Dear World, it's Me

Currently: I want to create something that recreates the serenity in the void of a wave amongst all the energy/tumult in the actual structure without using a literal representation of a wave. But alas, time will not permit creative freedom, for I must create 5 drawings of this structure for Tuesday and I must concede to a curvilinear structure that resembles a wave. And I feel like I'm disappointing myself by not putting in the effort to find a solution that fulfills my need to step away from the wave shape as it is. I need to build more paper models. And I need to get my ass to school. But sleep first. 

Existential Essentials

If I wrote about my annoying influx of melodramatic feelings every time I had an existential crisis, I would have written a multitude of volumes by now.

Question: What's the meaning of life?

I used to think that it was to leave the world a better place than when you arrived. But now I don't think there is an answer. There is no meaning or purpose for our existence. Over the course of a bazillion years, the odds just continuously panned out in our favor and voila! One day, homo habilis came about, and as they say, the rest is history.

I think that people try to assign a meaning to life so that they'll feel more comfortable with existing. In a hundred years, most of us will be nonexistent blips in the History of the Earth, with the exception of marvelously talented people with excellent work ethic who will one day be able to travel backward in time. That being said, Why? Why do we put ourselves through so much agony for lost goals? Why does it matter how much effort I apply in creating each line for a drawing? What can I achieve by waking up before 6:30 to get to school? How much of a difference will my effort make in the long run?

But that's just it, isn't it? Once you lose sight of the minor goals, the larger ones become irrelevant as well. And then your life will start tumbling down the drain. So I guess all the small things matter. All the effort you put into accomplishing small tasks will condition a greater self that can accomplish greater things!

At least I think so. (I'm not quite sure about anything these days)

But I still have no will.

Isn't it interesting how conversation can begin as the answer to one question only to blossom into a multitude of deeper questions? The answer to every question is that there is no answer, only more questions.

The Talking Cure in Journal Writing

A couple weeks ago, my friends were mocking me because I told them that I had made a new friend. I shared this bit of information in an excited manner, so you can imagine me flailing my arms while saying something along the lines of "Hey guys I made a new friend!" They responded apathetically and one proceeded to say "Dear diary, I made a new friend today, yay me!" in a mocking tone.

Since then, I've filled a third of my red Moleskine which I had acquired in the summer of 2011. When I picked it back up, it was only a third full. It took me two years to get a third of the way in and its content were the antithesis of dense.

I started writing two days before my birthday, so that must have been the 16th. Today's the 29th. In 13 days, or about two weeks, I filled the same number of pages that it took my two years to fill. Two years versus two weeks. That just means that I've had a lot to say lately.

My red Moleskine has since become a necessary therapy. In my Lit & Psychoanalysis class, we drew connections between journal writing and the talking cure. When you write in a journal, you are releasing thoughts that you've kept to yourself throughout the day and is akin to a "chimney-sweep" of the mind.

As an architecture student, stress is an inevitable ailment, along with sleep deprivation, suppressed feelings and emotions, and all the jazz that comes with these symptoms. At the end of the day, my brain is chock full of unspoken thoughts and I can sweep them all into my journal to reveal a clean surface.

The object of these ramblings is to encourage you to take up journal writing. Sometimes there are things that are better left unsaid to the public, even if you think nobody is going to read it. Your journal will become your new therapist, and your sessions free of charge. Pick up your pen while on the train and empty your mind. I promise you, you'll feel so much better afterwards.

If anyone actually reads this anymore...

I'm going gluten free! (Kinda)
Bread is now reserved for special occasions. Baked goods will be a toughie to kick. (But not really, all I have to do is stop baking, which has happened anyway as a result of being at school all day, everyday)
I should stop talking about how I go to school everyday because so does everyone else (but not really)