After a fashion, it is only in the aftermath of a depressive episode (such as the one earlier today) that I am most honest, because I started lying to myself when I was nine and I've gotten so good that I can't recognize it any more. It is only in the introspecitveness of misery that the lies break apart and I can admit that I'm returning to Pomona not because of any special wish for classes, but because graduation is sensible, and having to support myself is frightening, and I love the people too much to let it go.
It can take a while to accept what I already realized a while ago: that while I can think of many futures I wouldn't mind, there are none that I really want.
The question, of course, is whether I'll see it the same way tomorrow, or if I really am capable of happy planning and dispirited resignation at once, with a different mind and a different thought process to each.
It can take a while to accept what I already realized a while ago: that while I can think of many futures I wouldn't mind, there are none that I really want.
The question, of course, is whether I'll see it the same way tomorrow, or if I really am capable of happy planning and dispirited resignation at once, with a different mind and a different thought process to each.