talk too much.

I want to be the person clutching their sketch pad or a stack of old and dusty books as their little denim clad legs rush them to the next whereevertheyaregoing. I want to smoke lots of long cigarettes and discuss philosophy and religion with my equally cultured friends until whatevertimeinthemorning. I want to live in a dream world, where I am part of the elite team of talented and gifted twentysomethings. I want to feel like a student.
But I don't.
My heart is ruled by art and my head is ruled by logic. I'll answer all your rhetorical questions and I'll bore you with the details. I know more about biology than I do fashion and I'll quite often say harsh things because they are true. I frequently forget to dress my sentences up in pretty words. They come out correct - but only that. I live in a complete black and white world of right and wrong, correct and false, happy and sad, possible and not possible.
I do not have the luxury of a mental middle ground.
I will never utter a contradictory word to sound 'complicated' or 'deep' because I'm not. I view myself as a biological and physical mishmash of chemical reactions, sparks, pumps and sinuses. I find it very difficult to understand my own mind because it cannot be explained logically or rationally. My mouth does not allow me to speak of depression because I, myself cannot explain it. I can talk of drugs, alcohol, sex and relationships because they can all be explained and defined. I can describe to you why you are high but cannot explain the feeling. I understand how tears are made but not why they fall in times of emotional upheaval.
I feel strange in myself because I do not understand myself. I understand my body, but not my mind. It's a very strange feeling and I don't know what to do about it.
So I'll wish I was an art student. Not troubling herself with her own physical and biological workings, but fully exploring her mind and knowing herself. I wish I could explain why it all becomes too much at 3am. I wish I could explain why I cried after treating a 23 year old patient. I wish I could explain my actions. I wish I could explain why I'm writing this, but I can't.

I wonder if you, dear art student, could explain my mind to me?
This dear science student simply cannot understand.