Capricious youth

Before I begin, I would like to say that the title of this post is a result of 1) my aforementioned nerdiness and penchant for collecting words, and 2) my favorite class this quarter, during which my professor used this word about eighty times in a fifty-minute period.

I feel so incredibly "college" right now. I mean, this is beyond cliche. And call me an idiot, but I'm incredibly proud of that. I love when my life is like an after-school special. That means it's predictable. Safe, even when it's not. Because every after-school special has problems that get resolved in half an hour, and I like to pretend that my problems are that simple too. And even though it's after one in the morning and I know I'm not going to get to sleep tonight, it's okay. Because this is what my life is supposed to be like right now--pulling all-nighters to study for finals (also known as "impending doom"). When is my life ever what it's supposed to be? The very fact that I'm actually indulging in an all-night study session should answer that question. I mean, it doesn't seem like normalcy would be too much to ask for, but apparently it is.

Don't get me wrong...as I've mentioned previously, I like for life to be crazy and a little out of control. I like to know that I'm somehow different from others. But little moments like this? Where I'm the same as everyone else? It's a nice respite.

I realize that I'm just procrastinating. I really don't want to start this paper for IArt. So what am I doing? I'm writing. How ironic. But luckily, I have enough caffiene and Adderall in my system to keep me awake until I have to start getting ready for work at 6 am. Lucky indeed.

Work is actually the whole reason I decided to not sleep tonight. I mean, it would just seem pointless to stay up till two or so and get the bare minimum done, and be completely exhausted when I wake up four hours later. Why not just eliminate the middle man and not sleep at all? I actualy tend to be more awake (or on a better auto-pilot, I'm not sure) when I don't go to sleep. Sleeping for a couple hours is such a teaser. You just start to get into that kind of deep sleep during which nothing--not even a jet engine placed directly outside your window--could interrupt, and then your alarm goes off and some miracle (or curse) from God makes your brain recognize that sound and groggily fall out of bed in a futile attempt to just make it stop.

So much for displaying my impressive writing skills. I'm pretty sure that was the longest run-on sentence I've ever written. That's my creative writing style...get over it. My professional writing is much better. I actually sound like an intelligent human being when I think out what I'm going to say, as opposed to just rambling on forever. Like I tend to do when I blog.

The thing is, writing is so therapeutic for me. I've had this tendancy to just let go and type (or write, depending on my setting) without being conscious of what I'm actually saying. Yes, I instinctively proofread and correct grammar and spelling (which is another reason why I decided journalism was my calling), but as for content...I honestly couldn't even repeat half of what I've typed so far in this very entry. Not without going back and re-reading it.

I really should start focusing on my paper now. If I put as much effort into that as I have into this, I'd be halfway done by now. The thing is, I will have to provide support and sources for this. And I don't want to do that. I just want to write what I think and let that be enough. I mean, the topic isn't uninteresting:

"Art as a human phenomenon: Keeping in mind all the different forms and functions of art we have discussed in class, write an essay explaining why art is a uniquely human phenomenon. Don't explain why animals don't create art, but rather explain as best as you can why humans seem to need to produce art. What are the basic functions of art? Explain why they seem to be necessary to the human condition."

That's so easy. This blog right here is a perfect example of art as a necessary function to the human condition. The fact of the matter is, no one will probably ever see this. And the few who do probably won't appreciate it in the same manner that I do. But I write anyway. Because it's an outlet. Because it lets me feel as though I've left a mark in the world. Because it says "I was here". Because it lets me take all the jumbled-up thoughts in my head and organize them and get them out, so I don't go mad or explode with pent-up ideas. That's all art really is, be it visual, or literary, or audio, or any combination of the three. That is what it is, and that is what it is for.

Hm. Maybe I have a bit of a start after all. Now all I need is to elaborate, and pull a few random facts or ideas from the textbook. Guess this wasn't such a waste of time after all.