Crisp Night Breezes

I think I'm sick. Exams seem to do that to me. I get to sleep in tomorrow, though. I'm looking forward to it a great deal. It's weird for me to think that I will be sleeping in as much as I want in a week. I can't believe summer is already here. Today I thought back to a summer memory of making breakfast with my writer's group early one Saturday morning and walking to the farmer's market. I thought, "wow, I am looking forward to doing that again this summer." Then I realized, my summer begins this weekend, and it will not be long before the farmer's market opens. This memory seems so recent, but it was almost a year ago. Time is so strange.

I've been reflecting on the process of getting to know someone lately.  I don't like putting effort into being social and getting to know people, which is a shame, because I love when I do get to know people.  It never fails to amaze me all of the baggage people have. I've reflected on this a lot in the past year or two, because as I mature, people reveal more with me. For example, older friends, parents, or former teachers are more honest with me. I'm most amazed to learn about people's lives who I have seen every day for a while and, sort of, taken for granted--because I am wrapped up in my own life--so I don't think much about theirs. A huge example of this is teachers or professors. They put up this professional front and it's easy for me to forget that they have histories, which involve tragedies I can't even imagine. It's so cool to be reminded of everyone's humanity. It reminds me why life is beautiful. It's easy to forget and get caught up in the struggles, but really, we are all connected. We have unique experiences, but feel the same human emotions. Why are we not more compassionate toward one another?

I say "so" a lot. I don't realize it until it shows up in my writing. I begin writing conversationally and one time lisa noticed that I used the words "so" and "beautiful" like ten times throughout one essay (it was a first draft, of course). She likes to make fun of me, and describe everything as being "so beautiful."  I had the thought to go back, and delete some of them above, but the whole purpose of a blog is to be conversational, right? I guess, Adam does more academic and topic specific posts, and Jordan does songs, but mine is just rambling. I always thought rambling was bad, but my writing professor recently told me I need to ramble a little more in my essays. That's what non-fiction is about--connecting ideas that aren't necessarily blatantly connected in real life, finding deeper meaning in everyday situations. 

I went to coffee with a friend from my writing class, and we ended up hanging out for four hours. How does that happen? He's into sci-fi, so I usually can't connect with sci-fi writers, but he is just as passionate about writing as I am, and he isn't socially awkward like the stereotypical sci-fi writer--so it's cool to have someone to talk about writing with. For example, only with a writer can I look up at the dark sky and say, "I like crisp night breezes," and not be laughed at for randomness.

I feel like I had something insightful to blog about. I was inspired after my four hour conversation, but I'm so tired (there's "so" again) that I can't follow my train of thought. At least, I'm blogging again. It's nice. I feel like it helps center me a bit, because it forces me to do free-writes. I just sit down and type what comes to mind. I'm supposed to do this kind of thing everyday as a warm-up for writing, but I don't have the time. This summer, I will both blog and write more regularly. I'm not just saying that either. Last summer I wrote a ton...enough to keep me ahead in my writing class all semester. I will do that again... This got long for a ramble. Oh-and I intend to post more cool quotes as the summer gets here. I need to go back over a lot of my favorite books and underline my favorite things for writing models. I'm sure I'll find good quotes in the process--those writers are insightful folk.

Isolation?

"Life is like a recycling center, where all the concerns and dramas of humankind get recycled back and forth across the universe."

-Anne Lamott (from Bird by Bird)

So Close...

Less than one week until I am DONE. I can't wait. I can't even fully comprehend this. Life just blurs together, and eventually the stress is over. There's always a new stress, though. It forces me to really appreciate the brief seconds in between stresses. I'm looking forward to having time to sleep, run, and write every day. That's what I love about the beginning of summer--everything seems so free. It isn't long before I get used to it, though, and the days slip away just as fast and I am not even doing half of what I used to. I guess, it's important to have a little time to not be too hard on myself. It's not really the kind of thing that turns on and off at my command.

I stayed up all night for the first time in a long time. I lost track of time talking to a friend. I am exhausted, but I don't really mind. I was just talking with my roommate about how after I recover from the stress and sleeplessness of exams, I realize that I did have some fun in between the chaos, and I forget the emotional exhaustion. My retrospective view is like, "oh wow, that was so fun when I stayed up all night talking to a friend, or when I worked an event for WPI until 2am." Even though, directly afterward, I only notice how tired I am. In the long run, I'm always glad I do stuff like that.

I left my phone at my friend's house. It's strange, because at times I think about wanting to call people, but others it is nice to be out of reach from the world. I think I might go to bed early, because I have not done half of the studying that I should have thus far. Tomorrow will be an intense study day. I have a picnic for the former WPI president to attend. I hope the weather holds out. It says it's supposed to rain.

I found out today that my essay about confessional memoirs is going to be published in the literary journal run by grad students here at school. I looked through the last issue, and there was only one undergrad student in there, and there were writers from all over the country. I'm really honored and excited that mine was selected. It's my first official publication that I will be able to list when I try to get other things published. It's so exciting.

I don't know what my point of this entry was. I meant to be contemplative, but I'm so tired that I'm having trouble. I thought it would be good to update, because Adam was just saying how he doesn't like when people don't update their blog, and my friend and I were talking about blogging last night/ this morning. I know I will do better in the summer. One more week and I'll be there!

I'm Alive

Well, I didn't fall off the face of the Earth, but I might as well have been on another planet with as disconnected as I became from everyone. I was overloaded with school--more than normal, possibly more than ever. I'm so worn out, burnt out, and drained. I've cranked out so many term papers, short essays, portfolios, presentations, and speeches in the past three weeks that I feel like I earned my summer in that short time. However, when summer gets here, I always feel a sense of guilt for not doing anything. Probably because people who are working get jealous and make snotty comments about me trying to relax and center a bit before I have to start work. I love that I have a month off before work starts.

I feel like I should think out these entries more. They don't showcase my much improved creative writing skills at all. I just put creative energy into other things, and treat this as a debriefing type of thing.

I was feeling really good about my writing lately. I had a good conference with my writing professor; I successfully applied some of her ideas for techniques and was really pleased with the results. I started thinking about her memoir coming out and all of her cool connections (her old advisor was former poet Laureate, Ted Kooser.) I was certain that with her help, I could definitely get into grad school, and develop all of these cool connections. Today, she told me she is leaving. There will be no non-fiction specialist here at school next year. I was devastated. She gave me some great connections for next year, though, and gave me her e-mail address to stay in touch. I had the same thing happen with my English professor last year. I still keep in contact with her, too.

I'm sure everything will work itself out. For some reason, I felt both a lot of empathy and empowerment when she told me she was leaving to be able to write more, and be in an environment more creatively inspiring for an essayist; and she doesn't know where she is going yet. Leaving like that is such a bold decision. It's empowering to think one can do that, but it has to be scary as hell. It sucks, because I felt like she really understood my writing style and the direction I wanted to go. Now, I worry about how other professors will respond to my writing. I've had very good English professors here, though, so I'm sure it will be fine. It just made me think, "Oh my god, this is the lifestyle I'm choosing." It's so risky and unconventional. Most people don't get it or support it. I think that's why I felt empathy about her decision, not because I can relate to making such a bold decision, but because I can understood being misunderstood, and creatively stunted by that. To make matters worse, it's not just the isolation that comes along with being a writer that essayists deal with, but it's isolation from inside the writing community. Everyone is into poetry or fiction. Writers don't really get creative non-fiction. There's a big demand for it in the bookstores, though. People like reality wrapped up and served pretty. That's what I love about non-fiction, even if it's about something really depressing, there is always something beautiful in it. People need someone to help them see beauty in real life situations. Writers are great at that.

I got a job at our writing center on campus. I wanted to get a job there since I realized it was even a possibility. I was going to say since the first time i went there, but the first time I went there, I didn't know I could excel at English on a collegiate level, so I didn't even dream about it. I don't know when I actually thought, "hey, maybe I could do that," but I know it's something I've really wanted for a while. It's exciting to achieve goals. I should establish some good writing connections there.

I'm exhausted, and even though I don't technically have class in the morning, there is a review session for my Shakespeare class. It's at the same time as class would be, so I, basically, have class at 9:30 in the morning. It's not mandatory, but that class never was. Just another day of getting up to listen about Shakespeare.