Only Human

There are days like today when perhaps I'm sick and can't deal with it and it would be a pretty okay day if not for that feeling.

It's that feeling of not wanting to. Not wanting to do what I must, not wanting to be in school, not wanting to - dare I say it - learn.

Sometimes I wonder: what would happen if I stopped trying? What would happen if I stopped wanting to know everything? What would happen if I devoted myself to things that matter less to society but often more to me?

I don't know, honestly.

There was a time when I didn't need it. There was a time when I learned because it was in the books I read, because I didn't feel obligated. Now, somehow, it's become something I need to do.

Now, it eclipses me sometimes. And I will look at myself, look at what I'm doing, look at what I'm studying. And no matter how much I try to suppress the thought, it crops up anyway: Why do I even care?

I don't know. I don't know.

It's days like these when I physically cannot do my homework. But that's not the worst part. The worst is that I don't care that I can't. It doesn't matter to me.

It doesn't matter.

This scares my American self, terrifies the hell out of her. What is she if not her information? What is she if not a learning machine?

I'm tired, so very tired. Not in terms of lack of sleep necessarily, because that's normal. I'm tired because I have not rested in so long.

I have not deigned to let myself try to write a story. I don't dare. Because my studious self has learned to stay away from things at which she is less than satisfactory. I have not devoured a book in a long time. I have not painted anything in ages. I have not sat down to make something merely for myself (rather than because it will take me somewhere).

I'm not very sick, but I can't do it. I can't go to school tomorrow. It's an odd feeling. I've liked going to school all this year. It's been a good year, really it has. And today it's like I hit a wall. I don't know.

I need a day off in which to make music. Make art. Read for ages. Cut a speech piece. Do homework, but very little.

I think everyone is supposed to feel this way once in a while. But for a time this afternoon I didn't know what was happening to me. Why was I not doing homework at five thirty? Why did I have no inclination to work at eight? Why not?

Because I'm human. I'm only human. Narcissistic and haughty and ridiculous as this one of my selves is.

Human is all I am.