(no subject)
It's been a while.
I have to write something for my creative writing class and have struggled with it all day long. I decided I should just start writing about my life to see what that might bring along with it, and then later I decided I might as well just write on this diary-typed thing instead so that I'm also giving the person I love something to read about me. Here is where my head is at:
I wrote to eight different colleges and told them I love writing.
Yet, here I am, I’ve been sitting down for the longest time now, waiting.
I've been told I can write by lots of people and still, I feel absolutely critical of everything that comes out of me.
Every letter I type should be afraid of the backspace key, I honestly use it so often.
Sometimes nothing comes out the way I want it to.
To deal with that, three minutes ago I told myself I’d stop deleting and push forward.
Maybe not everything needs to be said perfectly the first time.
(I'm still deleting, I just can't help it. Words are important to me.)
In creative writing, I started this story about a doctor and his patient, it was pretty weird but I wanted it to convey meaning and ultimate truth. By the time I got half way done with it, I realized I'd forgotten the point completely and deleted the whole thing in one foul "highlight and backspace" swoop. I fear the kids in my class wouldn't have gotten it anyway. Yeah, thats another thing...I have this weird thing going on where I'm convinced everyones stupid and incapable of understanding things- even easy concepts. When I was little, I could identify a few weird adults that I knew quite well, and knew even better that I wanted to stay away from them for fear of there weird-ness rubbing off on me. Now, as a 17 year old, to say everyone is weird is an understatement. Everyone is INSANE. Absolutely insane. I know I'm right in the head- it's everyone else that I'm concerned about. At the same time, maybe that's what wise men call "difference." Perhaps we are all just different.
Anyway, my story was getting nowhere, so I went out to get some food to clear my head. At this point, I was pissed. How am I a ""good writer" if I can't write a thing? So i left the house to get away and think about what I wanted to say in my story, and what it should mean to other people who read it.
The saddest thing was that as I was driving, I saw these two guys talking by the park, and one of them said quite geniunely that since his wife left him, his life was filled with unhappiness. Maybe if it wasn’t a man who had admitted to that, I wouldn’t have felt as bad, but after hearing it from him, I wanted to stop the car and cry.
Here I am, four hours later- without one thing accomplished. I feel like a FUCK. There are billions of stupid people around me and I just wish I was determined enough to go do something and prove that I'm not one of them. I'm 100% convinced that smart people will get nowhere in life so long as there are hard-working people. I'm not saying I'm smart- I'm just saying that even if i were, I'd be screwed. My insatiable appetite for sleep will be the end of me.
Thanks for reading.
Please be happy.
daniel
I have to write something for my creative writing class and have struggled with it all day long. I decided I should just start writing about my life to see what that might bring along with it, and then later I decided I might as well just write on this diary-typed thing instead so that I'm also giving the person I love something to read about me. Here is where my head is at:
I wrote to eight different colleges and told them I love writing.
Yet, here I am, I’ve been sitting down for the longest time now, waiting.
I've been told I can write by lots of people and still, I feel absolutely critical of everything that comes out of me.
Every letter I type should be afraid of the backspace key, I honestly use it so often.
Sometimes nothing comes out the way I want it to.
To deal with that, three minutes ago I told myself I’d stop deleting and push forward.
Maybe not everything needs to be said perfectly the first time.
(I'm still deleting, I just can't help it. Words are important to me.)
In creative writing, I started this story about a doctor and his patient, it was pretty weird but I wanted it to convey meaning and ultimate truth. By the time I got half way done with it, I realized I'd forgotten the point completely and deleted the whole thing in one foul "highlight and backspace" swoop. I fear the kids in my class wouldn't have gotten it anyway. Yeah, thats another thing...I have this weird thing going on where I'm convinced everyones stupid and incapable of understanding things- even easy concepts. When I was little, I could identify a few weird adults that I knew quite well, and knew even better that I wanted to stay away from them for fear of there weird-ness rubbing off on me. Now, as a 17 year old, to say everyone is weird is an understatement. Everyone is INSANE. Absolutely insane. I know I'm right in the head- it's everyone else that I'm concerned about. At the same time, maybe that's what wise men call "difference." Perhaps we are all just different.
Anyway, my story was getting nowhere, so I went out to get some food to clear my head. At this point, I was pissed. How am I a ""good writer" if I can't write a thing? So i left the house to get away and think about what I wanted to say in my story, and what it should mean to other people who read it.
The saddest thing was that as I was driving, I saw these two guys talking by the park, and one of them said quite geniunely that since his wife left him, his life was filled with unhappiness. Maybe if it wasn’t a man who had admitted to that, I wouldn’t have felt as bad, but after hearing it from him, I wanted to stop the car and cry.
Here I am, four hours later- without one thing accomplished. I feel like a FUCK. There are billions of stupid people around me and I just wish I was determined enough to go do something and prove that I'm not one of them. I'm 100% convinced that smart people will get nowhere in life so long as there are hard-working people. I'm not saying I'm smart- I'm just saying that even if i were, I'd be screwed. My insatiable appetite for sleep will be the end of me.
Thanks for reading.
Please be happy.
daniel