By Hands

This post is “unique” in that it was originally written by hand. (Yeah, you know me. Always keepin’ shit fresh.) I almost never write by hand anymore. As you can probably tell, I’m a pretty wordy individual. (Or, as many a person has told me to my dismay, “flowery”. Ugh.) Anyway, I get worn out really quickly when writing by hand, and I need to preserve my hand strength for the ridiculous amounts of notes I’ve been taking lately for class.

I wrote this while waiting for Astronomy class to start.

I think today was the first day I thoroughly felt like a college student – with each movement feeling natural or, really, ingrained. Routine.

I realized there’s a significant difference between being something and feeling like something. You can feel like a success even if you weren’t. Just look at most presidents. Likewise, you can feel like a failure even if you didn’t fail. Just look at most perfectionists. And although I have been a college student for nearly half a year, it didn’t feel real until today.

Today I realized just how much of a little automated college machine I have become: achingly perfectionistic [sic, I know], horribly detached. A history-psychology-astronomy robot. I am not fully interested in anything – or anyone – else. I am empty of everything that makes one human. When I cry, it’s like an oil leak, and I find myself unable to experience full or fuller emotions. I am never truly happy; I am incapable of love.

These words are too ugly and empty for this loopy handwriting of mine. Or, really, for anything at all.

-Cat