Mart-deBlog

Halfway the last semester tonight. Only 7 more weeks and I'm done here at UCU. Too bad I have already started revising, looking back on my time on UC. It's a nasty habit of mine, not being able to await the future, the natural time for things to happen. So here I am, mentally already in May, giving meaning and value to my time on campus. I hate it. Why am I so serious? No.. Why am I trapped in my introspection? That words haunts me: 'introspection', for many people it is a very happy and necessary thing but what is good for one is bad for another; and to me introversion is my cage, my vice. It is the root of my uglier character traits, such as my self-absorption, my indifference to friends-out-of-fashion, or my simple boringness.
Time for a sip of Cavelli.
My mind constantly sucks me in, like a black hole with gravity that even freezes time, because that is what happens: I'm quasi-dead in the present, at least to the outside world. Too often I have placed myself in the future, the graduate programs I want to do, the country I could eventually live in; and all the while my present froze. And so I constantly get sucked in myself, like right now while I am writing this post with the taste of cheap alcohol in my mouth. I really want to write stupid happy posts, about the nice things in life, but I simply can't. The last three year have been endless wanderings in an empty wasteland. There is nothing left in my mind to rationalize, there is nothing new, or unexpected happening happening in the void. My mind is just empty, analyzed to death. And all frustration, even the frustration of knowing that introversion is useless and the resistance against it, it all pulls me only deeper in introversion. The more I resist, the deeper I sink. I can only complain, and I hate complaining and that makes it only worse. I can only indulge in self-pity, and I hate self-pity and that makes it only worse. I can only be silent, and I hate silence and that makes it only worse. I even hate the word "I". Everything that affects me only fuels my self-analyses. And I try to escape: good music draws me out, parties draw me out, my friends make me laugh; but it is just too strong: the moment I am left by myself I inflect inside out. Why am I not interested in the simply daily life outside my head? Why doesn't it stimulate me enough, why doesn't the world capture me like my head captures me.
Let's take another sip.
'Cause maybe that is just it: The world just doesn't stimulate me enough. If I think about it (Ha!), my early memories in childhood were that of not being happy in the world. Depression it's called, even if you are six. I also think it might run in the family, my brother Joost is lost in virtual worlds in the same way as I am lost in my mind. Several friends conceptualize me as asexual, having no sexual interest whatsoever. The world and the bodies therein just doesn't stimulate me like it does for others and it annoys them. I think. Just hypercritical to everything in the world, hoping that everything that is so - well, uninteresting- will only turn out to be the background of the beautiful things to come. Sometimes I think it will be children, or maybe not.
Let's take another sip.
Anyway, I'm sorry to have bothered you again with my troubles, my dear patient reader. Seriously, I don't know how people continue reading this, how people can stand me in general. Please feel free to react harshsly. 'Martin shut up' might be a wise thing to comment. Joy can be demanded.
And now it's time for a party in the all too well-known bar, and the comments 'Martin why are you so quiet?', 'Don't be so fucking boring' while I wander the wasteland called UC.

*don't worry mam, just airing some frustrations.