Empty Slate

I'm exausted. School is done. Technically only classes have finished, the studying is yet to begin. I have about 20 days to prove that I am indeed a metaphysician, and 27 days to prove that I am an advanced microeconomist. I'm hardly going to have to put the same degree of effort into my other 2 courses. By May I will be finished 12/20th of my undergraduate degree. This summer is going to be a well-anticipated break.

I lost part of my soul. I lost it awhile ago, but I've become aware of it just lately. The freeflowing artistic side of me is lost. I can't find the cap to my pen, and for some reason that frustrates me to no end. I don't dream like I used to, these days I just visualize. Every now and then my mind will play out a completely unexpected scenario between me and my friends - the other day i think a bunch of us went ice fishing or something - but that seems to be the extent of my imagination. I remember when I was younger, the world had so many different colours. Now everything looks the same. I should start wearing shades; then maybe I'd have an excuse for failing to see beauty in the world. I might as well be watching my life on an old black and white television. Even then there would be a sharp and obvious contrast between images. My vision is even more drab: an even blend of dreary colours, a smeered blur of reality, not unlike pencil shavings smudged againsts a dark wooden table.

Lately I've been reading words in books and on sheets and just getting them wrong. I was scared that maybe I had a small form of dyslexia. My eyes would pass over words like, i dunno, quota, and I'd read quato. I hope that I'm just really tired, and that I don't have an illness. I can't paint, play the piano, sing or dance terribly well. I only ask that I be left alone with my capacity for word manipulation.

Left alone is the operative phrase. I'm not really sure who gives a damn about what I have to say. I'm not even sure if I do anymore. I've been busy lately. But that's only part of the reason why I don't blog as much. It has mostly been because I haven't had much to say. Correction, I haven't had anything important to say. A lifetime goal of mine is to produce a literary work of great impact. I haven't decided what it's going to be about yet, and i'm never going to be able to decide if I don't get over thinking that what I have to say is unimportant. My closest friends often come to me in times of frustration, not for advice, but for some perspective. Advice would necessarily involve experience, and I know nothing of how to be a girl. Regardless, I'm the guy to talk to in times of need. One would think then that what I have to say has some merit. But at the end of the day what I have to say is hardly important, the words are lost in time. My words reduce to nothing more then the temporary feelings they offer; the laughter they envoke, or my compassion and simpathy. I often find myself saying, "I told you that, remember?" Unless what I said was in the form of an anecdote, I often find myself hearing, "Naw, i swear you never said that" in response. The words are lost in time.

Perhaps that is why I enjoy philosophy classes. They give me an outlet to take a situation, and with nothing but my words, I offer my perspective, and generally, my ideas are valued. And maybe that is why I ever blog at all, and maybe that's why I want to write a book; so that my words won't be lost in time for good.