escape artist

Frustrated. I can't study. Frustrated. Problems I don't know how to solve. Maybe I'm afraid of the solution. Maybe I'm just too tired. Maybe I'm sick of crying. But being sick of crying doesn't mean I don't. And I try to ignore it, to forget it, by burying myself in Guyton and in Moore and in learning everything I need to know about the cardiovascular system. It doesn't work, not even when I tell myself that I must learn it all, that I'm not going to kill someone in the future because I was too emotional to study in my first year. It doesn't work, because every time I get close to being able to focus, I find I'm beginning to cry again. I hate crying. I never let myself cry if I can help it. But with you, nothing stops the tears, no matter what I do. It doesn't work, because I can hear you in my head, telling me I'm running away. I don't like running away. You told me before, it's escapist, it solves nothing. And I know it's true.

Maybe I was running away yesterday. But who cares, it worked, it got me on track and I managed to finish preparing for today's lectures last night. And I went to bed feeling good about myself. I woke up late, too late to carry out my insane study plans for the morning, too late to even go down for breakfast. But I still feel good about myself. Temporary relief, I'll probably go back to being moody again at some point. But for now, I'm focused and I'm okay, as long as I don't let myself dwell on it.

Sometimes you just need to get away. Joel and Arthur, thank you for the lunch and pianos and laughter yesterday afternoon, I really appreciate it.