Friday, February 19, 2016

Cocoon

It's the middle-late part of the quarter, which means, naturally, that I am questioning what I am doing with my life. I've been doing nothing but school stuff this week, school stuff and some job search stuff, and I haven't been off campus in far too long. The world is large and I am...here. It's really, really easy to get trapped.

I feel, sometimes, as though there's a membrane, mostly transparent, but thick, between me and the world. This is a fantasy born out of a desire to excuse my ignorance, my unobservantness, my low energy, my apathy. My rejection of my physical body probably plays into my distancing from anything outside of my head. I am not great at spatial awareness--have an awful sense of direction, am bad at visualizing places--it's a problem, because most of my characters are not stuck in their heads all the time. But I tend to be.

The world in my head doesn't shut up ever--plans and stories and circumstances--so I don't necessarily notice when things in the world outside of my head are or are not happening. It is Friday of week seven of the quarter and my life for the past seven weeks has been more or less bounded by Campus Drive. I spent most of my time in Jakarta shuttling between home and the office and the nearest mall.

I can't waste my time in Berlin like that. I can't waste the rest of my time in this world like that.

But implementation is more difficult than creation, and no matter what grand plans I can make while sitting here, headphones in, wearing almost all black because colors are a lot, I cannot guarantee enough energy to carry through.

The last post was about how easy it is to get isolated. The cast of people who are important to me underwent a dramatic shift when I graduated high school and went to college--as in, I have made plans with literally two people from high school since the beginning of this academic year. The guy who I lived next door to last year, whom I consider my brother, I have not spoken to in a week. I realized last Saturday, as I wandered around my old dorm, that the friends I hang out with the most now were just acquaintances this time last year.

I've kept a journal every day since about sixth grade and I find that sometimes, if I try to read back before a certain time, big, important things will have happened and I just can't relate to the person I was then. Time wears down these mental blocks, though, so I can read back even earlier--but there are just regions of my life where I don't understand who I was. Recent signposts--before I realized I was nonbinary. Before I broke up with my ex. Before I got to college...

Look, here I am again, going through the past as seen through paper and ink, instead of...I don't know. Looking outward. The problem is that I value permanence--I want to do things once and have that be it. I've bought into the value system that values product more than process. The constant daily work of talking to people you don't know, reading the news, taking unplanned opportunities and adapting your schedule to them--I am not good at this.

There is no way for me to break out of my cocoon, but it may be possible every day to leave and return. The displacement is zero; but what distances can I reach?

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