It is Cold in Hell

My head hurts. Not from banging it up against the wall because I could not get all of the words in my French vocabulary exercise memorised, but because I am going through the minefield of things that cause stress. French is only part of the minefield that I am going through. It is all the other things that are piling up, and this brings the feeling of uncertainty to the forefront.

Last night I spent an hour laying in bed because I could not get any sleep. Sleep and worrying are a bad combination. My sleep deprivation came in the form of having the fear of forgetting all of my recently learned knowledge and not being able to regurgitate it in a midterm I had in a dream.

In the real world I am so close, but the finish line is still so far away as far as classes go. There are just a few more hurtles to jump, but my mind is getting tired, and I am getting old for this.

Then there is the “what am I going to do afterwards” feelings. This is where most of my stress is coming from. Promises are like dark hollow messages of hope, and I have learned over the course of life time not to follow them. From the people who are very close to me, to the people of authority, promises are empty and carry little weight because they have all failed me before at one time or another. Even the paper and pen from people who that have signed their names in the form of promissory notes to are empty in my mind because I have being left holding nothing in the past. My mind will be my sword, the knowledge that I have gained over the last six years will be my guarantee into the my new awakening.

My future career awaits me, somewhere, out there.

It is easy for my mind to slip back into a time from when I was just a young man, in my early twenties, when my crazy friends would do the most stupid of things. Back then life was an adventure, but as we got older we learned what life really is, being punched in the face, your valuables stolen, being lied to, you become hard and cold. The good things were far and few between. For most of my friends drugs was the way out. Somehow I managed to jump over that torrent like river, and swam a shore without drowning.

I blamed it on being poor, but then as I leaned from my masters in academia, that is a fallacy. The nature versus nurture argument says that it is a combination of your genes and the environment you live in that makes the person you are today. So I cannot lay blame on anyone, or anything, because where I am today is so far from where most people are that I am an anomaly of sorts. I am not suppose to be where I am today based on the great bell curb of social standards. Based on my genes and upbringing, I should be some drug addicted grease monkey working in the back of some garage along junction 443 in the far North in British Columbia. But I am not.

The mind plays some really weird tricks, and sometimes, for a moment, those tricks become so vivid that you actually think you are drowning in that torrent like river.

Week “seven” approaches in the semester. This means I am nearing the halfway point. The light in the tunnel is close now. Seven more weeks.

Comments are closed.

Post Navigation