O NOEZ! No LJ? However will I expose my friends to the all-consuming madness that is McCoy/Chapel?
DONE.
DONE, MOTHERFUCKERS!!
Yeah, bitches! That's right! I just emailed in my last final paper ever. EVER. In the history of EVER. Because screw grad school. Screw not cursing on the Internet. Screw all the shit I've been so sick of for the last I-don't-know-how-many-years. Why? Why you ask? Because I'm done. And my life belongs to me now. I have completed all the things I was required to do in my life, getting my BA being the very last one. I can do anything I Goddamn please from here on out.
I have absolutely no idea what I'm going to do with my life.
And I have never felt more free.
I'm kamikaze-writing (all credit to
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
fashion_plot for the marvelously politically incorrect terminology there) my way through all my Jewish studies stuff today. I have less than twenty-four hours to complete a research paper, a take-home final consisting of two essays, and my Italian paper on the pop-culturization of post-WWII communism in the film of Nanni Moretti...in Italian. BAAAANNZZZAAAIII !!!! (Also, the girls at the table behind me are talking about whether or not they should see Star Trek if they've never been into the TV series, and it's taking all my strength not to turn around and have a fangasm right out in public about how amazing it is and how I've seen it twice already and how Kirk/Uhura/Bones is abso-frickin'-lutely perfect and how Zachary Quinto's Spock brings up a lot of feelings I had as a girl about Leonard Nimoy and how I'm going to marry Spock (I CAN MARRY A FICTIONAL CHARATER STFU) and we're going to be so happy and have lots of pon farr sex and babies. Wow, issues. Issues that I have.)
- Listening:Metro Station- Shake It
First off, the Kills song URA FEVER is straight-up sex, plain and simple.
On a related note, I think I want to be Georgina Sparks when I grow up, which is worrying on a lot of levels. She's like if you crossed a housecat and a fucking shark, cute and fluffy with teeth like you can't begin to understand. She's fashionable and ruthless and so screwed up, and I adore her. She lies all the time, but still manages to be more truthful than I am on an average day. It's been years since I played the Mean Girls game, and watching this girl manipulate everyone around her like a master, like it's a game, is what I imagine it's like to watch professional sports. It's a game you know, but on a level of skill you can only admire from afar. She changes her name every time she meets someone new; she told Blair to tell Jesus that the bitch is back; she does whatever she wants, no shame, no regrets, because girl's out to have a good time and she does not give a fuck about being careful. And this is before she Got Saved at some Creepy Jesus Camp and we got to watch her fall all over again. OMFG, indeed.
Classes = done. I still have massive amounts of work to do for final papers and the thesis, but apart from that. Unless I go to grad school, I will never have to sit in a room and let anybody lecture me ever again. I'm still not entirely sure how I feel about that. I want to laugh and cry and bounce up and down all at the same time. It struck me as I was walking to my final undergraduate class in the warm sunshine yesterday afternoon, that every building on campus has a memory associated with it. I took a class here; my friends and I ate lunch there. Every place on campus has a memory of a year, of a particular day or night, and suddenly it hit me: this was college. These are my college memories. Someday (God willing) I will bore my children to death with tales of that one night my friends and I ended up in the Emergency Room or the night I vaccummed my laundry. Every restaurant I've eaten at; every bookstore I know. It's crazy, four years here and I can barely breathe for all the memories piled up around me. Yikes, nostalgia versus Gossip Girl? Gossip Girl wins every time.
It's cool and rainy out right now, and I spent an hour in a coffee shop reading this afternoon a book I squirrled away from my roommate. Starting tomorrow, I'll get up and start hacking away at my papers again, but tonight, I'm just going to relax a little bit.
- I'm :the old apartment (this is where I used to live)
- Listening:U R A Fever- the Kills
I haven't updated since February. That is crazy, right there.
The time between then and now has been a blur of working on my thesis, sleeping, going to therapy, realizing my meds were affecting my sleep and class attendance, altering the meds, continuing work on my thesis, and pointedly ignoring the countdown to the end of the semester.
Tonight, as I was going through my third draft of my thesis, entitled And Broken Lights Will Lead You, I was making corrections, rewriting, and generally "word-smithing" as John would say, when something happened: I finished.
I came to the end of the draft, read a couple sections out loud to check for fluidity, picked at a few word choice problems, and then read the new ending to myself. And when I came to the end of the fifth section, page forty-nine, I said to myself, "Yeah, I think that's done."
And I started to cry.
To be fair, I just got all misty and felt like something had given way in my chest because I was finished, after all the drama and work and times I wanted to bash my head against a wall and hated every word I wrote, it's done.
I have over sixty pages still to write for other classes (some of which are due tomorrow) and I've done next to no work on them, but none of that seems to matter right now, because And Broken Lights is done.
It's snowed again here, covering the previously-melted-then-refrozen layer of ice with a fresh layer of powder. It's very pretty to look at. From inside, where I am curled up with a notebook in my pajamas having no homework at all to do and hours to write and the Sunday Trib to read even though it's Saturday and Lee Pace in the kitchen making me delicious pie and what's that buzzing sound, oh it's my alarm clock. Yeah. So work this morning and then I play the game all college kids know called "Frantic Catch-Up." Between the Almighty Thesis and the doctors and the meds (yes, I am using my mental disorder as an excuse, deal with it), I've fallen behind in two of my classes on actual assignments. Three in terms of readings, but I long ago stopped lying to myself that I'd be on time finishing or completing readings ever again in this lifetime. So that's really my Saturday night right there. Papers for class and Italian grammar exercises. Fasten your seatbelts, kids, I might even order sushi. Hoo, it's a wild night rising here in the Cities. While I'm sure the rigors of unemployment will quickly take their toll on my English major ass once I graduate, think on this: No. Homework. Ever. Again. I actually get a little weak in the knees thinking about that.
I've been haunting USAJOBS, trying to see what a liberal arts degree can tranlate into in terms of
And while it's too early to really talk about it, here's a little teaser for coming attractions: Pembermoss.
Not many of you know about
fashion_plot and my battle of DepressiveTV One-Upmanship, which I believe started with LOST, then spiraled out of control with HBO's Rome, before concluding with Battlestar Galactica. It was a well-fought campaign and the intense introspection and gut-wrenching storylines of all the series deserve credit for making me cry on several occasions. But now, in this lovely parallel universe, we're trying something up: A Happy!Sweet!TV Off. Yes, it's just like the depressing one, only not depressing. I led with How I Met Your Mother, to which fashion_plot countered with 30 Rock, and I'm following that up with The Big Bang Theory. Sweet, comedic sitcoms with funny, likeable plots and emminantly shippable characters (which are, in order: Barney/Robin [brOTP], Jack/Liz [where the tension and Jack Donaghy's voice are driving me up the wall], and creepily enough, Sheldon/Penny [guys, I don't even know. Jim Parsons is weird-looking one minute and then...he's not. Unsettling]). I can't wait to see what she counters with, so I can pull Pushing Daisies on her. No more police procedurals or suicidal robots in religious cults. There's only so much drama a girl can take. Okay, no more dawdling.
There no easy way to say this, and I've chickened out way too many times before to ever bring this up in the blog, but you're all my friends and you deserve to know what's going on with me. I've really been busy back here at school, but I decided, as a New Year's Resolution, to finally go to a doctor and get some help for something that's been bothering me for quite some time. Years now. So I made an appointment at the Mental Health Clinic and saw two of the lovely therapists there, and they confirmed what I've suspected (suspected...known) for a long time now.
I have Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. No, I am not just saying I can get a little obsessive from time to time. I have OCD. It's a complex thing (thing...disorder, it's a mental health disorder and I've got to get comfortable saying that). Now if you're sitting there going, "But Jess, I never saw you do any kind of compulsive behavior" or "You never mentioned any intrusive thoughts," then I did a much better job of hiding it all than I thought. I've been aware of it since early high school, really before that, but shoved all that down, down, down because if anyone ever found out, I'd lose all my friends and family and possibly burst into flame or something. It was just this thing that I ignored because normal people didn't think like that, normal people didn't feel what I felt. Well, apparently they do and I am not crazy and more importantly, I am not alone. I love all of you and I will probably be mentioning this more in the future, so I thought it was important for you to know what's happening, but more than that, I'm tired of hiding and feeling ashamed of it, so here it is: I have OCD and I'm working on it, but it's tough, especially here at the beginning. Feel free to comment, email, or call me if you have questions.
So. There's that. Going on. With me. Probably should have just stuck with LOST.
INTERVIEW MEME
1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me!"
2. I will respond by asking you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
3. You will post the answers to the questions (and the questions themselves) on your blog or journal.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions. And thus the endless cycle of the meme goes on and on and on and on...
interviewed by the lovely![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
artemismuse
1. In essay format, what do the words "sparkly vampires playing baseball" mean to you? Go.
Oh. Oh my now. Are we...are we going there? Are we going "Twilight"? 'Cause I'll go there, yes siree, I will. Okay, "Twilight," I believe, can be perfectly summed up in the whole sparkly vampire baseball episode. So you're an undead vampire. Creature of the night. The embodiment of the eroticism of death, and as we all remember from "Buffy" (Spike, I am looking directly at you), death can totally be eroticized. And what do you do, as a wealthy, super-powered, immortal vampire? What. Do. You. Do? You move to the Pacific Northwest so you don't SPARKLE IN THE MOTHERF%#@ING SUNLIGHT, WTF STEPHANIE MEYER, hook up with Bella "Mary Sue" Swan and perpetually cockblock your-own-self by playing baseball. With your adoptive vampire family. While wearing matching uniforms. I ask very little of my supernatural creatures, but damnit, if there's a vampire in a book/film/television show, he had better want to bite me.
2. When you publish your first best-selling novel, what will the dedication say? If there won't be one, what will you have chosen NOT to say?
Hmm, I'm pretty sure I promised my fourth-grade music teacher my first book dedication, but I'm pretty sure she's forgotten that by now. It's lame to say it depends on the book, but I'm pretty lame in general. I can tell you the dedication on my thesis that I plan to remove before submitting. It's entitled But Broken Lights Will Lead You, and the dedication reads: "for myself, because people can get better."
3. So just what is it you're doing with your life after graduation now, anyway?
Ah, the $64, 000 dollar question. In an ideal world, I'll get this volunteership I'm killing myself to apply for and spend some time Doing Good in London, thus giving me another, legitimate overseas experience for my resume and allowing me to get a job working at some kind of study abroad department, shipping other starry-eyed students overseas. Either that or possibly going to grad school at this one place downtown Chicago that doesn't make me want to throw up when I think about it. So, you know. Options.
4. Has the Tam Lin curse finally abated? I must know.
...kinda. And wow, way to throw me back. The Tam Lin curse, for those you don't know (i.e. everyone but my lovely interviewer here), was a phenomenon I experienced in high school where basically everything I explored or researched or asked someone about led me to Scotland and the Tam Lin legend (which is my favorite fairy tale, btw). Kinda sorta abated, after I had the reverse experience while in Edinburgh. Katie and I were all hyped up about seeing us some hot Scottish guys and our first day touring, we're standing in line at the Castle when we spot these great-looking guys...wearing Minnesota sweatshirts. Turns out they lived right behind my building the year before. I think that kind of canceled it out.
5. What is the latest "crack" moment you've had in your life? (Example: "I will never leave you to the hallways and the night..." that was a crack moment.)
Ah, the hallways and the night! Oh! Got one! In my Italian class, during a debate on the pros and cons of Enlgish words slipping into the lexicon, I did a non-ironic Z-snap. Like, I didn't even really process what I was doing, I just knew I'd made a really good point and need to emphasize it as much as possible without speaking in English. And as if by its own accord, my hand came up and I totally Z-snapped (as in "don't go there, girlfriend" snap snap snap) the other debate team. Oh, yes. I am too cool.
6. (I know, right? But he asked me to elaborate, so that's what I'm doing) What, exactly, *is* delicious?
It's really quite simple. Delicious is anything that makes you shiver. Not just any shiver, but those little frissons that feel like someone turned up tiny electrical currents just under your skin. I get that feeling from reading a good passage in a book or listening to great music or that moment on the rollercoaster *just* before you drop. *That* is delicious.
I'm back in the Cities again after what felt like an absurdly long break. It's amazing how much more time off you get as an upperclassman. All I had to do last semester was turn in a couple papers and I was off (naturally, I say this now, but a casual glance back at the semester round-up starts off with something like "I almost died from school this semester. This semester held me at gunpoint and asked me if I was feeling lucky." Ah, memories).
I think my Captivity class is going to be both extremely interesting and very frightening. My professor has this lovely accent, Lebanese but with a touch of Britain around the vowels, like maybe he learned from an Englishman years and years ago, and he's quite engaging and very sweet. So much depends, in these classes, on the professor and I think he's going to be good. Also, we get to read about being kidnapped by pirates and the thirteen year old in me damn near died of joy ("Pirates?! Cool!!"). I have the option for the final project of either researching a paper on any type of captivity account, real or fictional (here fictional is pronounced: ABOUT PIRATES!!), or writing my own well-researched captivity narrative...which would be about pirates. I just re-read this paragraph and now I guess I know where I fall on the whole pirates-ninja spectrum. Huh. Fancy that.
Italian is Italian, but now only two days a week, which is a big change-up after nearly four years (plus four years of high school) of language classes every single day. It does free up my schedule somewhat, and so I'm back to running again, or rather gingerly jogging at this stage. While most of my body is thrilled about this change of events, the muscles in my legs are currently not speaking to me. Which sounds funny until you try to haul a forty pound box up a flight of stairs with your thighs giving you the silent treatment.
Now I'm going to clock out and head home to do some errands, hit the bookstore, possibly do some yoga to appease my legs, and then start typing up more of the Damn Thesis. Oh yes, it's good to be back.
- I'm :work
- Listening:Jack's Mannequin- "The Resolution"
Surprisingly, the Internet is somewhat silent on the topic of spiced veal-and-pumpkin pie. I can't imagine why.
Joy to the world! The Lord is come.
Let earth receive her King
Let every heart
Prepare Him room
And Saints and angels sing
And Saints and angels sing
And Saints and Saints and angels sing
Joy to the world, the Saviour reigns
Let Saints their songs employ
While fields and floods
rocks, hills and plains
Repeat the sounding joy
Repeat the sounding joy
Repeat, Repeat, the sounding joy
Joy to the world with truth and grace
And makes the nations prove
The glories of His righteousness
And wonders of His love
And wonders of His love
And wonders and wonders of His love
No more will sin and sorrow grow,
Nor thorns infest the ground;
He'll come and make the blessings flow
Far as the curse was found,
Far as the curse was found,
Far as, far as the curse was found.
He rules the world with truth and grace,
And gives to nations proof
The glories of His righteousness,
And wonders of His love;
And wonders of His love;
And wonders, wonders of His love.
Rejoice! Rejoice in the Most High,
While Israel spreads abroad
Like stars that glitter in the sky,
And ever worship God,
And ever worship God,
And ever, and ever worship God.
Merry Christmas, and a very Happy New Year.
Economists are saying this is possibly the worst time in history for me to be graduating from school, given the job market and the lack of growth and all that. Which is somewhat depressing, I'm sure. But for some reason, I'm not really that nervous anymore. I've been fretting and worrying as I am prone to do, hoping I can think my way out of this predicament using sheer force of will. Ask me how well that went.
But in all that worrying, I came to a bit of a realization. First off, if this is an unprecidented crisis, then the real reason I'm worried is because I've been following a plan for so long (Graduate high school, go to college, make friends, study hard, get my degree in four years without doing drugs or getting pregnant or running off to live abroad) that I kind of expected a new set of rules once I graduated and there are none. Which is frightening, if you're me, but my realization was this: if there are no rules for how to handle this thing, then nothing I do will be wrong. And that's pretty cool to think about.
I've given a lot of thought to what I should do after graduation, because it was too difficult to think of what I want to do. It's hard to articulate what I want. Well, not really, it's just kind of embarrassing. What I want to do, after all this work and studying and playing by the rules, is have fun. Literally, I just want to go out and have crazy, stupid fun for like two, three years. Bounce all over the world, act on all my bad ideas, shapeshift until I find something that fits. Be a travel guide, work at a hostel, write for niche magazines that pay you in food, live on an organic farm in Scotland, learn to properly tango in Buenos Aires, sail around the Caribbean to help with biodiversity research, find someone to hold my hand and see all the places I missed the first time around. Constantinople and beyond.
Now that right there is what I want.
- I'm feeling:
hopeful - Listening:Bloc Party- "Signs"
The rules for the mosaic meme are as follows:
1. Answer each of the questions below the cut using the Flickr
search engine. 2. Choose a photo from the first three pages.
3. Copy the URL of your favorite photos here
. 4. Then share with the world
( Follow the cut )
Now it's time to get to work. And it's going to be rough. But I no longer have any doubts about the road ahead. Not after tonight. Because yes. Yes, we can. Welcome to the New World.
But just for tonight, we can rest.
I'm not used to getting exactly what I want. I expect to have my heart broken when it comes to my ideals. I got used to that right quick at a young age. Life is not a fairy tale, no Prince Charming, no happy endings because nothing ever ends, all that enlightened jazz. I just got into baseball and I'm a Cubs fan. Hell, I've personally sabatoged entire relationships to keep myself from being happy...because I think on a lot of levels, I'm incredibly afraid that once I'm happy, it will all get taken away from me. Whoever said it is better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all deserved to be taken out back and beaten senseless.
So the very idea that Obama could win this thing, the concept that that which I most hope for could actually, really, literally, truly happen, is kind of blowing my mind. I'm caught somewhere between utter panic and a naesous sensation in the pit of my stomach I can only describe as...hope. And maybe I'm being melodramatic, maybe I'm being over the top, maybe I'm jinxing the whole shebang by even putting all these thoughts down but damn it, maybe all the naysayers outside and inside my head can shut the hell up for a minute, because I'm trying to say something here.
I hope. Completely, totally, unabashedly. I hope, and that means I can get hurt. I'm used to that. But between the electoral maps and the debates and everything else, I'm starting to think that maybe I don't have to get hurt every time. That maybe, just this once, we could get everything we wanted. And the very whisper of that thought is intoxicating and terrifying.
But this only works, we only get our fairy tale ending, if America is the place I've always hoped, wanted, needed it to be. I came of age in a time when the worst thing in the world to be was American. For eight years of my life, I defended this nation to anyone who would listen. I called (call) myself a patriot when that wasn't a word people like me should use. Eight years I wondered if it was worth it, or if it, like most other things, was a pipe dream. Just another way to break my heart.
America, if you're listening tonight, please. I fought for you. I wept, bled, and loved you through it all. Now show me you are who I need you so desperately to be. Just this once, let us have our happy ending. Let us have our fairy tale moment. Make it okay for me to believe.
I fought for you, America. Now fight for me.
Vote.
- Listening:"Love Is Not A Fight"- Warren Barfield
I'm not sure if any of you (apart from the Alliance...hi guys!) watch the TV show "How I Met Your Mother," but if you do, perhaps you also may have noticed some startling similarities between the protagonist, Ted Mosby, and myself. With some notable exceptions (gender, location), I have come to the somewhat inescapable fact that I *am* Ted. Like, it's almost painful at times to watch the show because of how much this guy is just...me. The compulsive over-thinking; the well-meaning but poorly thought-out plans; the utter, hopeless romanticism that appears in "socially questionable forms". Though on a worrying note, my friends who watch the show hate Ted, but purport to like me. Hmmm. So long story short, if you want a frightening amount of insight into my personality, check out "How I Met Your Mother."
Birthday went well, low-key and friendly. Tango this weekend again, which I am quickly coming to need a little bit. Like, I get twitchy if I don't practice. I'm also considering "investing" in some actual tango shoes because any pastime that requires I purchase extravagent, romantic heels is fine by me. Also, the open toes are killing me with the newbie leaders.
I'd talk more about my day-to-day life, but I'm boring. The CSI / Law & Order addiction continues, and I continue to write improbable fic based on the characters within. Because I have a problem.
I voted via absentee ballot last night during the Vice-Presidential debate, and with every word that came from each one of the candidates, I felt better and better about my choice, which I cannot reveal to you as that would be illegal. I will say, though, my very favorite thing to vote for on Illinois ballots? Coroner. Best. Category. Ever.
I've started watching Law & Order: Criminal Intent, again, season three in particular ("The Golden Year" if you know what I mean, and I think you know what I mean. I mean prime Bobby Goren), and I can't remember why I ever stopped. TV on DVD is downright dangerous, and simultaneously the best thing in history. The blessing and the curse of no commericals. I'm almost done with the season, but I'm not lying to myself about any increase in productivity once that's finished. I'll just started back at season one and work my way through again.
I had a high-on-life moment two nights ago.
cellophane_crab and I hit the grocery store, and did some shopping. I hate the actual act of getting to the store and doing the shopping, but once we were done and headed out to the parking lot, I just got this amazingly intensely happy feeling. Like, I now have food! I can cook! And eat! It sounds kind of weird, but the whole experience just made me really happy. Apparently, I really am a sucker for the domestic. Plus, I got cheese, like real cheese, decent cheese, which I have been craving for weeks now. So that was pretty swell.Tango continues to be stellar, although my jaunt to the university tango club was not the best time ever. In my limited experience, there appear to be three kinds of leaders: bad leaders (gender is immaterial), good girl leaders (which is fun in that you're getting all the steps right, but not much beyond that), and good guy leaders (which is awesome on its own special level..I still remember Pat from middle school fondly, the first guy who knew what he was doing while dancing). I was unaware that there are in fact horrible leaders. I have a pair of sparkly, open-toed heels that I use for dancing, and by the end of the evening, my toes were bruised and red and pissed off at me for thinking this was a good idea. Rant coming up.
This guy, I swear, had no concept of leading. As a follower, I don't have a whole lot to think about at this level of dance (hell, I shouldn't be thinking at all, just dancing), and really my only job is to stay as close to my leader as possible by surrending, over and over, any thought in favor of physical reaction. He invites my movement, I move, he follows me, waits for me to collect myself, then moves again. All this guy did was step forward, again and again, without giving me any indication that he was moving. No invitation, just slam, down on my foot. Also, how hard is it to find the rhythm of the music?! I do not understand why this is an issue. Surely you could clap along, yes? Then dance to that same beat! Geez, gentlemen! Not! Difficult! I'm taking tango to help me work on my intimacy issues, and you are not helping me at all here. That being said, I'm going back next week. But if that guy thinks I'm partnering with him again, he has another thing coming. Lead me badly once, shame on you. Lead me badly twice, shame on me. End rant.
Has anyone else on here ever taken social dance classes before? Does it help if you have an established partner or is mixing it up a better move for learning. I know I need to learn to dance with all kinds of leaders, but I can't help developing favorites.
I spent nearly a full hour dancing alone in my living room to this song last night. Just on repeat. I cannot even handle how much I'm in love with this thing. Survelliance culture lyrics? Yes. From the show Gossip Girl (which I watch and refuse to apologize for)? Absolutely. And it's so stupidly catchy, I can't think when it's on. I'm sway-typing even now. And not even like just a little shoulder dip here and there dancing. I put my headphones on and threw myself around like I was on fire. I finally passed out after my private dance party, feeling all loose and happy. I highly recommend dance parties, personal or shared, as an excellent way to relieve stress.
Cause you know that baby, I- / I'm your biggest fan, I'll follow you until you love me, papa- paparazzi / Baby, there's no other superstar, you know that I'll be your papa-paparazzi / Promise I'll be kind, but I won't stop until that boy is mine / Baby, you'll be famous, chase you down until you love me.
I'm pretty sure that if we as a people could find that perfect genre of music that appeals to everyone, we could fix the Middle East by rigging fighter jets with tweeters and battleships with subwoofers, and blasting music out over the war-torn everythings and have a massive, three week dance party and afterward, when everyone was wiped and happy-exhausted and chilled, someone would say, "So what exactly were we fighting about, again?" and no one will be able to remember. And then we'd all get Chipotle, because I see Chipotle as integral to this entire plan. The funny thing is I'm only half-joking. I think if everyone spent ten minutes a day dancing, high energy, no holds barred, no one's watching dancing, we'd take about three steps forward as a society. This is what scientists should be working on, the perfect dance song to save the world.
savvygal , who rocks because she wrote me Ben Linus fic, because I love him. In a creepy way. But let's ignore my obvious issues with men for a moment. 1. Post a comment to this entry with a fandom and/or pairing.
2. I will then put iTunes on shuffle and write a [short] fic either inspired by or sharing a title with the song that comes up.
3. I will post the completed fic(s) after I've written them all.
In addition to this, I'm writing short fiction exercises, a workshop story, my senior thesis, and this silly little detective story for fun. I'd be fine if this was all I had to do, but my professors are insisting I "come to class" and "complete my homework assignments" and not "openly ignore them during lecture." They're so needy, these people.
I'm not so sure about grad school. The fact that I am now saying this means that I have been quietly obsessing over it for weeks, even months in my head, so this is a big step forward. I figure if the thought of more school after this year literally twists my stomach, it might be smart to consider other options. I'll probably still apply to Iowa, but since the GRE (which I haven't taken) is good for three years, I might so something...else. What exactly that would be, I have no idea. I could try for a writing fellowship. I could see if I could locate an internship in travel writing (anybody have contacts I can
For the record, I don't want to go to library school and I don't want to teach. Both of those things are very practical and very safe and very smart, and they do not at all appeal to me at the present time. Maybe this is me aiming too high (or maybe not), but I want to do something with my time and with my life that I'm passionate about. Something I'm on fire for. Like most things in my life, I don't want to just be okay with my job or my whatever. I want to do whatever I do with passion. And while I'm not sure what exactly that something is yet, I have faith that it's out there, and when I find it, I'll know because it will feel like being in love, like you're on fire, like you're incandescent.
So...basically...post with a fic prompt so I can stop thinking and start writing. Points for ridiculousness given!
