Hilary Armstrong is a literature student at U.C. Santa Barbara and a Longreads...
Marilynn Robinson, Gilead
—Currently describes my religious discombobulation.
Anxious, aware, overwhelmed by my incompetence and unmet desires, I took a deep breath and imagined deathly hard, trying my best to summon concrete images from the gray wasteland of my depressed, numb imagination. In my most difficult mental reach: me, a different, sagely me, capable of producing positivity merely by aura. I am amazing, in this image, a shining beacon of unlimited potential. This thought doesn’t last long, however, as once I try to grasp it I fall back, faceflat, back into my gray wasteland, lost until I find a way to make my dreams reality.
Soo…. just registered for a few graduate-level English classes. Shit just got real. The future is knocking on my door and I’m wondering if it’s the pizza delivery guy or some rapist mugger. Uncertainty, doubt, excitement, anxiety are all blending in their own little twisted milkshake right now. I’m definitely going to be massively homesick. I want to plan a schedule in which I’m able to commute home every now and then, perhaps twice a month? Ha, I miss those weekender kind of days.