Whickety Whack
Apr. 3rd, 2006 10:57 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
morrigirlA few moments ago my olfactory nerves quivered at the scent of really rich chocolate or at least the imagined presence of such a scent. Thanks to some unmentionable gastrointestinal problems (which are no longer unmentionable because they've been mentioned) I've been unable to consume food without dire consequences for about five days now. In the first two days I ate maybe five crackers and nothing else. Since then I've been able to eat a few more crackers and added small vanilla cookies to the regimen. I'm dizzy, cranky, and above all, hungry, but I'm so terrified of how my body might react to anything more substantial that I can't bring myself to eat a real meal. It's hardly news that I'm at war with everything below my rib cage, but obviously my intestines have quit playing fair. I wish I could fire back at them without causing myself great physical harm but I can't, so I just have to sit here and give them what they want, which is nothing.
I hate writing. Hate it. That's why I keep putting off writing or revising material for my MFA application. The thought of spending the next three or four years of my life writing creatively fills me with a degree of dread I wasn't ready to admit to up till now. I gotta admit, while undergrad definitely made me a better writer, it also killed whatever joy I once took in my work. Now I face the paradoxical bind of holding myself to an unrealistic standard of perfection while simultaneously finding the entire process of creating boring. I come up with story ideas. They aren't great, but they're workable. They've got potential. I can see them in my head, I know how they should progress, I know what should be said and done in each scene from start to finish, but the thought of putting the words down seems like wasted effort. I remember a time when the joy of writing was in the stringing together of words, finding the perfect combination to make the perfect sentence to create the perfectly articulated idea. But now there's nothing amazing about it. I know I can do it. I know I can write a story that everyone will like and praise me for. I know this sounds really egotistical but it is what it is. When it comes to prose, words have never failed me. Where's the excitement in knowing you can't fail? These days I find the process of stringing a sentence together lacking in charm and elegance. It doesn't hold my interest. I'd rather watch TV.
But, since I spent my entire undergrad career being trained to write, if I'm not gonna continue studying it, what do I do? I'm still operating under the assumption that I'm dead in the water without a masters degree of some kind, however accurate or inaccurate that assumption may be. All I've ever wanted to do is write. There's nothing else I want to do. So now that I don't wanna write...what do I do? Be a career administrative assistant? I like the idea of acting but...I'm not a very good actress. Don't wanna pursue radio, or teaching, or sociology, or any of the other interests the continued study of which would require loads of writing. I'm a good public speaker and I like doing research but I don't know what I could ever do with that. I like the idea of working in publishing. Maybe editing or something but I've never had much luck scouring for jobs in that arena.
I bring this up out of jealousy. By and large, my fiends are dong very well. They've all got new and exciting things going on in their lives. They have direction. I do not. I keep saying I'm going to get my MFA but I don't want it. For the first time I know without a doubt that I don't want to pursue creative writing as a career. Going back to school wouldn't jump start the passion. It's gone. So long, farewell, auf wiedersend mutherfucker. I don't write, not because I'm lazy or plagued by writer's block or afraid of rejection, but because I don't like it. I don't like anything. I'm stuck.
I like my job, but it doesn't excite me. I like living in New York, but I need a bigger apartment. I like being alone, but I get lonely. I'm actually going through a 24 hour lonely spell right now. Wishing I had friends and wondering how I can meet people without doing anything that makes me uncomfortable like, you know, going out. I was doing well for a while there. All through February and March I was the happy hermit, watching TV at my mom's house and running home to read books after work each night. But for the last day or so all I've wanted is some companionship and all that other blah blah blah. I hope it passes quickly.
I hate writing. Hate it. That's why I keep putting off writing or revising material for my MFA application. The thought of spending the next three or four years of my life writing creatively fills me with a degree of dread I wasn't ready to admit to up till now. I gotta admit, while undergrad definitely made me a better writer, it also killed whatever joy I once took in my work. Now I face the paradoxical bind of holding myself to an unrealistic standard of perfection while simultaneously finding the entire process of creating boring. I come up with story ideas. They aren't great, but they're workable. They've got potential. I can see them in my head, I know how they should progress, I know what should be said and done in each scene from start to finish, but the thought of putting the words down seems like wasted effort. I remember a time when the joy of writing was in the stringing together of words, finding the perfect combination to make the perfect sentence to create the perfectly articulated idea. But now there's nothing amazing about it. I know I can do it. I know I can write a story that everyone will like and praise me for. I know this sounds really egotistical but it is what it is. When it comes to prose, words have never failed me. Where's the excitement in knowing you can't fail? These days I find the process of stringing a sentence together lacking in charm and elegance. It doesn't hold my interest. I'd rather watch TV.
But, since I spent my entire undergrad career being trained to write, if I'm not gonna continue studying it, what do I do? I'm still operating under the assumption that I'm dead in the water without a masters degree of some kind, however accurate or inaccurate that assumption may be. All I've ever wanted to do is write. There's nothing else I want to do. So now that I don't wanna write...what do I do? Be a career administrative assistant? I like the idea of acting but...I'm not a very good actress. Don't wanna pursue radio, or teaching, or sociology, or any of the other interests the continued study of which would require loads of writing. I'm a good public speaker and I like doing research but I don't know what I could ever do with that. I like the idea of working in publishing. Maybe editing or something but I've never had much luck scouring for jobs in that arena.
I bring this up out of jealousy. By and large, my fiends are dong very well. They've all got new and exciting things going on in their lives. They have direction. I do not. I keep saying I'm going to get my MFA but I don't want it. For the first time I know without a doubt that I don't want to pursue creative writing as a career. Going back to school wouldn't jump start the passion. It's gone. So long, farewell, auf wiedersend mutherfucker. I don't write, not because I'm lazy or plagued by writer's block or afraid of rejection, but because I don't like it. I don't like anything. I'm stuck.
I like my job, but it doesn't excite me. I like living in New York, but I need a bigger apartment. I like being alone, but I get lonely. I'm actually going through a 24 hour lonely spell right now. Wishing I had friends and wondering how I can meet people without doing anything that makes me uncomfortable like, you know, going out. I was doing well for a while there. All through February and March I was the happy hermit, watching TV at my mom's house and running home to read books after work each night. But for the last day or so all I've wanted is some companionship and all that other blah blah blah. I hope it passes quickly.
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no subject
Date: 2006-04-03 10:29 pm (UTC)We all go through it, not all of us have the balls to admit it.
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Date: 2006-04-04 10:29 pm (UTC)Just looking for random Bronx people to talk to on this thing. Kind of new to the area, still don't know a lot of people. Is it OK if I add you?
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Date: 2006-04-05 12:29 am (UTC)Hi, I'm Carla. What part of the Bronx are you in?
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Date: 2006-04-05 02:40 am (UTC)Yourself?
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Date: 2006-04-05 04:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-05 01:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-05 08:14 pm (UTC)Thanks for the add back. :)