I have so many thoughts and posts I want to make, and yet when I sit down to write I can’t start. I think I am going to take a break from the blog for the week, and just relax at home. I am so looking forward to good, Chinese, home cooked meals.
Topics for future blog posts:
- Asian American culture and mental health lecture I attended – lots of thoughts about that!
- Kids and family – I want one!
- Career – I don’t have one!
- Depression – I have it!
I am also feeling a little anxious, as my PAP came back slightly abnormal. They have to run more tests to see what’s going on in my cervix. Wonderful. I am not sure whether I should break my no-contact rule now and tell SR, or wait a few weeks until I get more conclusive results. Having fully scared myself shitless by reading up on all the potential consequences of an HPV infection, I am now in a state of continual low-level anxiety. It could be everything from a low-risk strain that disappears in a few months, or one of over a dozen strains that is the leading cause of cervical, vulval, or anal cancer.
So now, in addition to my belief of personal insignificance in our vast human population of several billion, I might also potentially become another medical statistic.
I think I’m going to go eat some chocolate now, it could be nothing on continual repeat in my head.
Thanksgiving break is less than a week away, and I never, ever thought I would say this, but I cannot wait to go home. Given the kind of strife that has occurred at home, it feels almost victorious to be able to say that. It has been too long since I have spent quality time with my family. I miss them.
I am homesick.
Two nights ago, I left a crowd of crying, cheering, clapping, hugging young college students at a frat house to walk across campus, where my car was parked. As I breathed in the frosty autumn air, chills ran down the back of my neck and down my spine, not because of the cold, but in response to the echoes of shrieks, shouts, car and air horns reverberating through the air. War cries of victory swept down the roads, from common room to common room, and people hugged and danced in the streets.
Yes we can. Yes we did. The chanting began, and soon thousands of students were marching through campus to the president’s house, demanding a speech. The message was clear and loud: We Won.
And, scattered throughout dorms and houses, in smaller groups that remained quiet, other students cried different tears, turned their televisions off, and maybe downed a shot of whiskey. The message was clear there, too: They Lost.
While I am thrilled that the candidate I voted for has been chosen to lead this country, I did not share in the revelry of so many others. Instead, while walking the short distance to my car to go home that night, I wished that there wasn’t such a sharp contrast of Us versus Them in the political sphere. I guess it is instinctual as the social animals we are to divide things into such two distinct parties: with or against. It is survivalist, it is conservative, and it preserves our traditions. Humans, in general, do not like, appreciate, or support change. And we are, always, aware of the Other. There always has to be an enemy, right?
I’ve realized this in terms of how I personally deal with breakups. The guy has to be an asshole, and I mentally emphasize his assholish traits in order to sever my emotional attachment to him and to rationalize the breakup. Not that the whole thought process is rational, but it makes sense, in a way.
But, as with the whole political atmosphere, I’m starting to realize how harmful and self-destructive that can be. SR recently e-mailed me, after a month-long silence, asking after me and whether or not I was still planning the threesome. I immediately went on the defensive (hackles raised and everything, because why would he ask me about sex except to get me riled up?) but it wasn’t until he contacted me again asking why I had blocked him on instant messenger that I unleashed a month’s worth of anger and stress upon him via e-mail (sprinkled liberally with sarcasm that was amplified by my being so sick these past few days that I can’t swallow without feeling like I just drank a rusty razor blade puree).
And again I feel the impasse building between us. I wish he had just left well enough alone and never contacted me. I wish I didn’t feel like I have to label him the Enemy. How do I deal with this mess, when there are so many other things demanding my attention and energy? I feel so very tired, and I just want to be able to swallow normally again.
In other news, I had a most titillating dream a few nights ago, in which a friend of mine sat crying, hair covered in sudzy shampoo, in my childhood bathtub. I don’t remember why she was crying, but I remember reaching over and half-smoothing her hair back, half-washing the shampoo away. We were both naked and alone in the bathroom. And then she leaned in and bit/suckled on my nipple, and I gasped in pure pleasure and lust.
And there was a moment of pleasure before I awoke to razor blades in my throat.
[edit: added the poll from here to the sidebar. Does it look obnoxious? I think it looks obnoxious. I’m not sure how long I’ll leave it up there.]
I’ve taken up knitting again, mostly out of a desire to make myself a wool hat with earflaps for the coming winter. It’s amazing how it is at once calming and meditative, and also a breeding ground for thoughts to gather and coalesce. The same thing happens when I’m in the shower or taking a long drive. Any single running dialogue that occurs within my skull at those times would make for a hefty and meandering blog post.
Case in point:
One particular observation I’ve made these last few months on campus as someone who is no longer a student is just the level of discussion I hear around me. I am constantly catching bits and pieces of academic discourse between students, filled with passion and the kind of vocabulary you never thought you’d hear again after taking the SATs. It is exciting, in some ways, but I wonder how self-congratulatory and self-conscious it is. Being that we are under the shadow of a prestigious institution, the majority of kids here have an intrinsic love of learning for learning’s sake and for self-betterment.
And yet…my college education has never quite sat completely well with me. It seems that there is too much riding on us, too much that students are doing, are expected to do, are planning to do, and it never seems to be enough. Senior year of high school, when I finally chose my school and told the main office, the secretary smiled and told me that she knew which school I’d pick. There was only ever one, obvious choice. Remembering that comment today, I thought, yes, and maybe that’s why the rates of suicide in Ivy League schools run so high.
This past weekend, I participated in a fundraising walk for suicide prevention. A classmate of mine killed herself a few months ago – a few months after we all graduated. I never knew her, though I knew of her, and yet I find myself wishing I could ask her what drove her to kill herself. I wonder if her thoughts were anything like my own have been, in the not too distant past. I wish it was easier to talk about suicide in general, instead of feeling the heavy weight of social taboo around the topic.
Is it all worth it? The prestige of an Ivy brand degree, the competition for a decreasing job market, the complexes that come with being considered somehow “higher” than another? A professor (and alum of the same school), while talking with a group of us, once commented, “I can’t wait until you guys get over your Ivy League degree.”
Ah, well. In any case…I hadn’t planned to write such a heavy post. I guess I have been “in a mood” today, as a friend would put it. After a couple hours of knitting, my head is thick with thoughts. Thank god I have this blog to excavate some of those thoughts.