Day 78



Final semester is less than a month from being over. It is so near, the ceremony, the little hat, the snazzy piece of paper signed by important people. And yet it is still so far; I have still to write 5 upper level essays, and 3 exams. The metaphor to a long and grueling race is a strong one: as you get closer to the end, every step becomes a little bit more difficult than the last. You must refocus your mind constantly; thoughts get all fuzzy, and your impulses start forcing you to doubt the purpose of the whole thing.

And this is psychological. There is no coincidence to the fact that whenever I go for a jog, I slow down into exhaustion at the very moment I finish the loop and return to the front porch. Had the route been a hundred meters longer or shorter, that would be no different.

There is always a bigger picture, that the id never wants to look at. Soon school will be over, and I shall be sitting in this very chair a graduate, reading back on this blog feeling sorry for that miserable past self. Not more than a month or two after that, I'll probably miss dearly the same classes and subjects that I am currently so vehemently sick-to-death of.

Remember Wittgenstein! When life's getting you down, it is harder, though more rewarding, to seek a change in attitude rather than a change in circumstance!
In many ways we are made to play the cards we're dealt. Sure, the choices in life are many, and the rules of the game can be bent occasionally, but I don't imagine myself to be all that independent from the surroundings that have made me into the person that I am today.

But then it stands to reason that I, and you, constitute in part the surroundings that make others what they are as well. The notion of the 'individual,' with his self-determination and personal drive seems to be more of a myth; an incomplete view of the world. Or more accurately, not a view of the world, but of the mirror with the world at ones back.

I sincerily look forward to the months and years ahead. In my worst momenets I fear that life is a cathartic exercise, a push against the walls of death that close with strength ever so slightly greater than our own. In my best moments, I rejoice at the stunningly unlikely odds that I'm here at all, and all the opportunities there are to vividly colour in the broad sprectrum of physical, intellectual, and emotional capacities that we've all been blessed with.

I want to have everything, to give everything, to live fully and to close my eyes with regret that I couldn't have closed them a moment later instead. I want to face death not with fear or acceptance, but with contempt.

Is there a god? No, I do not believe so. Blessedness is merely good fortune.



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