Everything ever said about the relativity of time — be it serious or jokey or wrong — is right. Short expanses of time can be unendurably long, long stretches of time can pass by without notice, and now lasts forever while the past and the future never existed and never could or will. I whiled away last Saturday by sleeping until two in the afternoon, taking two hours to consider myself fully awake, and then pretty much plopping myself under a blanket in front of the TV for 10 hours, at which point I went back to bed. I think my psyche required such a day, as I had essentially been on the go (Yale, Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, San Francisco, San Diego) for the better part of a month. At one point, I had only slept in my bed 8 days of the previous 28. Considering my needs of the world and its needs of me, it is occasionally required that I achieve a fully vegetative state. As a modern gentleman, I tweeted about this at about 3am that day — er, early the next morning — and remarked that my apartment was pretty much a black hole that day. This was largely in reference to a) the flexible nature of time, especially in a self-contained/-constructed environment that the outside world does not intrude upon b) my mood, which was a type of void, albeit non-consumptive c) my general inclination to sit in the dark. I received a response that suggested that my heart was still beating, probably interpreting this message as a depressive cry for help, not even remotely unheard of on Twitter and/or Facebook. OK, perhaps calling it a suggestion is not giving the responder any credit, because, obviously, my heart was and is still beating. It's a fact, was a fact. Flip the coin over, though: my heart was beating. Also, the sky was still blue, apples still fell from trees, and the international criminal and enabler of pederasty now known as Pope Benedict XVI still wore a funny hat. In other words, acknowledging the continuation of life is of no help to people who do not want to be helped. Now, let's not read ahead of the script: I am not a person who does not want to be helped. I just wish to point out that it is hard to help people who may be depressed because their brains are not like non-depressed brains. Furthermore, depressed brains are not even like other depressed brains (related: the personal nature of death, noted in an old post I wrote after Chris died), so connecting as a depressed person to another depressed person is one of those things that seems easier than it actually is. You think, "oh, I'm in that club, we speak the same language." Not so fast my friend. So, did I just gloss over admitting to being depressed right now? No, I did not. I didn't admit it because it doesn't need to be admitted. First, there's no stigma there to me, and I sure as shit hope you don't stigmatize depression either. No way in hell you're perfect, chump. Second, I am prone to depression, but because of my outlook on life and my (improved but still irksome) disconnection from myself, I don't notice it so easily. +1 to myself, eh? Ahem. Finally, I am not depressed right now...but I can't help but think I should be, and/or I may be headed down that very road shortly. I'm working on two years (probably at least a year to go) of emotional roller coastering that is only apparent to me when someone else points it out (friends, therapist, etc). I have had many opportunities to be joyous and depressed in that time. I remember times of elation; I remember being crippled occasionally. Right now, though, I have a future. That's sorta fucked up for me. I've never had one of those before. All I had was stuff that hadn't happened to me yet. Now I have stuff I haven't happened to yet. I have been told this is the way you end up thinking when you're on the home stretch of college. I have this quarter to go, and then, inshallah, one more class that I can take anywheres before I'm up and officially done (though I can actually graduate at the end of May). It's exhilarating, astonishing, and frightening. This means I occasionally feel like crying, but never really know why. The other angle to this awkward state of Micahly affairs is that I have learned what optimism means. The last few months have had very serious moments of despair and rage because there are some things I simply cannot control, namely the emotional states of people dear to me. (This also means that, somewhere along the line, I gained a lot more empathy than I previously possessed. That's a shocker, right there.) All I can do is hope that things get better, right? Well, I'll be damned if that kind of cornball sentiment wouldn't've caused my patented Glare of Cynicism at previous points in my life...when I thought being a realist was the way. All along I preach grey areas as the truth, and I paint myself into a black corner. Cynician, heal thyself, eh? No easy path, though: I never saw it happen, so I can't explain it, but apparently I learned that optimism and realism can coexist in the same personality. Now, I won't be the annoying motherfucker who gets preachy and tells you why you should live like him and why your ways of viewing the world are wrong. As a realist, I know that shit ain't gonna fly. As an optimist, I know those who want to talk about it will. Well, yeah, I'm about to graduate. Apparently, I have learned skills that will help me have a successful career in a field I enjoy (at least, I've been told I am eminently employable: as graduation approaches, I find that I think I haven't learned anything. I hear this is normal). I will look for a job in San Francisco, a city I have fallen for deeply and feel is NYC's only rival in this country. I will look to create a home, and prepare myself for what I hope will be decades of learning more about myself and the people I care about, having new adventures, while earning an income that allows me to support myself and someone else. I believe all of these things are possible. Actually, I think they're pretty likely. So then, why am I terrified? Well, I think the future is terrifying only when you have one. If you believe you don't have a future, then you can't really be scared of it (that's logic, kids, sorry). The default human fear of the unknown is what makes your future terrifying, even if you do think It Will Turn Out OK. Of course things will change, and the future you depict now probably won't show up the way you envisioned it. Change is inevitable, just make sure you're changing as well. Uh-oh, I feel myself veering off towards preaching again... Then, in summation: I am not depressed, though I may become so (albeit for good reasons, but it will not stay). I am terrified, though I feel things will be fine. The future is coming, but you won't notice it, because now is endless and it's the only thing you have control over.