(no subject)
Sweet
crap
all.
And luving it.
There is a pile of books on architecture, philosophy of history, carpentry and writing techniques surrounding my comfy luv-seat and MST3K has been playing non-stop. With my thesis behind me and no houses to work on this past week, I've engaged in a full regiment of reclusive puttering, reading, cleaning, laundry, used book stores, and coffee shops.
Yet I still had a dream about being in school. Students milled about lockers and classrooms everywhere. I noticed on my time schedule that somehow I was registered for Super Advanced Latin and Ancient Greek. Only this time, this dream, it was the first day of classes in a new semester. I withdrew before the registration slip hit the desk. Waaaay before that final exam in the class I had missed all year.
Yes, at times I hate hate hated and just felt guilty and uneasy and unsure. And I joked about it. Joked about the humanities and university education. But I needed something. I read my Latin and Greek, kept enrolled, did it my way, got critiqued, did it again and again and again and then slid* like India Jones under a boulder to finish. I'm glad I put myself through it. And so much is coming with me. I'm glad I knew enough to set up my own external obligations that eventually helped me. The circle is complete: present-me returns to past-me, and says the ear-thumping pressure is worth enduring.**
I've been biting my nails over being too idle with my time now. Along with all the reading, as a counter measure, at the cafe I listed the things interesting and artsy neglected during my thesis writing. Now, new creativity courses through my veins. Already I sketched out a short academic paper, reviewed a Wikipedia article to rewrite, wrote haiku's for Super Villains, and added pages of story ideas to my writing journal.
And tomorrow I put on my tool-belt and will cut things. Wooden things. With power tools. Pointy tools.
\m/
*(eventually)
**(Well, this time I'm sure I said "maybe it's not worth the student loan" but I don't think past-me heard myself.)
crap
all.
And luving it.
There is a pile of books on architecture, philosophy of history, carpentry and writing techniques surrounding my comfy luv-seat and MST3K has been playing non-stop. With my thesis behind me and no houses to work on this past week, I've engaged in a full regiment of reclusive puttering, reading, cleaning, laundry, used book stores, and coffee shops.
Yet I still had a dream about being in school. Students milled about lockers and classrooms everywhere. I noticed on my time schedule that somehow I was registered for Super Advanced Latin and Ancient Greek. Only this time, this dream, it was the first day of classes in a new semester. I withdrew before the registration slip hit the desk. Waaaay before that final exam in the class I had missed all year.
Yes, at times I hate hate hated and just felt guilty and uneasy and unsure. And I joked about it. Joked about the humanities and university education. But I needed something. I read my Latin and Greek, kept enrolled, did it my way, got critiqued, did it again and again and again and then slid* like India Jones under a boulder to finish. I'm glad I put myself through it. And so much is coming with me. I'm glad I knew enough to set up my own external obligations that eventually helped me. The circle is complete: present-me returns to past-me, and says the ear-thumping pressure is worth enduring.**
I've been biting my nails over being too idle with my time now. Along with all the reading, as a counter measure, at the cafe I listed the things interesting and artsy neglected during my thesis writing. Now, new creativity courses through my veins. Already I sketched out a short academic paper, reviewed a Wikipedia article to rewrite, wrote haiku's for Super Villains, and added pages of story ideas to my writing journal.
And tomorrow I put on my tool-belt and will cut things. Wooden things. With power tools. Pointy tools.
\m/
*(eventually)
**(Well, this time I'm sure I said "maybe it's not worth the student loan" but I don't think past-me heard myself.)