Reality bites...

Reality does not truly bite, but sometimes, and when it does--it really does. The job search has not improved and neither have my spirits. I believe I am experiencing a mild form of depression--very mild, mind you. I am not handling well this adjustment to summer, this dichotomy of experience. I have not been away from school and its structure, its daily routines and friendships for two weeks, yet I feel I am suffocating--suffocating for daily challenge, both of mind and spirit. I yearn for deep conversations that cause me to ponder further my place and purpose in this world. I miss keenly the proximity of dear friends who strengthen, challenge and encourage me. I miss the academic rigor of papers and class discussions--in all its facets--I miss school. Perhaps more than that, however, I miss a community of people joined together towards a common purpose...

Returning to my parent's house is always a strange thing and the other half of this dichotomy of experience. It is my home--rather, it was my home. I think, perhaps, much of my struggle centers upon this front. I lived here, I grew here, but I have left here for there...this period of life and existence is strange--extremely nomadic and ever-fluxing. Where is home? San Antonio was my home, but is no longer. John Brown is my home at present, but will be no longer in one year's time. There is beauty in this transient lifestyle, but also "unsettledness." I long for adventure, to travel, to be free of constraint and responsibility, but on the other hand...I am not sure what the other hand is actually.

I do not function well without structure (which I loath about myself) but it's reality. This fact makes coming home all the more difficult. I transition from daily consistency: work, classes, meetings, etc. all with a purpose and each day with a goal or goals to the structureless days of summer. I always attempt to create daily routines for myself, in order to keep myself sane, but feel as if I am accomplishing nothing. I loath this concept--accomplishment--yet I am forever plagued by its constraints. I unconsciously gauge my days and their "worth" based upon what it is I accomplish--sick. How can anyone live like this? I fear I cannot, yet I do...

I believe the state of mind I am in would be what Anne of Green Gables calls the "depths of despair," well, something like that...but perhaps a little less horrible sounding. I believe I need to cease striving after some set notion of life in my head, surrender, and simply live...just maybe--oh, and get over myself, that's what Alie would say.