Stuck

Hello to my small readership, it's been a bit.

I'm trying to do things that I like again to escape the loneliness that we are all trying to ignore. It's nice to hop on here and pretend people are listening, and if anyone actually does its a gift.

I'm sitting in my English class typing this while we discuss a James Joyce story about death and paralysis. Normally something that would thrill me, just can't seem to capture me fully today.

My professor is talking about the symbolism of mirrors in a character's reflection on oneself and I can't stop thinking about how I hide from the one in my room. Because even if I like what I see, I don't want to see it. If anyone wants to write an analytical paper on what that says about my character, you're more than welcome. MLA formatting please.

It's getting colder which means a lot of things for a lot of people. It gets darker earlier, which is deflected by holiday lights. It means puffy coats that you can never store, but that envelope you in warmth. The last time I wrote to you it was cold, in January the cold means a time of hope.

"Stuck, stuck, stuck. Everyone is stuck." My professor is interrupting my hopeful reveries with such a brash statement.

She's right and maybe thats why I've found myself here again- trying to get unstuck once more. But at the same time sticking myself in a different place. This is a bit of a theme as of late, I revisited a story of my youth in the form of a TV series (those of you that knew me in this phase of life should get a good laugh out of this): Looking for Alaska.

The tragic protagonist who represents life and death simultaneously is fixated on how to get out of "the labyrinth of suffering." What we find as viewers or readers, is that there is no answer besides death- and that isn't the most appealing response. But a consolation it seems is that people, both fictional and real, are all suffering from this stuck-ness.

I find it really lovely that some people make a home where they are stuck. I did that once and felt so free when I could finally move away from that place. Now I'm not sure that I could ever stay in one place, even ones that I consider home. Everyone is stuck, my professor proclaimed, and she is right, that even I who refuses to stay still is stuck running in the supposed labyrinth.

"You have no other way to write, but through your own eyes."

Another profound thought from my professor, thanks Bonnie! I feel this is a good thought to leave with, through the jumbled mess of a post that this is. It's coming from my eyes. And that explains a lot of the things that are going on here.