Giving up, hmmmm, what a concept. Often in our lives we feel like doing just that, sometimes we follow through, other times not. Deciding what I need to do in so many realms of my own life. Is it minorly offending that I stare at my Columbia diploma everyday of my life, seeing as its hanging above my computer? Probably should have told my mother not to hang it there. And is it worse, that when Denise asked if I'm looking for a new job, oh she was in today, I was just like, eh, maybe.
I think that I can deal with my own situation as long as I know in my heart that those who care, could care less what I do. I mean, like Nick wants me to find a job and move to NYC, or my parents would be thrilled to see me a highly paid lawyer asap, but for the time being, they know I'm doing what I need to do to survive. And I still hold my head up, because I know it is not who I am. But, to be told that I have no future, or that I am nothing, shows how little some think of me, and also, how wrong I must be about how people view me. Let's face it, people's opinions matter, not in the realm of esteem, but in teh real world of jobs, promotions, etc. I realize this, and if I cannot judge the thoughts of my closest friends, how do I stand a chance against the world?
Ironically, for all that is going on, I'm not at a "low" point. I think I am just writing to commiserate over past and current events. It is therapuetic, and an evil necessity. I wonder, how through everything in college and such, I have held onto any semblance of class, and dignity, yet I feel I still have both. Have they been that ingrained, and if so, does that mean anything? I think that I need to surround myself with those who care, but are honest, those who do not care, but will lie, and those who are ambivalent on both counts. The yes men are to make us feel better, the honest ones are to keep us "in check", and the ambivalent to keep us guessing.
Amazing I write in here more than in my journal. I think it is to keep from tainting it. So much gets written, with so much passion, that in my state of indecision and malaise, I would not do it justice. How much do I write in here for myself or for an audience that does not exist. Would anyone write, if they thougth no one may someday, even post mortem, may read their works? And when we do, is it to hellp, hurt, or make the other think? And why do we need to imply things even here, rather than outright saying them? I guess some things must be implied so as to not take ownership of all that is negative in those implications. This probably only makes sense to me, but then again, I'm the one who has to reread this someday, haha.
Well, I suppose one must start again. In that process, perhaps a foundation, a castle, if you may, can be built. Or just maybe it can all be torn down without ever intending to change a thing...