- started the new internship. im a crisis worker now. pretty cool, huh? i get to help all the people who come to the hospital and need psychological help, like they tried to commit suicide or something. im psyched!!!
- we had a social for our psychology club that im chair of. we went to a bar for happy hour. it was fun but nobody came :(
- schools ok. i got an a on my paper. hellz yeah!
- sent my first application for grad school in the mail wednesday. yep going for the doctorate. 6 more applications, its so damn expensive! wish me luck!
- i lost my journal design BOOOOOO!!!!! my old school got rid of my webspace for files, guess b/c ive been gone too long.
Current Mood: cheerful :)
Current Music: that new laffy taffy song!!!
For the last month or so, you could say that I've been too tied up with academic demands to sit at my computer for an evening and enjoy a few hours of leisure writing, but I've always managed to find time for the things that really matter to me. That's not all there is to it. In late October, I took a step back and felt my life flashing backward and forward, a mixture of archived memories and anticipated futures. I could see obvious parallels between a turning point from my past and the path I could potentially follow in the near future. My experiences were unique, one few can share, yet general enough for the emotion behind them to be universally understood. And apparently, I struck a nerve with many people.
I had never had people call me just to say that they liked what I had written. For days I would receive random thank you's and compliments from people whose names are now, sadly, more familiar than their faces. Friends said they never really understood how I'd felt back then until now. I didn't know how to react when people told me they cried, that my words made them cry. Between the feedback I was receiving and finishing my first boxing article, I really felt like a writer, partaking in a craft that had gradually become more than a mere hobby.
I could hardly wait to write another story. The problem was, however, that I had to do just that, wait. There were nights where I had finished my work in enough to time enjoy a few hours of solace at the computer, but when it came to writing, I had nothing. Correction, I had options, a few ideas here and there, but nothing that really meant something to me. At that point, I decided to save the writing for great, thought-provoking moments of my life.
The sticking point was that I got caught between not settling to write something unless I was truly inspired to write something great and accepting that I can't force those things. The batter that swings for a home run every time has to accept that at times he will strike out (I can't believe I used that horrid analogy, but it's the best-fitting to what I want to convey). Shit, it took me years to write something that made my best friend cry. What makes me think that I'll have something to hit like that every week?
The truth is that most of my days include standard routine. I wake up, make a cup of coffee, go to my internship, come back home, do some schoolwork, hit the heavybag, eat 2.5 meals, take one good shit, and then it's back to bed. Even on those nights where I'm restless in bed because my mind is racing, my thoughts consist of the standard things guys think of in their early-20s. Where will I be a year from now? Am I on the right track? Could I see myself with her long-term? What do I need to do to prepare for tomorrow's presentation? Was that petite brunette who smiled in my direction into me? All of this would be regurgitation of previous posts.
One of my shortcomings is that I desire and expect greatness in whatever I do. This sounds like a strength I'm sure, and in some ways, and at many times, it is. When the greatness doesn't come right away, however, I get discouraged enough to where I lose the hunger whenever my sights inevitably hit another focus. My passions and interests come in cycles. When I get frustrated that I haven't written the perfect song, I put down my notebook and grab a sauce pan. When I fail to conquer French cuisine that rivals a 5-star restaurant, I dissect old boxing matches. When I can't slip the right hook and just want to sit on the couch and have a pizza, I try to speed-learn Spanish.
The one constant in all this has been recreational writing. It's a hobby, a pasttime, a love of mine. It'll be around as long as I still enjoy it. Even if I have to strikeout once in a while.
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