PLASTICS

A Recent Graduate Contemplates Life, Love, and Craigslist.

I graduated from Wellesley College two days ago. It would have been a more joyous occasion had I not finished classes in January, splurged what little start-up fund I had traveling, and ended up marooned on my parent’s couch in New Hampshire as a consequence. The past two months have been a structure-less sea of false hopes, craigslist postings, and existential questioning, and to have a paper diploma bestowed upon me amidst speeches laden with metaphors of blossoming cherry trees and persevering turtles was not particularly comforting, nor resolving of my situation.

“I still don’t understand what we’re celebrating,” I told my mother as she scurried around setting out trays of hors d’oeuvres and martini glasses for our approximately three friends. “I don’t even have a job yet, much less a sense of purpose in life. Maybe as a fun party game we could have everyone help edit a different section of my resume!”

But everyone got drunk instead, and lauded heaps of undeserved praises on me, and quoted various lines from The Graduate. I had the feeling that I was being treated as a sort of metaphor myself; a beacon of hope, a new beginning, a fledgling poised on the brink of boundless opportunity. And while I am indeed blessed to have such vast opportunity, its limitlessness is overwhelming, crippling, even. My overly-analytical mind which propelled me to this stage now works against me, seeing the pros and cons, the paradoxes, and the ultimate futility of every situation I consider. I go to Barnes and Noble seeking books on career guidance, and end up poring through stacks of Sartre and Camus.

My neighbor came over to visit today, to find me staring intently at a page I’d pulled up on my computer. It was a result of a google search I’d done on rational decision-making.

“There’s the Seven Hat strategy,” I told him, “Where you put on a different hat for each perspective. White is facts and information. Red is feelings and emotions. Black is critical judgment. Yellow is positive thinking, Green is Creativity, Blue is… Wait… let me pull up the page again. Maybe there were only six hats.”

My neighbor looked around the room. There were stacks of scrawled notes and phone numbers and resumes. Books on Nietzsche, Chaos Theory, a collection of essays entitled “What Should I Do With My Life?” On top of them lay a DVD of Bride Wars.

My neighbor looked at me. “You’re clearly driving yourself crazy,” he said. “You need to get out of this room. Go volunteer or something. Anything!”

So I went to the gym for about an hour, and once I got back I plopped in front of the computer again to look up volunteer opportunities.

“There’s a farm in Nashua where I could volunteer with horses,” I told my mother eagerly when she came in to say good night. “They’re Appaloosas!”

She took a moment to consider her response. My mother has exhibited tremendous patience throughout this whole process.

“Don’t you think 45 minutes is a long way to drive to brush a horse?” She finally asked.

And we both laughed until we cried a little, and she went to bed, and I stayed up to write this column, and all in all it was a typical day in the life of this Wellesley Graduate.

I still haven’t gotten a chance to watch Bride Wars.

"Do you know that bird?" -Man walking around lake at Wellesley.

"Personally? No." - Me.

It is a beautiful night and a full moon and I had a wonderful time meeting up with old friends and going for a jaunt around the town and lake at sunset. Now, I am the only person in Homestead, in my favorite room of the three I had (I changed every semester, just for kicks). I went to the Wellesley public library and rented Bride Wars. I also got books on philosophy, including Nietzsche. The man checking me out was bemused. It's all very typical. I'm only here for two nights. And thanks to my constant nomad and lone wolf behavior I have exactly four friends on campus, one of which is a tree. Oh well; I like it this way. I need an ebb and flow to my social life, or else I malfunction with Wetsy-like overstimulation. But I think I am ready for a little more FLOW. ; )

Okey dokey. Time to watch Bride Wars.

Love,

The Wanderess

I haven't been writing much lately because I don't ultimately care about anything I have to say. Hah! Whatever "thoughts" I'm writing are just me trying to work out a new operational system for day to day living. The old systems failed; they were based on illusion. It doesn't leave much hope for the new ones, either. How does one exist in a world where possibilities are limitless? How is everyone not stark raving insane?

It helps when you impose structure and the semblance of meaning onto experiences that otherwise have none. I ripped up my tarot cards, threw out my pendulum. Now I'm into science and existentialist philosophy. Will that bring me any more sense of security or truth? Definitely not. But it's what I feel like turning to next. Like going on a steak and cheese kick when you're sick of chicken salad.

So, at least it's a gorgeous day outside and I have a blanket on the lawn and books, and butterflies are flitting and the sun is bronzing my skin and there are birds and flowers in full bloom. I like life. Today. Here are some pictures.

I'm taking a painting class, and at last night's meeting the director stopped in to say hello. When he came past my easel, the teacher introduced us; "This is Elizabeth," she said, "tonight we're making her paint realistically. That's why she has the tiny canvas."

"I've tried really hard the other times," I said, "but I only get so far before something else takes over. It's like I'm possessed."

"It's like something out of Dr. Strangelove," my teacher concurred.

And even within the simple confines of a 4x4 frame, and the simple subject of a single flower, that Dr. Strangelove tendency did indeed try to take over, right after I got frustrated after my failure to depict a certain shadow realistically. But with the help of my teacher, we tempered it, and I was rather proud of the result as shown above!

Then, in what felt like dessert, I embarked on a subject that will probably be totally beyond my scope as a childishly abstract and messy painter, but is exciting as a drawing nonetheless: a sort of jester queen inspired by an image in the book "A Journey of the Imagination" by James Christensen. Who is awesome. Hooray!

I used to be petrified of demons. Now, I'm coming around.