(since classes have started and I have no time, I thought I’d post this weird thing that I wrote at like 5AM at some point over break) (an update post is coming this weekend, I promise!)
I don’t spend a lot of time contemplating whether I exist. “Waiting for Godot” (please pronounce it God-oh when you say it in your head) is my all-time absolute head-over-heels favorite play, and the fundamental question (back to AP English) is “Am I?” but it’s not a question I ask. When my friend Wes was having an existential crisis, he asked me if I ever thought about that stuff. I guess if I have to think about that stuff, I’d say we do exist, because there’s not a good alternative. Nobody’s imagination is that layered (and cruel) that they dreamed up all the stuff that happens in the world (ya know, genocide, AIDS, famine, diabetes, Michele Bachmann…). And I think our lives would be more unpredictable if we were just dreamed up. I don’t know. Like I said, it’s not an avenue of thought that I go down.
However, I am having an existential blog crisis.
Does my blog exist? I’m not really sure. Do any websites exist? Do online personalities exist? Does writing exist if it’s only online and not printed? Do things have to be tangible? Too many questions!
And then with my blog specifically: is it a disease blog if I’m in denial about being diseased?
Yeah, okay, I said it. I’m in some serious denial. Wouldn’t you be? Nobody wants to hear at age eighteen that suddenly their life is on a completely different path that they can’t veer off of.
It makes me think about choosing majors (again). My dad pointed out that what I major in Does. Not. Actually. Matter. Whoa. I could major in whatever, and as long as I got decent grades (ha. hahaha) I could just enroll in the Bryn Mawr pre-med one-year magic program-y-thing and still go to medical school. I could major in dance and art if I felt like it (or, ya know, was good at either of those things). So no matter what I do with this particular decision, I can still ditch that path later.
I keep using walking metaphors (paths, avenues) which is probably because my favorite method of thinking is to just start walking somewhere. Especially in high school when everything, every fight every breakup every text message, seemed so significant and painful and urgent, it felt weird to take public transportation somewhere. I guess sitting on a train felt too stationary. So I walked.
Then, for me, to be stuck on one road seems inconceivable. Couldn’t I just turn right up at that corner and go be healthy? Couldn’t I stop, tie my shoe, window-shop, delay the progressiveness that is MS?
Is it really a disease blog if I refuse to feel diseased?
PS: if you are actually having an existential crisis please do not click here because it’ll just make you sadder about the world.