No tomfoolery today, Ron.
Ye olde LJ... I can't believe I'm actually writing in this thing again. It's weird, because I have a physical journal sitting right in front of me. It's leather, with a broken Oathkeeper necklace sewed on to its cover. That always seemed really ominous to me, to sew on a broken promise to a journal, but I didn't want to get rid of it.
Anyhow.
So, like everyone else, I'm freaking out about college. I just had several conversations with people and we're all saying the same things. Basically, in a nutshell:
-it's a midlife crisis about 30 years too early
-we don't know what we want in life
-this is happening too fast
-fuck.
I know what I want, vaguely. I know what I don't want, definitely. I'm scared, yet complacent. I'm mad at the world, and yet I love it so.
Gemini, anyone?
Like I told Lizzie, I'm going to be heading back to classes soon. It's going to be one of those morning classes where people come in their coats and scarves and hats looking sleepy, and definitely not giving two craps about Shakespeare or Native American lit. People will have their caffeine, which will only serve as a heat source as they settle into a state of hibernation. They'll curl up in their down coats, their cotton, their nylon, form a cocoon around their weary bodies and sleep through class. And while this is all happening, I'm going to be staring at them going, you lucky bastard.
They won't learn anything and they sure as hell won't emerge from their wrappings a butterfly. But they'll be warm and content as I fight with myself to stay awake and grasp some real meaning behind the words being thrown at me.
And what sucks about all this is that I want to be on the other end of this spectrum. I want to be that person standing in front of the class, looking at all the blank faces going WAKE UP. You there, young miss in the flamboyant hat! Drink that coffee, feel the caffeine coursing through your veins. PAY ATTENTION for the love of all things bright and beautiful and make your money worth it! You say no? I say I get paid either way. Pity.
Then there's all this business about being a writer. Yes, I write every day. But I feel like when it comes to stories and whatnot, college writing has killed or at least severely injured my flow. It's like I turn on the faucet to get the language and imagery flowing only to have it stop after a few minutes. Something's plugged up the damn line and I have to take some long, frightening tool to clear the bugger out.
Mom's off to do some tomato testing survey thing. She'll get paid like $75 for it. I want to get paid for tasting fruit.
Which makes me go damn, $75 for a few hours of placid tomato-eating and opinion-stating, where I'm sitting on this egg called an Etsy shop that took me much longer to set up, and I've had two sales so far this month. My teru teru bozu, a mere dollar, haven't even gone though they were favorited in mere seconds. I understand this takes time and I'm new, testing out the waters, all that jazz. But it's frustrating when everyone's like, I love your shop! It's so cute! It's wonderful! Yet very few actually have the need to purchase something.
One half of me is going, quite humbly, thank you! :D That's great to hear, I really love the support. Because, I do. I really do appreciate it and it's perfectly alright for nothing to catch someone's eye. I do the same thing in other shops: favorite something, but with no intention of buying it right away.
Then the other money-grubbing starving artist type half of me is going buyyyyy somethinggggggg you freeloading window shoppers! D8<
*cough*
I do my best to squash that side when it rears its ugly head.
http://www.etsy.com/shop/NaviWing <---Here be dragons.
Not really, but there are bunnies! :D
And so, the angst in my heart and soul, the kind of Harry Potter Puppet Pal, face-meet-wall repetitive angst, will go away and all will be well.
Because, I will figure this out. It's life, it's complicated, it's messy. It's frustrating. But it'll be worth it in the long run, because I'm going to make it that way.
So for now I just.... sit here, and do what I have to do.
And apparently some of that is bitching/explaining things to myself on LJ.
Anyhow.
So, like everyone else, I'm freaking out about college. I just had several conversations with people and we're all saying the same things. Basically, in a nutshell:
-it's a midlife crisis about 30 years too early
-we don't know what we want in life
-this is happening too fast
-fuck.
I know what I want, vaguely. I know what I don't want, definitely. I'm scared, yet complacent. I'm mad at the world, and yet I love it so.
Gemini, anyone?
Like I told Lizzie, I'm going to be heading back to classes soon. It's going to be one of those morning classes where people come in their coats and scarves and hats looking sleepy, and definitely not giving two craps about Shakespeare or Native American lit. People will have their caffeine, which will only serve as a heat source as they settle into a state of hibernation. They'll curl up in their down coats, their cotton, their nylon, form a cocoon around their weary bodies and sleep through class. And while this is all happening, I'm going to be staring at them going, you lucky bastard.
They won't learn anything and they sure as hell won't emerge from their wrappings a butterfly. But they'll be warm and content as I fight with myself to stay awake and grasp some real meaning behind the words being thrown at me.
And what sucks about all this is that I want to be on the other end of this spectrum. I want to be that person standing in front of the class, looking at all the blank faces going WAKE UP. You there, young miss in the flamboyant hat! Drink that coffee, feel the caffeine coursing through your veins. PAY ATTENTION for the love of all things bright and beautiful and make your money worth it! You say no? I say I get paid either way. Pity.
Then there's all this business about being a writer. Yes, I write every day. But I feel like when it comes to stories and whatnot, college writing has killed or at least severely injured my flow. It's like I turn on the faucet to get the language and imagery flowing only to have it stop after a few minutes. Something's plugged up the damn line and I have to take some long, frightening tool to clear the bugger out.
Mom's off to do some tomato testing survey thing. She'll get paid like $75 for it. I want to get paid for tasting fruit.
Which makes me go damn, $75 for a few hours of placid tomato-eating and opinion-stating, where I'm sitting on this egg called an Etsy shop that took me much longer to set up, and I've had two sales so far this month. My teru teru bozu, a mere dollar, haven't even gone though they were favorited in mere seconds. I understand this takes time and I'm new, testing out the waters, all that jazz. But it's frustrating when everyone's like, I love your shop! It's so cute! It's wonderful! Yet very few actually have the need to purchase something.
One half of me is going, quite humbly, thank you! :D That's great to hear, I really love the support. Because, I do. I really do appreciate it and it's perfectly alright for nothing to catch someone's eye. I do the same thing in other shops: favorite something, but with no intention of buying it right away.
Then the other money-grubbing starving artist type half of me is going buyyyyy somethinggggggg you freeloading window shoppers! D8<
*cough*
I do my best to squash that side when it rears its ugly head.
http://www.etsy.com/shop/NaviWing <---Here be dragons.
Not really, but there are bunnies! :D
And so, the angst in my heart and soul, the kind of Harry Potter Puppet Pal, face-meet-wall repetitive angst, will go away and all will be well.
Because, I will figure this out. It's life, it's complicated, it's messy. It's frustrating. But it'll be worth it in the long run, because I'm going to make it that way.
So for now I just.... sit here, and do what I have to do.
And apparently some of that is bitching/explaining things to myself on LJ.