passions loved & lost

I check CBC, I check CNN. I feel lost. I used to know what was happening, and then I got sucked into this bubble I call University. That which matters is around you, or in a textbook. Are they going to test me on what the President of Iran recently said in a press conference? Probably not. So why pay attention to it? That seems to passive. Hell, I'm studying political science. For some reason I become so ridiculously out of tune with politics as soon as come back from the summer. I don't watch the news (I'm never home when it's on... or I'm sleeping), I don't read the paper (Well, the gazette doesn't count), & I can never seem to be caught up. Le sigh. I'll get there.

Passions. Not the TV show, a strong liking or desire for or devotion to some activity, object, or concept. I wonder what the people around me are passionate about. School seems as though it would be a common answer, or at least what they're studying. But who knows. People do things they don't enjoy. Writing. Writing is a passion, right? Why am I asking you. I know it is. I love it when I get into that state of mind that has me pouring my heart out onto scrap pieces of paper until three in the morning. They have to be scrap. It has to be scribbled about in a random fashion. A little bit here, a little bit there. It seems to have eluded me recently, this stay-up-all-night-I-have-to-get-it-out feeling. It's not something I can try to do. It just happens & recently, it doesn't want to be happening.

Conversations that leave you thinking. I've had many lately & they leave me craving more. I crave intellect, I crave debate. Please leave Britney Spears at the door. I could debate about her, but I want a feeling to linger with me, I want to be left thinking. Do you see? I have only one provider & I need more. It's an addiction. It's my crack.

I wonder what it was like for me as a child. I remember so much, but just not enough. Everything interested me. I was here, there, everywhere. I had no friends, but I had books. I had curiosity, I had imagination. I had a pen & paper & that's all I needed. I created friends, I created worlds in which I flourished, which I loved. I wonder what I would say about how I'm living now, about my hopes & dreams. Would childhood me hate that I've thrown my dream of author out the window? Have I even? It often leaves me wondering.

I want to help. I want to have the words that everyone needs. Am I suppose to know them? Will I learn them? I want so badly to have the answers to everyone's problems, but I don't. I want to go into a profession where I'm supposed to have the answers to problems. Some I won't have experienced, others all I'll be able to say is "it'll get better" because in reality nothing that I say will make you feel any different than you do right now. Sigh. I don't know what I'm looking for or where I'm gonna find it.

I think this has been enough for now. I need to start channeling all this writing into something worth reading. I want to blow you back. Give you something to mentally chew on. Well, here's to another day.