The Diary of Queen Mothy |
"It-Struck-Me" Marathon written @ 11:11 PM on August 27, 2002 I keep thinking about writing. I have some of my novels on my laptop, and nothing has changed. I have three journals I have to keep up with for three classes, but that still doesn't kill the pain. I have to write my novels. And yet whenever I try, I am void of the old passion. It was like the Great Delete took away my very will. But I fought too hard to try to get them back and had enough of my share of the tears that I will not back down. Not now. Not ever, I don't think. Not until they're sitting beside Tolkien and Peter S. Beagle. We're watching "Joy Luck Club" in immigration experiences. I loved the book when I read it two summers ago, and this movie is done pretty well too. I'm picking up on my old genealogy research again so I can have something real to show for my family history report. I am hot on the trail. In math today-- during those all-too-frequent times when I habitually zone out-- I realized that I will never do well in anything that I don't care about. Take-- *gasp*-- MATH for example! And in high school French. And chemistry. It also struck me as I left the math building that I am craving some companionship here. My aloneness was fun and inspirational for a while, something as sublime as only the Dalai Lama would know it, but now it's turning into an unhealthy habit. God forbid I should come home for Christmas break dressed and acting like a Robert Crabtree I-Hate-The-World person. I think the Posse would have to push me into the middle of I-275. Thirdly, it struck me that classes really don't matter in college. You can roll your eyes all you want and show me your tuition bill out of spite, but it's all about people. Networking. Relationships. Classes, such as math, mean little in the grand scheme. Fourthly, it struck me that there were two phone cords in my dorm room, and mine hadn't been plugged in, which is why I haven't been able to get onto the Internet in my room since moving in here a week and a half ago. It takes the average person less than five minutes to ask one's self if a type of machine is plugged in, and it takes Samantha Reno a goddamned week and a half. Ahhhh, the mirth of my life! Fifthly, it struck me that the soda vending machines are $1. This is important. And that peach papaya is my new favorite flavor. Sixthly, it struck me that my S.S. officer drawing teacher actually looks like a Russian version of Vincent van Gogh. Seriously! Look at one of van Gogh's self-portraits-- perferrably one in which he still has both ears, possibly the one where he's facing to the left and wearing a hat-- and imagine him twenty years younger with dark hair, beard thingie. That's my drawing teacher! I knew I saw him somewhere before! He graded my sketchbook: "A Good work." Somehow, I was more grateful for that grade than for any work I completed for my high school art teacher. Although he did actually laugh today. Twice. Someone send me snail mail. I desire snail mail.
A Bit of History ~ And Onward! L'Amour Toujours! - August 08, 2005 |
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