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Swimming horizon
May. 15th, 2007 05:59 pmI wish I had something to tell, preferably something profound and beautyful.
You're swimming, she said, and I guess she's right. Sometimes I forget to time my breath, sometimes I forget to move, just gliding on leftover speed, but all in all I'm swimming. On the horizon the path is branching out, Japan or Job, that is the question. Answers will follow in the late summer, hopefully. Until then I swim along, and while I'm in the pool my mind doesn't stop phrasing. "This is the Ladder of Lies" it says. "And the endless summer of my childhood memories: The smell of hay in the sun and the security of my fathers deep sonorous voice while he's throwing all the kids at the sea."
I'm skipping courses and lectures and when I'm not skipping after all, it's brutally evident that I'm wasting my time. Art history would be divine... if 90% of the other students just weren't existent. Japanese would be fine... if I'd be better at tolerating bad presentations. (Highest point of today: Skinny Robin Hood, skribbled on Suses paper, feeling ashamed.) German studies would be great... if I'd give a fuck about the classics.
It's swimmingly easy, though. It's okay to skip if you work hard nonetheless. It's okay to sigh at classic literature if you read it anyway. It's totally okay to snort at art history students. And it's okay to write and play as long as work's not forgotten.
It's just a bit disorientating to be without communicative crisis-es in the circle of friends and without imminent disaster looming at the horizon. Splish, splash, I'm swimming again.
You're swimming, she said, and I guess she's right. Sometimes I forget to time my breath, sometimes I forget to move, just gliding on leftover speed, but all in all I'm swimming. On the horizon the path is branching out, Japan or Job, that is the question. Answers will follow in the late summer, hopefully. Until then I swim along, and while I'm in the pool my mind doesn't stop phrasing. "This is the Ladder of Lies" it says. "And the endless summer of my childhood memories: The smell of hay in the sun and the security of my fathers deep sonorous voice while he's throwing all the kids at the sea."
I'm skipping courses and lectures and when I'm not skipping after all, it's brutally evident that I'm wasting my time. Art history would be divine... if 90% of the other students just weren't existent. Japanese would be fine... if I'd be better at tolerating bad presentations. (Highest point of today: Skinny Robin Hood, skribbled on Suses paper, feeling ashamed.) German studies would be great... if I'd give a fuck about the classics.
It's swimmingly easy, though. It's okay to skip if you work hard nonetheless. It's okay to sigh at classic literature if you read it anyway. It's totally okay to snort at art history students. And it's okay to write and play as long as work's not forgotten.
It's just a bit disorientating to be without communicative crisis-es in the circle of friends and without imminent disaster looming at the horizon. Splish, splash, I'm swimming again.
