My days are very numbered. I am going to be moving away from College Park in two weeks exactly.
Sometimes I tweak out a little bit. I get stressed, I feel stressed. It is the uncertainty, mainly.
I just have no idea where I am going to be in 6 weeks. I know that in 3 weeks I'll be in California at my family reunion. I know that in 5 weeks I'll be arriving in Seattle with my aunt to begin my attempt at living on my own, far, far away.
It all feels very strange. Something I can't think about. Something I have no idea how to imagine.
It is probably effecting my thoughts and emotions in ways I can't detect precisely.
Also, my post on Foucault and implicit war has the potential to be 50 or more pages. Just based on the outline and the number of quotations I already have to support my claims. It is just gonna be a beast. I wonder if I can finish it before I get to Seattle. I wonder when I will finish it.
Either way, it marks a monumental move in my thinking.
Namely, that I now know suspect I need to become a military historian. That this will let me go places that I want to go with my mind. It is all very uncertain, but all very good.
Military history served me soo well in undergrad. And Foucault's work in Discipline & Punish has so many themes that I am familiar with from thinking about war and militaries.
Either way, I am curious as to how this enormous bit of writing will meld in my memory of these moments. These incredibly eventful moments, these fresh times, these forever confusions.
I'll associate this time with lots of things, and perhaps I can associate this wild move with this wild bit of writing on Foucault. Or at least the approach to moving as the approach of my rekindled love for the history of war and battle.
Ahem, or shall I say, the history of society as the history of one large war.
Anyways, time time to put some more real work into my big post.
Wanted to reflect for a minute though.
Because my life has so much gravity that goes so far beyond my writing.
My writing doesn't even feel like it belongs to the same space.
It is some abstraction drifting separately from my panicked pragmatic self that needs to move across the country safely.