on taking a breath and seeing things for what they are...
And so I'm feeling better about my current set of circumstances....
Yesterday, in one fell swoop, I began work on my thesis, my last bit of furniture was delivered, and the week-old problem of having no cable, despite it being "hooked up and ready to go," was resolved just in time to take in game one of the NBA finals. (Fuck LA). It's funny to admit this, but I'm absolutely incapable of being at ease, let alone productive, when the place I call home is in a state of disarray. So, as if by magic, today, my first day off since returning to Georgia, I was able to enjoy myself. I woke early, had cereal, drank coffee, smoked cigarettes, listened to podcasts of "This American Life," read some Tobias Wolff, and then, most excitingly, sat down at my desk and watched as a river of a 1,000 words flowed effortlessly from my mind onto the computer screen. As I've mentioned in previous entries, I consider 500 words in any given sitting to be a complete success, so, needless to say, today was throughly fulfilling.
Yesterday also marked the final phase of the move-in process: picture-hanging. Though I've still got a lot more to do, my room is 90% plastered with posters and framed artwork, giving it that lived-in look that in my experience makes a house feel more like a home. John has given me free range to hang his pictures while he's away, and I plan on doing that over the course of this weekend.
Judging from the days I've had it, my summer school course, "Storytelling," seems like it has the potential to be fun and interesting. My teacher is a rather sly, humorous dude who appreciates his students' input and, most importantly, affects a notably laid-back persona.
I think Nathan and I are going to head to the bars either tonight or tomorrow. Seeing as I've yet to go out since my return, I'm really hoping that this comes through. I'm all for leading the quiet life during the work week, but come Friday and Saturday night, I feel that it's my duty (nay, my God-given right) to savor an evening out, drinking bourbon and enjoying conversations with my friends and colleagues.
In more exciting news, it now seems quite likely that I can expect a visit from a handful of LSU friends come mid-July. This adventure, to me, could easily be one for the books. Considering how droll Milledgeville can be, especially in the summertime, I have a feeling we'll make an escape to the beach and spend a few days drinking iced-down beer on the Atlantic coast. What could be finer?
For the first time in my young career as a writer I'm on the verge of sending my work out for publication. My short story "A Single Perfect Soul" received real acclaim from both teacher and peers in last semester's fiction workshop, and has since gone through a complete revision. Randolph Thomas, my former teacher and mentor, recently got back to me, saying that the second draft was excellent and, save for a few areas that still need some fine tuning, is ready to hit the mail. I'm simultaneously elated and terrified. Honestly, a big part of what little confidence I have as a writer comes from the fact that whenever someone asks if I've been published, I can always simply (and truthfully) say, "I've never tried." Now it's time to try. I never thought I'd feel comfortbale saying this, but I've worked dilligenty on this story, and even if it takes several tries, I know it will eventually be published. And then the real pressure begins...I'll have to do it all over again.
All right, that last paragraph was a bit lame, and for that I'm sorry. But I'm having a genuinely good day, and that should never require an apology.
Yesterday, in one fell swoop, I began work on my thesis, my last bit of furniture was delivered, and the week-old problem of having no cable, despite it being "hooked up and ready to go," was resolved just in time to take in game one of the NBA finals. (Fuck LA). It's funny to admit this, but I'm absolutely incapable of being at ease, let alone productive, when the place I call home is in a state of disarray. So, as if by magic, today, my first day off since returning to Georgia, I was able to enjoy myself. I woke early, had cereal, drank coffee, smoked cigarettes, listened to podcasts of "This American Life," read some Tobias Wolff, and then, most excitingly, sat down at my desk and watched as a river of a 1,000 words flowed effortlessly from my mind onto the computer screen. As I've mentioned in previous entries, I consider 500 words in any given sitting to be a complete success, so, needless to say, today was throughly fulfilling.
Yesterday also marked the final phase of the move-in process: picture-hanging. Though I've still got a lot more to do, my room is 90% plastered with posters and framed artwork, giving it that lived-in look that in my experience makes a house feel more like a home. John has given me free range to hang his pictures while he's away, and I plan on doing that over the course of this weekend.
Judging from the days I've had it, my summer school course, "Storytelling," seems like it has the potential to be fun and interesting. My teacher is a rather sly, humorous dude who appreciates his students' input and, most importantly, affects a notably laid-back persona.
I think Nathan and I are going to head to the bars either tonight or tomorrow. Seeing as I've yet to go out since my return, I'm really hoping that this comes through. I'm all for leading the quiet life during the work week, but come Friday and Saturday night, I feel that it's my duty (nay, my God-given right) to savor an evening out, drinking bourbon and enjoying conversations with my friends and colleagues.
In more exciting news, it now seems quite likely that I can expect a visit from a handful of LSU friends come mid-July. This adventure, to me, could easily be one for the books. Considering how droll Milledgeville can be, especially in the summertime, I have a feeling we'll make an escape to the beach and spend a few days drinking iced-down beer on the Atlantic coast. What could be finer?
For the first time in my young career as a writer I'm on the verge of sending my work out for publication. My short story "A Single Perfect Soul" received real acclaim from both teacher and peers in last semester's fiction workshop, and has since gone through a complete revision. Randolph Thomas, my former teacher and mentor, recently got back to me, saying that the second draft was excellent and, save for a few areas that still need some fine tuning, is ready to hit the mail. I'm simultaneously elated and terrified. Honestly, a big part of what little confidence I have as a writer comes from the fact that whenever someone asks if I've been published, I can always simply (and truthfully) say, "I've never tried." Now it's time to try. I never thought I'd feel comfortbale saying this, but I've worked dilligenty on this story, and even if it takes several tries, I know it will eventually be published. And then the real pressure begins...I'll have to do it all over again.
All right, that last paragraph was a bit lame, and for that I'm sorry. But I'm having a genuinely good day, and that should never require an apology.