I've been told that I should have written one of those "top albums" posts last month, but I don't have any unexpected choices, and I feel whatever I would compile would just be a semi-conscious attempt at convincing others that I have good taste, rather than an honest appraisal of what I personally found to be high-quality and/or enjoyable music in 2012.

I also don't like the fact that whenever I log in here I'm tempted to mindlessly reblog things that catch my eye rather than contribute anything in the way of deliberate, original thoughts. Or I just write whiny posts that would be more suitable for a diary.

Still, I might occasionally use this blog as a place to vent. It's far from an ideal outlet, but it's just detached enough from my fleshspace identity that I can feel reasonably comfortable being open about my thoughts. Honestly, a large part of me doesn't want these thoughts to languish unread in a diary-- it wants validation. I feel uncomfortable confiding in, and being close to others, because I seem to be relentlessly negative and hollow inside. But, oh god, what a comfort it would be if someone I know (or a stranger) could read this and feel differently from what I fear is true about myself (That I'm not empty; I'm unambiguously negative).

So, here's a brief update:

- I'm now a full-time grad student, and although the initial "oh-my-god-why-am-I-doing-this-to-myself" panic has passed (at least for now), I'm still full of doubt. To be frank, I'm kind of getting sick of my field of study in general. I know I have trouble maintaining interest in -anything-, but I still feel I would be happier studying the law, or something in the arts or humanities, on a postgraduate level. However, my current path is practical and fiscally responsible, so I have to keep plugging away at school. Besides, I'm in the top program in my field, and I know I couldn't say the same if I had decided to get an advanced degree in any other area.

- Today I told a friend that (it being Martin Luther King, Jr. Day) I was upset about COINTELPRO, which I've (coincidentally) been reading about in greater depth this weekend. I quickly clarified that I was sad about "government overreach," and not things in general, but that was a lie. I wish I could grant my feelings some sense of legitimacy, but I couldn't do that without deluding myself.

- I begin most of my days with an overwhelming sense of apprehension about having to go through the mundane chores and routines that are an intrinsic part of life, particularly middle-class life. Today, while running an errand, I was struck with the fear that I might never leave the suburbs and started to panic. I picked up a chocolate bar at the store's check-out counter and ate it alone in my car while a Beach House song swelled in the background, and it felt right out of a scene from a stupid indie comedy, meant to portray a character's listlessness or isolation. I don't honestly think of myself as important or interestingly enough to actually be the subject of a movie, mind you, it just struck me as an amusing and almost transcendently banal moment of depression.

I don't know how to articulate what I feel without sounding like a teenager trying to make some kind of "edgy" social statement. But it seems like there's something unique to much of the modern American landscape that seems to drain the vibrancy out of existence. Even chain stores in England seem to have character, but no matter how widely I travel in this country, I never seem to escape from monotony and blandness. I'm reminded of the following quote by Sam Shepard, from a play I read in college:

I keep comin' down here thinkin' it's the fifties or somethin'. I keep finding myself getting off the freeway at familiar landmarks that turn out to be unfamiliar. On the way to appointments. Wandering down streets I thought I recognized that turn out to be replicas of streets I remember. Streets I misremember. Streets I can't tell if I lived on or saw in a postcard.