• Endria Richardson


Updated: Nov 10

Some things never change. I’m wakin up at 2AM more regularly than I’d like to admit and rolling around in my bed by myself asking the important questions. Who am I. What am I doin here. Why does my brain feel so bad. Why did they get rid of courtyard classic at the law school. Ive become so accustomed to this fuckin ritual that if I sleep through the whole night I wake up surprised. And I’m startin to feel like I’m abusing the 30 Rock before bedtime habit. I can’t fall asleep without somethin to calm me down. Sing to me Liz Lemon, rock me to sleep.

In Powell’s absence, shit has gone down and everything sucks again. But that’s the thing, nothing catastrophic has happened. A lot of good shit has happened! School is not crazy stressful (this is untrue, school is going to live and die crazy stressful). I’m workin on some things I care about, and some things I don’t care about. Story of my/your life. I feel simultaneously over and under committed: over for my slacking tastes, under for the sleeper competitive law student in me. I never understand why my inner competitive self ceaselessly fails to realize it is not wanted here. Get outta yere ya dumb bastid.


I am tempted to call this out for the bullshit it is. Quantitatively speaking, or whatever the fuck, things should be better this year. Everything is going my way. Figured out life last year? check. Figured out why I’m in law school? check. Summer internship lined up? check. Oh I see. It’s the old “expectations make suckers out of the best of them” trick. I think things should be good, so when they’re not, not only are they not good but I’ve fallen not from 0 to 0, but from 2 to 0. And expectations make you think you’ve got things figured out. When all you have to do is go back and read Powell’s posts, and realize that even back then, I knew I didn’t have shit figured out. See? Damn I was together then. Knowing in my unknowing. How things change, how things fall apart. Thus is life.

Even the best of us fall to shame sometimes.

What do I really think is wrong though? In my heart of hearts. Oh, many things, too many to list here, but one things is that I don’t really know myself. Two things. I don’t know myself, and my imagination’s shot. Dealing with the second, Life is as beautiful and full as you imagine it to be. And if, like me, your imagination needs a kickstart, life is as beautiful as art imagines it to be. Films. Books. Photographs. Don’t give your soul food to grow on and it stagnates and deflates and begins to disappear and you have nothing left to funnel your overactive terror and anxiety into until you realize the terror of life is overwhelming you. You are lying in bed as though you are thinking about whether you will do well on your exams this year, or whether or not you are progressing as well as you might be in climbing, or whether you will keep forgetting to go to yoga this week as well but really you are thinking about life and how hard it is to live it in a way that keeps you from feeling, in your core, that you are afraid of it, that it is too much, that you will fail it in some simple, vital, elemental way. You are a sad and sorry artless self and you are frantically searching for something to give your overtaxed brain meaning as it wakes in the night and, seeing nothing familiar to hold onto in the unnamed and shapeless dark, slips into an unnamed and shapeless fear.

So you look up Kurosawa’s Dreams on Netflix, and you begin to try to climb your way back into the arms of art. The ceaselessly comforting arms of those who see the world as you do, where you do not have to feel (as you do, everyday, in law school) that you are looking at life from inside a child’s cheap plastic kaleidoscope, but that you look at it in the only way there is to look at it. That there is a name for your fear and a name to counter it as well.

Thats all I got for ya this time, I’m gonna try to get back to sleep now.

#art #dreams #night #anxiety #imagination #kurosawa

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