asf;lsmacs;m

Too much to process; not enough words.
Are empaths real? Am I crazy for wondering if I have some of those traits? Yep. Now that I've written it out, it seems crazy. Often I am not readily warm because 1) I have a hard time trusting others and 2) I shut down as a coping mechanism. I feel too much. Maybe I'm just looking for an answer or a label. I am absolutely not one of those "new age"-minded people. I'm a skeptic. I just wish I understood why I feel so inundated with emotions I can't understand. Why things stick with me for days, weeks. Why I get such a powerful sense of people I barely know. Or what I am struggling against and trying to suppress.
Don't let this post give you the wrong idea—I'm happy with life lately. Lots of positive energy. I am just trying to make sense of so much.
I feel like I could type "agiajegoianrgad" and it would make about as much sense.
I wish I had someone to talk to, about everything. Maybe that's what therapists are for. I could pay a stranger to listen to me vent and prescribe a solution.
Or not.

there is so much that interests me...

I know I have time—a lifetime, and hopefully a long one, if I'm lucky—to study any subject I like, but I just wish I could take courses in Psychology and Women's Studies and Spanish on top of Literature and Mass Communication, and Creative Writing, maybe some Sociology, maybe some Philosophy (well, scratch that last one. Existentialism was enough for me). Psychology is especially something I think I could be good at and want to learn more about. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't change my major for anything. I just love learning more now than ever and am slightly repelled by the idea of focusing on a single field in the near future, i.e. journalism (maybe that's a red flag?).
Or maybe I'm just anxious because I feel like I'm forever rapidly running out of time. Is that silly?
I wish I had studied Literature abroad. I wish I had considered getting my teacher licensure, just in case. Wishing does no good. It's all about now. I am so perpetually entangled in everything but now.

"young people think they know everything..."

I used to deny that. But really, I'm guilty of convincing myself that I am oh-so self-aware and perceptive. Increasingly I'm having to confront the glaring fact that I know very little about myself, and others, for that matter. Which is harder to acknowledge than I would have thought.
Live and learn.

humanities homework vs. every other alternative

I'm not sure how I feel about summer classes. On one hand, it's relieving to be able to put a four-credit class behind me after only four weeks. That literally equals out to one credit hour a week, which is, I have to admit, borderline absolutely ludicrous. I've appreciated our class discussions but don't feel like I've really benefitted or retained a significant amount of information. We don't even discuss the assigned readings. We just hang out, talk, and watch the occasional video about environmentalism (which, I guess, relates to contemporary humanities, and can be extremely moving...I got all bleary-eyed today in class watching clips about mountaintop removal and factory farming and felt motivated to construct an essay on "Why I am a Vegetarian" to reaffirm my values...that's on the back burner right now. Tragic how fleeting inspiration becomes). So, I am grateful and at the same time yearning for more of a challenge. Well, cut that last part.
I almost started working on my final exam right after finishing up my midterm (again, their proximity to one another is both glorious and preposterous), but then a cold beer called. Then some chocolate-covered peanut butter pretzels my roommate bought called even louder (why, God, do such things have to exist??). Then I found websites where women were creating art out of their menstrual blood (I was searching "contemporary feminist art"...go figure) and proceeded to scroll through blogs and photographs, caught between a gag and a laugh the whole time. Mostly gags.
I'm all about woman power, but come on. I saw a video where one of the artists was talking about holding a "red tent" affair where menstruating women gather inside some kind of red-colored structure and bond over their shared womanhood, or something like that. Basically it was just the artist and a drugged up-looking hippie and another girl who probably didn't speak English, lighting candles and talking vaguely about the sacredness of bleeding and motherhood. Honestly, I can't imagine a worse idea than getting together a bunch of women on their periods, especially in a red building since A) red is an angry color and B) red makes you hungry. I feel like most women would probably end up screaming at each other and would only want some chocolate and peace and quiet. Unless they were high, or an absolute psychopath feminazi who likes painting with vag-blood (aka "Moon Blood" give me a break).
I really don't know why I posted any of this.

I don't necessarily think we need a religion...

...but it does seem, to me, that some sort of "spiritual identity" is necessary in order to lead a somewhat contended life. That, or an incredibly strong sense of self. Neither of which I possess, at the moment.

Which is as freeing as it is suffocating.

In the meantime, I am busier than I would like, but I can never decide which is worse: not having enough free time and therefore not having time to dwell introspectively, thus feeling out-of-touch with my inner state and observations, or having enough free time to dwell and then drive myself absolutely insane.

Busier seems better.
Except I never feel creative when I'm overworked. Or, rarely, at least. Also, everything I do write is starting to sound the same. The same images surface over and over again. Christ. Women. Mothers. Bleeding. Water. Reconciliation. Youth. The South. I can't make sense of it; I just let it pour out of me like wine forming rivulets of the same fragments and phrases. I wish I could literally cut open my skin and allow all the coiled up nervousness and desiccated inspiration to release itself forever into the cosmos, perfectly manifested and perfectly out of reach. I would be able to breathe easier. There is so much desire to purge in me and so much I feel like I can't release.
I'm no longer making sense. I need to sleep. Or study for the GRE, for once. (I'm so worked up about the future, I could puke!)