I sometimes hate myself. "People here are smart, we're funny, smart, witty, nerdy people. Like my friend once said, there are 'wholesome' people here. But that means we're not necessarily academic. We're intellectual, but not academic. We've got too many other things that we're interested in. Too much fun, too many good people, too many good things to be cherished that we explore less in a way. It's possible also because we're in Maine. Fucking Maine, not in the middle of the city or at a university where people know what they are doing and they're really aggressive. We're just bunch of lost kids, all together, figuring out what we want to do. A lot of us at least." I feel inadequate. I'm 3 out of 5 smart, 2 out of 5 committed, and I might be totally misdirected right now. I might regret the whole thing although that seems impossible given the amount of fun and happiness I stroll upon here. "See we are all smart enough to know how we would be as smart as possible. We know what our perfect academic semester would be like. All of us. Wake up early, review class materials, have meetings and lunches and coffees with professors, participate in class, turn in essays two days earlier, take notes, review notes, recreate notes, we'd be all Rhode Scholars." I sometimes hate myself. Everything I do seems like the wrong decision, the unimpressive ones, the indulgent, the despicable one. I always look back to find my past self so foolish. I might just be doing the same thing soon enough. 'Fool.' 'I didn't know anything then.' It has always been what it has been. It is what it is. Can it be something else? Can I be someone else and should I be? Do I want to be? As schizophrenic as I sound, I shizophrenically wish I am more like this, and simultaneously wish I would just be peaceful and well. Low frequency waves. Low frequency waves.
