Writing Samples

After a lot of consideration, I have decided to include writing into my work, as I am heading back to a more serious direction. I've been reflecting a lot on what I really want to get out of thesis, and what I want to express in my work, and I realized I want the focus to be more on my personal feelings of isolation/alienation, rather than on trying to represent those feelings through other means (ie. aliens, cryptids, etc.). And being that words are the best way I can express those feelings, it seems a natural step to take in experimenting with what kind of text best aids my work. The thoughts right now are being collected in a sort of stream-of-conscious type style, so that I can get them down quickly and decide if I want to edit them later to make more of a narrative/story with them. They are much more personal than I am used to sharing, but I feel they convey what I want to focus on better than anything else I've done previously has. Following this will be sketches to accompany the text next week. Most of these are fairly sombre, but I am not opposed to humor if it finds its way back in, as a lot of the time it is how I cope with negative emotions.

there’s something funny about isolation. you spend days upon days wishing you weren’t invisible, you want to be seen, to be acknowledged, yet, when you stand bagging your groceries at the self-check lane with a person waiting impatiently behind you, you’ve never wanted to disappear quicker.

i struggle more. its a background awareness. more shaken by the same tasks. how can one be happier and less confident in the same breath? its like everyone is watching the final season unfold, while im stuck feeling like the unaired pilot ­– clumsy, awkward, and nearly unrecognizable when stacked against the enormity of what it could become.

how can a refrigerator make me feel like shit? let me count the ways. when did i begin to associate my self worth with a bag of frozen peas? my confidence shrinks with each cubic inch that gets taken over, my stuff moves. it migrates without permission, and with it goes my self assurance. if my space doesnt deserve to be respected, how could i ever hope to be? 

the local cafe knows me by name. my coffee pot sits unattended at home, percolating dust instead of grounds. my wallet cries for every five dollars i invest in a dairy free latte, while i try not to think about how much i’m willing to pay for a minute of basic human interaction. 

i think about reaching out, but all that comes to mind is "how do you do, fellow kids? my name is liam and i have /crippling anxiety/." for some reason, i dont think this will work. steve buscemi memes probably aren't the best place to glean small talk from.