My Escape


I got a card from a friend today.  I can’t exactly say I was surprised to get something from her- she had asked me for my address last week.  But I was surprised by the content.  It wasn’t really anything crazy.  It was just nice.  It was surprising because we aren’t as close as I wish we were.  But for that effort to be made?  And it was nice to get mail that wasn’t a bill or a subscription, but from a person who genuinely wanted to hear from me and see how everything is.  I used to get mail from friends my freshman year here.  But that stopped.  Every now and then I get an e-mail or a facebook post from someone.  At least once a month, a good friend from home calls for us to catch up.  But today, getting that physical piece of mail to find out how things were and how things with her were.  It was nice. 

I’ve been doing a lot of writing lately.  Yesterday I was up way later than I should have been, but it was good.  I must’ve written about 40 pages of the nonsense that floats inside my head.  It was good to get it out.  I read over it this morning.  Half of it makes no sense.  The other half is so ADD it is not even funny.  I know my brain is on 30+ topics at a given instant.  To try to put it on paper?  I mean, I type pretty fast, but not as quickly as I can think.  It’s intense.  But I can logically make the connections between my thoughts.  If anyone else were to read it though, they’d be lost.  It was scary to see something so raw.  I didn’t care about grammar and I didn’t worry about what other people would say or think if they saw what I was truly thinking.  I’m always trying to filter what I say.  Even what I think sometimes.  I don’t mind being straight forward with people, but I think there is a nicer way to say most things.  I usually try to find that way to express my opinion.  Last night I didn’t hold back.  It was refreshing. 

Writing has always been my escape.  When things don’t go my way or something upsets me or makes me extremely happy or whatever, I can write about it.  There are the blocks in that every now and then – when I’ve written too much about something I want to change and still haven’t done anything to change it or something like that- but for the most part, writing calms me down.  It builds me up.  It very rarely disappoints me.  Writing for myself at least, if that makes any sense. 

People.  Lately, people have been disappointing me.  I talked to really good friend for several hours yesterday afternoon.  One of the main topics of discussion were if my expectations of people were too high or if people simply fell short.  I was leaning closer to believing the former initially.  I’ve been let down by certain people over and over again in the last few months.  At least they’re consistent, right?  But if I’m always being the one constantly discouraged, maybe I am reaching for something unobtainable?  I hold the people I care about to high standards.  And they do fall short more than I feel they should. 

I guess it’s something like a professor I’m struggling with this semester.  Our first exam was last week and the highest grade was a 64 and the lowest was a 40/100.  He was irritated that we did so poorly.  He knew we weren’t ready to take the exam – our homework grades were just over 50%.  We all fell short of his expectation to do well.  My friends have been doing that too.  I think my standards are reasonable though.  They’re based on each person and what I think they’re capable of.  I don’t want to settle.  If I lower my expectations, isn’t that what I’m doing?  Maybe that means I need to cut out some people who can’t keep up.  Or that I’ll just continue to be disappointed until one day they get it.  I hope for the latter and that they get it.  And they get it sooner than later.  I need patience.  Writing usually helps with that.

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