may have a paragraph or two written, perhaps a few notes scribbled in the margins of a critical text. But in the end it amounts to nothing, as I repeatedly discover myself moments before class, frantic to complete an assignment I was warned about weeks ago.

I don’t really know what’s wrong with me. My sleeping and eating habits have been more regular than ever, and my room is finally the reasonably tidy hideaway I’ve always hoped it would be. If not disinterest or lack of time, it is sheer laziness that appears to be responsible for my demise. I feel utterly hopeless. The work ethic is there; it is apparent in those tiny moments before I arrive late to class, my assignment still warm from the printer.

Yet now it feels as inconsequential as asdfghjkl. Every once in a while a single letter utters meaning, hope, but as time ticks by, I lose sight of this. I guess all I can do is keep trying. Or maybe that’s the problem, the flimsy nature of the attempt. What I need now, more than anything is the wholeness, the certainty and validity of completion. Yet somehow I don’t quite remember just what that is. God, I need help.