stress

On SMART Goals and Procrastination

Have you ever wondered what your life would be like if you had everything you wanted? The perfect job, the perfect house, the perfect spouse, kids, dog. The book deal. The movie deal that sprouts from the book deal. The travel that comes with being a famous author. The successful coffeeshop in a tourist trap town. I think about that a lot.

And yet, I don’t avidly work toward it.

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“You Got a Bloody Right to Say”

C is for can’t.

As in, I can’t. I can’t finish my thesis. I can’t graduate with a 4.0. I can’t deal with people. I can’t process the sheer amount of death and hate in the world. I can’t handle the fact that one of my best friends is leaving in a month and I’ll see him maybe three times in the next six years.

I’ve been planning, for about three months now, that this blog post would be about consternation, because that’s pretty much my go-to emotional state.  But that has recently changed.

C is for crying.

I’ve cried more this semester than I did in all of junior high and high school combined.  And I don’t even feel as though I had good reasons for it.  I mean I’m more stressed than I ever have been before.  And change is impending and inevitable.  I don’t know how to process emotions, and at this point I’m not even sure what my emotions are.  I feel like I’m disappointing everyone around me somehow or another, and I don’t know what I want from life anymore.  All of my friends are getting married and I don’t even have a date to their weddings.

C is for corrosive.

I’ve always described the creative writing department as poisonous.  They’re constantly negative, they bitch about each other incessantly and then pretend to be friendly, they spew hatred, they’re passive-aggressive, they complain about literally everything.  They yell, they whine, they fight; they tear down, they tear apart, they expect sympathy and kindness.  (Not everyone is like this of course, but enough are.  Too many are.)  And they are poisonous–definitely.  But they are more so corrosive.  They eat away at the good thoughts you have, at your enjoyment of life, your self-esteem, your ability to function as a normal, productive human being.

C is for cohesive, which this will not be.

I’m spitting out all the thoughts that have been swimming aggressively around my mind for the past few months, hoping to make some sense of them.  I’m using a blog and not a diary so I don’t use names and go on unnecessary emotional rabbit trails.

C is for caught.

As in caught between a rock and a hard place.  You know, that situation when you have to pick the lesser of two evils.  That situation when there’s not a good answer and every which way you turn just kind of sucks.  There’s no way out.  Every path is a different variation of bad.  Earlier today, I had a friend start to tell me that I was caught between a rock and a hard place.  But she stopped before she finished.  “You’re just under a pile of rocks,” she said.  “Boulders.”  And that’s pretty much what it feels like.

I hate having questions that I don’t want to know the answer to.  As a naturally curious person, I want to know everything.  Literally everything.  But occasionally you run across those questions in which not knowing is better than knowing the negative answer and the positive answer can do nothing but cause you pain.  And there’s always the chance that the act of asking would ruin something good.  So you sit and you wonder and you ponder and you rant and you cry.  And since you’re a logical coward, you don’t ask.

I also just feel caught between all of my responsibilities.  I don’t actually have that many.  I don’t know why I’m stressed out.  I shouldn’t be.  Which just makes me more stressed out because I can’t figure out why and I can’t make myself stop.  But there’s so many things I need to get done in such a short amount of time and I consistently choose friendship over getting anything responsible done.  And to be honest, I’m happy with that choice.  But it only adds to the stress and the feeling of disappointing everyone.

C is for cowardice.

Does justifying the choices you made out of fear with solid logic still count as cowardice?  Even if you come to the conclusion that they were the right choice?  Or at least the better choice, in the long run?

C is for clarity.

How do you know what someone is thinking?  When is anger justified?  When are feelings rational?  How much rationality is too much?  What’s the difference between love and friendship?  What is good art?  How will my life turn out?  Why can’t all things be known?  Why can’t I read thoughts or see into the future?  What the heck was I supposed to learn from certain past situations?  What is fashion?  What’s the point of something if it just ends in pain and disappointment?  Why now?  Why freaking now?

C is for class, which I have in six hours.

I could go on for a while.  And if I had the time and didn’t have a headache, I would probably try to end on a happy note.  But hope is hard to find.  And hope will kill you anyway.  So I will end it with a why.  And I will leave you with the lyrics to “Bloody Well Right” by Supertramp, because they, oddly enough, made me feel slightly better:

So you think your schooling’s phoney
I guess it’s hard not to agree
You say, “It all depends on money
And who is in your family tree”

Right, right, you’re bloody well right
You got a bloody right to say
Right, you’re bloody well right
You know you got a right to say

Ha ha you’re bloody well right
You know you’re right to say
Yeah yeah you’re bloody well right
You know you’re right to say
And me, I don’t care anyway

Write your problems down in detail
Take them to a higher place
You’ve had your cry, no, I shouldn’t say wail
In the meantime hush your face

Right, quite right, you’re bloody well right
You got a bloody right to say
Right, you’re bloody well right
You know you got a right to say

Ha ha you’re bloody well right
You know you’re right to say
Yeah yeah you’re bloody well right
You know you got a right to say

You got a bloody right to say.