So it's been a while since my last post. University classes are finally over for the summer and with the beauty and glory of the break comes the realization that I will not graduate on time. Which everyone says is okay but, really, you can see their brains kicking into overdrive trying to quell the little minions inside who are yelling "LOSER!" and laughing maniacally while pointing at you...
Bottom= loser in this imaginary scenario
For those of you who are wondering, I am still trying to find myself. I don't think this will ever end and I don't like that, not one bit. But I've resigned myself to this fact and in my efforts to drown out the old complaining geezer inside, I've found that my fear of writing is still going strong. A few months ago I thought I could overcome this strange new sensation of fearing the lure of assembling words but I've found that the fear has reared its ugly head and transformed itself into writer's block.
Oh, Calvin <3
Each time I begin to write I suddenly jump ahead and begin worrying about the ending of whatever it is I'm writing, responses of the people I plan to show it to, whether or not I can publish it, and a jillion other things. To quiet these obnoxiously loud worries, I've stopped writing. I'm as prickly as ever, my moods get darker and just the thought of picking up a pen or smashing the keyboard to get some coherent thoughts articulated scares me. But it's not like acknowledgement of this fear makes me powerful enough to overcome it, ohhhhh no. The acknowledgement drowns me in another pool of thoughts about past failures and the belief that I will inevitably keep failing. Failing is not acceptable in the universe in my head and that's not to say I haven't failed quite marvelously before.
I don't even know what this is about anymore. One of my biggest problems is my blog's title. Not the title in and of itself but the idea it represents. I'd thought I was really clever when I came up with this brilliant theory that everything is influenced by outer factors and we don't really create anything ourselves. It's something that has been explored extensively by structuralists like Barthes in his essay "The Death of the Author." He writes that the "text is a tissue of quotations" drawn from "innumerable centers of culture." Reading that, I said to myself by golly, girl, you've been engaging in structuralist discourse. Wellll not really like that. It was more along the lines of something like holy mackerel he plagiarized my blog title GASPPPP. While thinking along those lines, I decided to give up. Who cares. Pi is never-ending so there's no point in writing anything really. It already exists. I also got really depressed when I happened upon Justine Larbalestier's Liar. I swear (to those of you who choose to believe in the sincerity of my vow) that I wanted to write a story with an unreliable narrator who couldn't stop lying. I even had a note on my phone:
I swear on all my Tamora Pierce books that I had never seen Justine Larbalestier's book (published in 2009 vs. my measly note dated December 22, 2013). When I read something that sounded very much like the idea that is in the compost heap which is the Notes app on my phone, I felt so deflated. I have tons of ideas on my phone. I wake up sometimes and quickly type something in and fall asleep. I'm not saying I planned to go far with this idea and I'm glad there exists a book like this but I felt cheated of a little brain baby I could've raised. How's that for a troubling metaphor?
Anyway, this post isn't about Justine Larbalestier, Roland Barthes, or Tamora Pierce (although I will definitely have a post about her soon). It's about hopes, dreams, and ideas. It's about the university student who is working hard for a future that seems hazy at best. It's about me like a lot of other stuff is. However, there's something different about this summer. I can feel it in the pit of my stomach. The pit of my stomach never lies to me. All other body parts may lie to me but me and the pit-of-my-stomach-feeling, we go way back. So here's hoping that I live up to my current hopes and expectations and am propelled to bring to fruition things that have only existed in my mind thusfar.
