But that just shows I am a Millennial, thinking the answer to all the world’s problems is my own personal holiness. Who, besides the CLM taught me that, I wonder? I have no answers now.

But, it would be great to not have to think of the big things.

I can’t control my mind, my thoughts, which scares me so I just prefer to turn it off. PTSD. And then complain about the mindlessness of my work.

To read this, you’d think that my life is a hellhole.

Truth is, I only write here when I’m going through hell.

One simply cannot post how much one hates one’s job on Facebook when one is friends with all 6 of one’s office mates and another 6 coworkers from another office.

And if one must cater each post to an audience that knows one personally, one must be careful to not expect other people to solve one’s problems, not to expect other people to respond to one’s summons each time.

That is why people journal. I have three journals: one for travel, one for writing in when in front of the Blessed Sacrament, and this -for when no one must see what I am thinking.

Heartburn will plague them all day at work the next day -and maybe the day after.

My mom seems to have a special sensor that detects my presence. Once that sensor is activated, she begins to yak at me.

It doesn’t matter if they are things that I don’t need to hear. Or things that I don’t want to hear. Or things that I’ve heard three times already in one day. They apparently need saying again.

On one level, it drives me nuts. On another, it makes me sad. I tune her out as a reflex (coping strategy) and in that way, sometimes miss things that I would have liked to have known. Once, I went nearly two years not knowing that my Nanny’s dog had gotten hit by a car and died becuase I incorporated the news into the rest of the white noise.

Perhaps I long to join a monastery simply for the silence.

(In my idealization of a monastery, no one talks at you when you walk through a doorway, turn on a light, or walk down the hall.)

I’ve been listening to my Mom talk about someday losing weight, someday getting the house shoveled out, working in the garden. And in 18 years, she has never mounted a sucessful, or substantial, effort. If you aren’t gonna clean, don’t talk about it.

I listened to my boss’s roommate talk about repainting the wreck of a tagged-up delivery truck as we drove around Boulder stocking vending machines every Wednesday for a month or two. Did he ever paint it? No. It gave him incredible anxiety, and also made him a burden to work with. But even that wasn’t incentive enough to get off his ass over the weekend and paint it. Why not just shut up about it?

I guess I could never go into therapy as a profession. Sitting around and listening to people talk about thier problems would kill me. If you aren’t gonna do anything about the problem, once you’ve established what it is, don’t talk about it continuously.

maybe its just  function of too little sleep.

Part of me is bummed that I will probably get a C in Bruhn’s class for going to visit the Pope. Its my fault for not hoarding my absences.

Another part of me wishes never to go back to FedEx again. I am a crappy loader. Pfluger ought to spare himself and Cowley the agony of having me load thier trucks and just tell Chris to fire me. I can’t fight the system, and I don’t know anymore what systems are worth fighting.

Yet another part of me doesn’t want to go in to Noodles tonight. It means I wont sleep much today, if at all. And I would rather go in and talk to my german professor. I also know we are down three people for tonight, the weekend, and the entire week really. I know this too, could have been prevented, or could have gone down differently. But I’m not around enough anywhere to really be invested in something.

And another part of me doesn’t want to go to class today  becuase I know what the other students have put together as portfolios and that makes me feel bad about mine. I haven’t had the time to put much effort into it.

I want to eat all the time, and I am always hungry. But when I eat, I feel that I hadn’t really wanted to eat in the first place. And then I feel fat.

And as much as I know I am atleast somewhat of an intellectual, albeit one who doesn’t try very hard and is wrong a lot, i dont have the motivation for school. It just makes me feel inadequate in yet another way.

The cure for this wants to be to go to bed, but when I go to bed, I have crazy dreams and I cannot sleep for very long. Dreaming about Marian group always feels more uncomfortably cathartic and confrontational and self revealing than the real thing. And I am tired of dreaming about packages. And I’m tired of waking up all the time at odd hours due to odder things.

In some ways, I want to stop existing. Death is too permanent, but the future is so vague I cannot live for it in the same way that I cannot live for graduation becuase I dont see it having any tangible or sensible value.

I am:

A color: Bright Red

An Animal: A dog/a teddy or Koala bear

A type shoes: combat boots

a Type of plane: a helicopter

a virtue: fortitude

a flower: a bonsai

a piece of furniture: a sofa

music: classical

a store: