December 02, 2012 | Blog » Miscellaneous

Title: Cihlu po cihle
Author: Klaudius Vysous XIII

Brick after brick

After an infinite and furious exam time summer holidays finally approached for a couple of days. After two months of sleepless nights there is nothing more than silence and singing birds. Still working brain helplessly drones in the empty air. Charles Mingus sneaks into the darkness of my room and cuts the silence of surrounding village falling asleep.

I came back from Prague at the beginning of July expecting the never-ending relaxation. The only thing I was looking for. I stayed three days like that. Three days and two sleepless nights. It was the same as to suddenly remove all the strings on the guitar. It all distorts like a paper. All the problems that one left behind just because he didn’t have time to think about, didn’t disappear. They were there, they were waiting. And now they finally got the chance to appear. The thind day I took a paper, a pencil and continued to do some math.

I got frightened more than I expected. So the mathematics is the only satisfaction, the only way how to deal with my bad mood? Do I have anything in common with those addicted to heroin who need his dose of drug or they get crazy otherwise?

It’s not easy to admit that but I did overdo it. I went too far. I broke the line between the personal life and the work, I put everything into my school. The result appeared in three years. Three years of bad sleep, strong coffees and ignoring of all other things.

What did I achieve? I’m getting mechanically and without emotions one good grade after the another. Without any emotions. I don’t like that, it makes me no pleasure, I don’t see any point in doing that. Excellent, excellent, excellent, excellent, excellent, excellent, excellent… twenty-six times. Three times very good. Twenty nine attempts, twenty nine grades. Should it fulfill me with pride? With happiness? With confidence? None of that. It’s just senseless sequence of letters paid by hard work. Most of people are getting angry at this point of view. But I really don’t get any pleasure from those finished exams. Ten minutes of good mood after their end? Maybe.

I recently really doubt if I chose right in my life. Spending thousands and thousands of hours by something that doesn’t make me happy anymore? Thousands and thousands of hours of doing something that I’ll never be good enough in? I’m not smart enough to be a good mathematician. The only thing I can do is to get dutifully prepared to the achievement of another letter into my index. What price for?

I’ve lost many really good friends. I didn’t have time for them. I’ve stopped getting involved myself in a lot of hobbies. I didn’t have time for them. I’m sitting in my room under a lamp, looking into the books and trying to believe that I’ll find someone to love? Love never comes by itself and to look for it… I don’t have time. How much life will pass yet? Because I won’t have time for it.

I cover my sight by a silly illusion that someday I’ll be good at something. I pretend that I don’t see how tall prison walls I’ve built around. I’ve built them by myself, brick after brick. Brick after brick.

And I admit to all of you, I have no idea how to get out of there.

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