Journal of a Mouse

Monday, August 01, 2005


I can´t sleep. I have been turning from left to right, from right to left, and back again - a zillion times. I´m just so scared. This month I will find out if I screwed up on my written exams. I will get the results by the end of august. I screwed up last year. There was half a point missing on one of the eight tests we had to write... Now, this is my last chance at earning my degree. It´s not like I want to become a lawyer, so I don´t really need this degree. But I put so much time and effort into it all these years, I struggled so hard, despite nowing that it´s not what I want to do. I stuck with it. It´s more like I´m scared of having a hard time finding a job. Or maybe, no: I´m scared of feeling like a failure. I´m scared, I might believe I´m a failure...

I´mad at me, too. For not knowing what it is that I want to do. For not having enough confidence in my abilities. For not being able to be what I´m not: A career-oriented, confident, successful person. For some years I worked my butt off to become just that. I thought, it was all a matter of pure willpower and determination. Where there´s a will, there is a way. The one thing that came my way was a burnout syndrome. Three years later, it´s still a struggle for me. I´m amazed at that person I have been a few years ago. I have been so into this law thing. I can´t relate to that anymore and boy have I tried! A lot of times, I think that maybe it is too a matter of pure willpower, blah, blah. But it´s not. That is what I know, although I question it over and over again. It´s just so strange, that I changed so much.

In the process of recovering from my miserable state, I took up all those things that I had neglected for years on end. All those things that had made me happy when I was a child and that saved me in my lonelyness as a teenager. Drawing, painting, crafts.

And now this creative part of me is ruling my life. And it´s jealous. It´s acting really wild inside of me, whenever I dare to sit down to study... I become depressed, whenever I spend more than two hours over my books. I´m brimming with ideas - most of which I never express, because I think that I can´t allow myself to do something fun, when I actually have to study! So rather I numb my brain with watching some mindless tv instead, feeling even more like a failure afterwards. I have tried different routines. Studying in the morning, creative stuff in the afternoon, and vice versa. Breaking down my study time into tiny chunks and doing creative stuff inbetween. You name it.

And still I´m having a hard time accepting it. I often think that I just exaggerate. That it´s all in my imagination. That I don´t need to create. That it´s all crap. Because I´m not even good at it. How will I be able to make a living of painting or crafting? Me? I need more time. I have lost so much time all these years that I have been trying to be somebody else.

But then again - you can call me naive - I just know, that I will be able to make a living, even as the person that´s me. I know I can be a lot better, if only I keep on doing what I love doing. I know that I will be a lot better at drawing and painting, than I am now. I have seen how much progress there was in my drawings the last two years - and I didn´t even draw all that much! I know that I´m meant for a creative, arty life ( although I´m scared of saying this). There is a part of me, that knows what it is. "That knows it´s neither ice, nor mud, nor winter light - but wood, with a gift for burning." Thanks Andrea, for helping me remember this.

You´re wondering if I´m lonely:
OK then, yes I´m lonely
as a plane rides lonely and level
on its radio beam, aiming
across the Rockies
for the blue-strung aisles
of an airfield on the ocean
You want to ask, am I lonely?
Well, of course, lonely
as a woman driving across country
day after day, leaving behind
mile after mile
little towns she might have stopped
and lived and died in, lonely
If I´m lonely
it must be the loneliness
of waking first, of breathing
dawn´s first cold breath on the city
of being the one awake
in a house wrapped in sleep.
If I´m lonely
it´s with the rowboat ice-fast on the shore
in the last red-light of the year
that knows what it is, that knows it´s neither
ice nor mud nor winter light
but wood, with a gift for burning
Adrienne Rich


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