Nothing Really
I am feeling particulary artistic tonight. Of course, parralleling this sudden burst of creativity comes a period in which I must study more for no less than three tests and a quiz. One of these tests is a math test. It will decide whether or not I pass math this semester. I am glad that the test is Thursday, as I am sure I could not grip with it right now.
I just wrote a poem, which is something I have not done in some time. I'm not sure that it is very good, but I found it theraputic.
For the thousanth time I found myself asking myself what it was I was doing. An idea has been fermenting in my mind of a career as a teacher. I hear that they pay teachers 80 grand in Alaska. Should money be a factor for a teacher? I suspect that it shouldn't, though I certainly would not mind living in Alaska.
In the other corner of my mind is the specter of my true passion. I am still a firm believer that with the time I could finish my book(s) and create an incredible story. Still, I wonder how this story would be recieved. In the end it would probably be "just another fantasy tale." Of course, if my books do sell well I will face the ultimate fate of being compaired with Tolkien. Please! I beg of you! Never compare me with Tolkien. The Lord of the Rings transcends certain boundaries. It has become a classic. Even if my work were to become "classic" (an honor I dare not hope for), I am of the firm opinion that one should not compare classics (at least not seriously). Opinion, after all, is opinion.
That whole sentence was more than a little presumptuous. Me? Compared with Tolkien? I have to finish my book before I can worry about that.
I have decided that I am not going to my English class tomorrow. I don't care what she assigns us, or what we do in class. I don't care that I will probably loose points and miss out on hearing her instructions for yet another moronic assignment. I cannot stand the asinine drivel that flows like a river through that classroom. We have learned how to properly structure a paragraph, and we have studied literary devices like hyperbole and metaphors. Egads! I signed up for Advanced Composition, not a 5th grade English class. The thought of going to that classroom sickens me.
Mostly I am just depressed. I don't really want to be in school. I want to be out in the world making money (preferably as an author). I am tired of academia. I am tired of jumping through hoops.
I'll probably feel better in the morning.
I'll certainly feel better once I have this math test done with.
I just wrote a poem, which is something I have not done in some time. I'm not sure that it is very good, but I found it theraputic.
For the thousanth time I found myself asking myself what it was I was doing. An idea has been fermenting in my mind of a career as a teacher. I hear that they pay teachers 80 grand in Alaska. Should money be a factor for a teacher? I suspect that it shouldn't, though I certainly would not mind living in Alaska.
In the other corner of my mind is the specter of my true passion. I am still a firm believer that with the time I could finish my book(s) and create an incredible story. Still, I wonder how this story would be recieved. In the end it would probably be "just another fantasy tale." Of course, if my books do sell well I will face the ultimate fate of being compaired with Tolkien. Please! I beg of you! Never compare me with Tolkien. The Lord of the Rings transcends certain boundaries. It has become a classic. Even if my work were to become "classic" (an honor I dare not hope for), I am of the firm opinion that one should not compare classics (at least not seriously). Opinion, after all, is opinion.
That whole sentence was more than a little presumptuous. Me? Compared with Tolkien? I have to finish my book before I can worry about that.
I have decided that I am not going to my English class tomorrow. I don't care what she assigns us, or what we do in class. I don't care that I will probably loose points and miss out on hearing her instructions for yet another moronic assignment. I cannot stand the asinine drivel that flows like a river through that classroom. We have learned how to properly structure a paragraph, and we have studied literary devices like hyperbole and metaphors. Egads! I signed up for Advanced Composition, not a 5th grade English class. The thought of going to that classroom sickens me.
Mostly I am just depressed. I don't really want to be in school. I want to be out in the world making money (preferably as an author). I am tired of academia. I am tired of jumping through hoops.
I'll probably feel better in the morning.
I'll certainly feel better once I have this math test done with.