2004-08-23

Things Fall Apart

This will have been my second update for today, but I feel that I need to properly organize my thoughts for fear of going insane. Slowly, I feel that everything is falling apart, and what's worse, I have absolutely no control over the situation.

I feel as if I am being pressured, and I am mere months away from applying to Rochester's early decision, and I must produce an astonishing SAT score before I can even mail off the application itself.

There's also the question of essays and my personal statements--what do I write? In what manner should I go about writing these things? I am perplexed, and I cannot think straight; my head spins incessantly.

Such worries and obligations; such pressure that I am put under to write the perfect essay and to essentially sell myself to these admissions officers and Ph.Ds--I find it all too stifling and painful.

And I cannot become a whore, yet, slowly I am becoming one because I find that I am selling myself--the little literary talent that I possess--to these universities in order to lap up exaltation in some form, and to join the ranks of Corporate America one day! Oh! The moral weight of these issues proves far too much for my sensitive soul to bare!

Suppose that I am being far to na�ve, or am living under false illusion--that somehow I posses some distinguishing mark which will allow me to rise up from that sea of homogeneity--I am no different from the other teenager who has a little flare for writing and revers Dickinson (whom I am not particularly fond of).

*stomp, sigh, throws fit*

No, what will happen when I find out that I am mediocre? Oh, it will be a day that will live in infamy: the day I find out that I am--in all painful reality--a pseudo-erudite!

If you ask me, I do not have everything under control! Curses! I need control, and I need perfection, organization, and to some extent--predictablity. But there's also a conflict that rages within my soul, almost rivalring that of Kierkegaard's (poor boy): I admire Thoreau, and I am certain that he would scold me at this very moment for prostuting myself to universities. I want to live deliberately...ok, I will start all over:

Hello, my name is Libet, and I am a good student

Repeating this several times, and taking calm breaths, things will be good.

On a lighter note, I believe that T.S. Eliot's No, I am not Prince Hamlet... line from The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock is quite appropriate for this very situation! Isn't it rewarding to quote things randomly, so long as they are applicable?

Honestly, what am I to do? Have faith that things will work out? Here's what I worry about:

I worry that I am a writer only fit to mimic Danielle Steel novels

I worry that I won't get accepted into a decent university

I worry about the fact that I am not intelligent at all--at least, I don't feel like it

I worry that I will never create something that far surpasses myself--something I will actually love until I die (I refer to writing)

I worry that nights will pass, and so will winters, and no one will know why that particular Chopin Etude affects me so; or that I feel the contours of the shadows which lurk within the "Raindrop" Prelude

I worry that I will never play the piano properly, and that if I were to venture into playing Chopin or Liszt, I would do it a great injustice

I worry that my world truly does exist within a glass globule, and no one ever understands what I mean. And I ramble on and on about nature and brooks, but it's more than that, and it goes beyond--at least, to me--vivid descriptions, to my writing out the story of my soul within this fucking diary!

At most, these are inner qualms that I must resolve in order to find peace within myself. I am thinking of the book Things Fall Apart, and I am currently finding a great amount of familiarity with the title. Within this diary, I oftentimes sound peaceful, when in all reality, I suffer from violent and sporadic moods, which will ultimately augment any problem--this one especially. Some of my friends have had to suffer from this, and instead of working towards the betterment of a situation, I entangle it even more, with my extreme ups and downs. I'm quite certain that I am not bi-polar, but even that's questionable...seeing as how this very entry serves as proof! I'll wager that I've switched moods and tones numerous times within this very entry. In the end, I don't even know what in the hell I was talking about.

Ah, forget it... Mierda! (It's easier to swear in Spanish)

aeka at 8:32 p.m.