Horse horse tiger tiger, take two.
The following marks my third installment of the PPP (Philosophy Post-It Project):
Anxiety is the dizziness of freedom.
- Soren Kierkegaard
The piano practice room is a fitting place, I decided, to complement my other places (the study lounge in my dormitory and the mailbox area). It is only a matter of time before the entire campus is riddled with my adhesive joy, and with Natalie working as my partner-in-crime a day south of me, it shall be wonderous.
(By the way, thanks to Sabrina I decided to change the name from Natalie's original suggestion of Philosophy Post-It People to Philosophy Post-It Project, which sounds slightly more superior).
To change the subject drastically, I have lately been thinking of people's compulsive need (me included) to creat to-do lists for accomplishing goals. The more I think about it, however, the more existentially claustrophobic I become: it seems like every deed I cross off the list is one more deed closer to my finitude. I am, as one could say, keenly aware of my Tillichean anxiety of ultimate nonbeing, and it unsettles me greatly that I can organize my life according to a day-to-day list--
moribund nature. I have a Chinese midterm tomorrow.
The piano practice room is a fitting place, I decided, to complement my other places (the study lounge in my dormitory and the mailbox area). It is only a matter of time before the entire campus is riddled with my adhesive joy, and with Natalie working as my partner-in-crime a day south of me, it shall be wonderous.
(By the way, thanks to Sabrina I decided to change the name from Natalie's original suggestion of Philosophy Post-It People to Philosophy Post-It Project, which sounds slightly more superior).
To change the subject drastically, I have lately been thinking of people's compulsive need (me included) to creat to-do lists for accomplishing goals. The more I think about it, however, the more existentially claustrophobic I become: it seems like every deed I cross off the list is one more deed closer to my finitude. I am, as one could say, keenly aware of my Tillichean anxiety of ultimate nonbeing, and it unsettles me greatly that I can organize my life according to a day-to-day list--
Sorry for my depressingclean room (die a little)
finish writing paper (die a little)
run to the drug store (die a little)
email professor (die a little)
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