Predictable Results

Things have happened since I last wrote. Predictable things. I had written that it felt like the days of the final examination before the jury, and it turned out to be exactly that, with results almost identical. I failed. At least in my eyes. I was told, as they were failing me, that getting an extension was not  a failure, but its all rubbish in the end.

At the end of the day, one knows intellectually that success is not having your picture in a book, or your work displayed at a graduation show, or even collecting a certificate. But feelings don't follow these dictates. Feelings will heartily herald your misery when you see people who you were learning with, with some success and some failure and plenty of angst, pass you by, and plan for life ahead, when you are stuck in a purgatory from which your departure seems more unsure than ever. But the pricks say, alright, we fucked your case- now you have precisely one day to lick your wound, and then that's it. You can't moan. You can't grieve for the useless effort you put in, can't complain, can't be anything but cheerful. Just smile and help people on their way, because being miserable and letting everyone know about it is a crime. To besmirch another's trip is a fault which is greater than that of one being obliviously happy and gloating in the face of another's misfortune.

 And so I have lived through this hell, and still living in it, and keeping the proverbial stiff upper lip, and welcoming all the success of others to surround me in all my masochistic glory, deeply burying my complete loneliness and alienation that I feel for the entire human race at this point. I cannot even identify with others who share my current fate. Obviously their plight is less immediate than my own.

 Maybe it is because my definition of an extension defers so vastly from the others. I have always judged the others who have ever received an extension as lesser in some ways. Their work didn't cut up to the mark. And now I am in a position to say that maybe mine didn't either. Yet the effort. The effort that has been put into it and the simple ignorance of the work involved is something i cannot seem to wrap my head around. 

 I need some clarity. Some time away. And I will not have that. My entire life's structure has suddenly changed drastically and I don't have time to ponder that or plan my way through it. I'm just rushing through it like a horse with blinkers on yet who has only managed to chip off half of it so only tantalizing glimpses of the outside is flashing through my optic nerves, yet having no time to comprehend.

 Well I am still inspired, but not with things that I was doing. With something else. I am attempting to write another story, a child's tale. And I hope to make an illustration project of it. But inspiration only comes in short inconsistent bursts and it refuses to stay, or rekindle upon revisiting. But I will keep on going. Because being involved with something other than me or other people will get me through this.