Some Snippets From My Notes + Images I’ve Collected And Don’t Remember Where From

playing computer games

"I am constantly trying to communicate something incommunicable, to explain something inexplicable, to tell about something I only feel in my bones and which can only be experienced in those bones. "

- Franz Kafka

i have been eating cereal for dinner for the past two weeks but that’s college babey 😎

i figured it out :)

how the FUCK do you fish in stardew valley.

pov you accidentally nick yourself while shaving

parents are so crazy because they can say the most fucked up shit to you when your brain is forming and it sets the tone for your whole adult mind set and then they forget about it the next day

the cold snap is proving to be quite beautiful ❄️

summertime

I read Samuel Beckett’s play Waiting for Godot in my modernist drama class. I had read it once before, in my freshman year writer’s studio. The play didn’t make much sense to me at the time, it was just two guys dicking around, killing time to wait for someone who never arrives. It was weird, a little experimental, but not profound. Not to 18-year-old me, anyway.

It was assigned to me again, by a professor who studied the play for three years before teaching it. This time, I took my time to read it. Partially because I’m now 21 and less of a punk, and also because I figured it must somehow be important to read if I’ve encountered it twice.

Despite my reading it again, it still didn’t mean much. It was tedious, nothing happened. Vladimir and Estragon spend two acts waiting for Godot, who never arrives. He always sends his messenger to tell the pair he’ll see them the next day. The next day is like the previous. It’s hellish in a way, like purgatory.

It’s like summertime.

I realized this after spending 3 hours listening to my professor pound the point into my brain. Beckett’s point was that life is just one big cosmic joke, a “universally shared predicament of meaningless action” (pulled verbatim from my notes). Time will pass regardless of what we do, so we need to give our lives meaning ourselves. Which is obvious, now that I think about it.

But school has let out for the summer, and I’m bored. Time passes slowly, and I have too much of it on my hands. Staying busy is my meaning as a student.

What will it be when I graduate?

Is my future meaning to write things that no one will read?

Who knows?

trying to bead a garden 🌹