Assignment 1

August’s Paradox
The present is four in the morning. Our new house is still filled with unopened boxes because none of us are ever home to actually move everything in. As I sit writing, with a small fan drawing in the night air, I wonder why we moved here in the first place and affirm to myself in the same thought that August has the best night air. We are now paying more for much less in a much louder part of the city, but my skin keeps pulling my attention away from my social troubles to the simple pleasure that is August air. August still has the torrid heat of July, but its nights are always calm, temperate, and carry the sweet smell of coming snow.
The simplicity of August is the present of my physical being, but the present is also the balance of work, school, and sleep and how my physical being falls into that balance. The normal balance is work and play, but my circumstances allow for the distinct separation of work and school and include sleep because these are the three things that consume my time. Play was omitted long ago, and its omission continues to serve as a means to afford my new rent. School is the only way I can stay within the good graces of my parents and is presently the only thing that gives me the sort of purpose I think I want. After separating work and school and excluding play, the only thing left is exhaustion. My exhaustion becomes a catalyst, upsetting the balance by missing classes, which causes me to stay up later and push deadlines closer and closer to their ends. The stresses of a tight budget with tighter due dates and a demeaning job only combine to create an extra emotional exhaustion that only causes me to yearn for the nights of August, where I can run in solitude. Running is a beautiful thing in its own right, but the surreality of running in that air is probably one of the most relaxing things I have found. Even looking at the moon, which shines as brightly as all of my problems, only reminds me that the sun rises soon. This then leads to the thought that eventually my troubles end with the setting of the night, and here exists the paradox of my exhaustion: I love the night and the solitude, but everything else suffers for the sake of a simple pleasure, which is only a distraction from the strain of all my other commitments. My stress contributes to a more straining schedule by seeking reprieve at the opposite end of the clock, ultimately creating more exhaustion.
Now the present has become the past, and the past demands an explanation as to why it was what it is, being presently past. The only thing that frustrates me more than the paradox of exhaustion is introspection. I began thinking about this paper and sifting through the library of burned bridges, good times, poor choices, and thought about how much of myself I wanted to put in it. In an effort to avoid introspection I chose to write about the immediate present, and the relationship I have with the night. The night has taught me who I am and why I do what I do, but realizing who am puts me in a foul mood because I realize the person I can never be, and the only thing I can blame is myself. This paradox is far more discouraging than the problems posed by exhaustion, which can be fixed by a matter of willpower. The paradox of myself relates to time and its one-dimensional linearity. Time’s properties are such that the present will be solidified in the past in a matter of an instant, and that the existence of the future is only relative to that of the present, which passes in such a way that it can also be the past in a matter of an instant. I focus on this aspect of time because I often feel that I will not accomplish all that I want to, and this will only add to the regrets I have already amassed. The most confounding part is that I still have no clue as to what I want to accomplish and will not even realize what my regrets are until my present takes its place in the past. Looking at my past does help to see the things that I might regret in the future, but knowing who I am does not give me the kind of satisfaction I would like because I still feel that much more improvement is required. This only creates a greater project, that expands beyond the immediacy of my present questions. Introspection, in this way only leads to improvement, but also adds more stress to my life by including the idea of the betterment of my person.
The night may be the best in August, but a bad night is always better than a good day. The air settles back to its natural calm after a long day of abuse at the hands of social constructs and regains its calm and sophistication. This calm is something that I have always loved because I know who I am, despite how painful those facts might be. At any rate, I am a much better person than I was and the only way that was possible was to evaluate my past and fix my mistakes. I still wonder if procrastination is a habit or disease, and until I fix it I will probably always wonder. My love of the night was only precipitated by procrastination and brings me to my present person and my present physicality; alone, again, thinking about why I am here and if I can change for a future that just passed and continues to pass as the present moves forward. I take a deep breath and smell the sun rising, bringing with me another day’s worth of experience.