The Colour and The Feeling

Last night I had a dream about my work back civilian side. I was coming in to say farewell to my coworkers and the place was decorated with many colored plastic pieces shaped like fish in the ocean, pastel and neon colored paintings of the American flag all transitioning like a psychedelic colored exhibit in a museum. Upon seeing it, and my boss, I lost all manner of composure. There was Vicki, Angela, Kathy, Lynn, Cori, Mark, and Ditdynai, Sapan, and Irene present at a table with a dinner laid out. It seemed like a cross between a children’s exhibit and a kindergarten classroom. I felt embarrassed that I was emotional, and that I had to part ways with these wonderful people. Afterward, I found myself at a dock like region by the ocean. There seemed to be all manner of activity and I was out in the middle of the water patrolling back and forth. It was dark and I was alone for the most part.
I suppose that this dream is an indication of how lonely I think I may be. I did have a somber and depressive period a few weeks back, and there are some things that just are not helping. It does not help that I have done some studies on this very common disorder and what are some of the traits. I also know when it will be considered clinical. This is going against a very strong recommendation against self-diagnosis. There was a funny sort of incident that occurred a few days back. I am working on transferring to a section of the company that works on cultural symbols and such. The supervisor for the section thinks highly of me, at least in some aspects. I am working on my Art Education Degree and she considers me to have a broad grasp of understanding in the humanities field. She called me a “practically a humanities genius”. I declined the title, and she replied “Is it because they haven’t included your name at the sperm bank?” We all had a good laugh over that.It is flattering to hear that sort of thing every once in a while. Just knowing every so often that someone thinks of you in a positive manner feels good.

The Duality of a Would-Be Warrior

I have been concerning myself with the charities available to wounded soldiers from the GWOT. I feel that they are so much more than I am, and I admire them for their sacrifice, almost to the point of wishing for an injury myself. It is a sort of brand marking them as people who have met a challenge far above what the rest of us can even begin to fathom. I see them and admire their courage and perseverance. I admire their adaptability. I admire what they do to make so many people, who have been thrown into the metaphorical meat grinder and have survived though not unscathed, have a better existence. They are heroes on another level, and in their own minds they probably do not think they are anything special. In my mind I don’t think I am anything special. They have many people who applaud their efforts and some of the strides some of them make for their brothers in arms. Many people applaud me for just being here and having the balls to do what I do without running away from my duties. There are soldier so much more remarkable than myself. There are people so much more remarkable than myself. Why do people pay heed to me anyway?
It is a strange thing that I feel I am here and I am failing. I fully realize that it may be my own expectations, and desire for an untattainable perfection, or standard of excellence that I will never meet. I just feel I am so far behind the power curve of where I am at, and where I perceive I should be in concurrence. It is my interpretaton of a presedent set by our forebears, a standard that I feel is slacking, and I am no exception either.
At what point is my self-criticism going too far, and what point am right?