First week of school

I didn't really feel up to writing, but I read somewhere that if you wait for just the right time to write, you'll never write anything. I guess that was enough inspiration.

School started this week. All in all, I think I'm going to enjoy my classes. I'm taking two English classes (both professional writing courses), French 101 (because I haven't done foreign language yet, I need four semesters of it, and I decided that I didn't want to take Spanish), a theatre class (stagecraft, for my theatre minor!) and Sociology 101, to fulfill some gen ed that I still need.

Monday was incredibly busy, and very tiring. I ran around campus all day because I was trying to change some of my class times around (which always seems to happen to me). I wanted to get into a particular honors class but it conflicted with one of my writing classes; luckily, I found someone in another section who agreed to simply swap sections with me, but the honors class was full and never opened up, so perhaps it was in vain. "Simply swapping sections" turned into a half-hour affair, however, involving trotting across campus in the hot afternoon sun, finding a computer lab where we could print the yellow cards we needed, and waiting in line for the registrar's help desk so we could get it all sorted. I was twenty minutes late to the first meeting of my French 101 class, and I was aware that I was slightly stinky from all the running around. Hopefully the girl I sat next to didn't notice.

Tuesday was equally crazy. I didn't have class until the afternoon, but I drove to school early so that I could talk to a professor about possibly taking his honors class (different than the aforementioned honors class). I couldn't find decent parking because parking at UNM is an absolute nightmare if you don't buy a parking pass (which I didn't; must have slipped my mind amidst the wedding planning last semester), so I had to park a few blocks away and trudge uphill in the hot sun. I finally got to the professor's office (on the complete opposite side of campus) only to find out that his class was also full and there was no way for me to squeeze in.

Yesterday, I took the bus to school for the first time. It takes a while, because I have to drive to the bus station (about fifteen minutes from where we live), and the bus ride to campus itself takes another twenty minutes. But it's nice because I don't have to walk as much or deal with trying to find (the elusive) free parking spots, and I'm saving gas to boot. This afternoon, however, I accidentally got on the wrong bus going home. I realized my mistake, got off at the next stop, and spent the next forty minutes or so trying to figure out how to get going the right way. This involved several phone calls to Jordan asking for his help, waiting at one stop while trying to avoid the uncomfortable small talk from strange men (questions like, "Where are you headed", and "Where's home for you?"), waiting for another twenty minutes at the wrong stop, waiting to cross the street while trying not to make eye contact with more strange men staring at me from their cars (or shouting, or whistling . . . ), and then finally getting on the right bus and making it home over an hour later than I had expected to. Did I mention that all of that waiting was done in the hot, hot sun? I am not slightly sunburned.

It's different going to school without Jordan. I don't like being away from him all day, and usually by the time I get home he's heading off to work, so we only really see each other at night. And I'm working, too, mostly evenings; for instance, tomorrow I'll be gone from about ten in the morning to almost ten at night, because I'm going to work as soon as I get off of school in the afternoon. I enjoy school, but it's definitely an adjustment being married and in school. And it's been a tiring week.

Thoughts and a Birthday Dinner

I've been meaning to post for a while, so here we are.

Not a lot has happened in the last couple of weeks. I finally got my school schedule figured out (somewhat; still hoping to get into one more class), and now I keep swaying back and forth between looking forward to classes starting and feeling apprehensive about classes starting. I've been feeling rather lazy lately, and it seems I never have much motivation to be productive during the summer, even if "being productive" just means reading through a book, or writing consistently.

I'm also struggling with my own natural tendency toward messiness; neither Jordan nor I enjoy living in a cluttered home, but neither of us enjoy doing chores, either. I guess not many people enjoy chores, but that's beside the point. Right now my cleaning routine goes something like this: let the mess pile up (literally; who knew we had so many clothes?) until it's completely overwhelming, and then try to attack it all in one fell swoop, usually over the course of several hours. That system is kind of exhausting, and I'm tired of it. And it's not just my own annoyance that's getting me down; I don't like leaving the house a mess when I go to work, knowing that Jordan will come home to it. It hardly makes me feel like a selfless spouse when I don't clean up because I'm lazy or I just don't like chores.

If you hadn't noticed, I'm in a bit of a lame mood right now. I wanted to go work out before I leave for work in a half hour, but I had to make some phone calls for school and by the time I was done there wasn't enough time left for it to be worthwhile. I'm trying to lost weight, another task that's proving to be difficult and one that I sometimes just want to forget about. The thing is, I've checked; my weight right now isn't unhealthy. But, I could lose five or ten pounds and still be in the healthy weight range, and I'd feel much better about myself. I try to eat well, but I have horrible self-control. I'll often indulge in some ice cream or a candy bar if I have a sweet craving, even if my only excuse is that I've had a bad day, or that I'm in a bad mood. Not a very healthy attitude to have, and certainly not helpful if I want to lose weight.

On a happier note, Jordan took me out last night for a surprise early birthday dinner. I had spent the entire day in the apartment, and when he got home from work I was just itching to get out and do something. He told me to get dressed up and that we'd go out to dinner. I was sort of in the mood for steak, and around 8:40 we left to go to the Rancher's Club, a steakhouse restaurant in the Hilton hotel downtown. I'd never been there before, and when we walked in I realized that it was one of the fanciest restaurant's I'd ever been in. The lighting was low, the music was soft and jazzy, there were deer and buffalo heads mounted on the walls, and all the waiters wore tuxedos. Once we were seated, and after our hostess laid our napkins in our laps for us, Jordan confessed that he had told them it was my birthday. It was such a sweet, romantic gesture, and our dinner was wonderful. Our waiter came by every ten minutes to check on us, he cut our steaks off the bone right at our table, and I got a complimentary slice of triple-layer chocolate mousse cake for dessert.

In spite of my poor moods lately, my wanting to lose weight, my anxieties about school, I am very blessed to have such a wonderful husband. Jordan's been thinking about going back to school, and we talked at dinner about various paths for our future. It's daunting, and difficult at times, but I am comforted by the fact that the Lord has gifted me with Jordan as my life-mate, my helper, and that we will always be together no matter what, no matter where we move or go to school, no matter what kinds of jobs we get, as long as the Lord shall will.

Youtube

Ah, Youtube. The Internet peruser's number one stop for wise, insightful comments regarding the random video uploads of our day.

Take this sage, for example, on Mischa Maisky's rendition of Bach's Cello Suite No. 6 i-Prelude:

"how can you possibly insult either yoyo ma, rostropovich or mischa. I get that some people prefer one's version more but how can you deny the fucking awesomeness of 3 awesome different versions of the most epic shit ever"

Well, torment7777, I, for one, am not denying the fucking awesomeness. You've won me over; clearly, you are the intellectual superior.

Short Term Goals

Most days at work are pretty slow. Sometimes hours will go by with only two, three, or maybe no customers coming in. I've been brining Chesterton's "Orthodoxy" with me to read in the slow hours (and to try and fulfill my goal of actually finishing it, an endeavor I began last December), but today I'm pretty tired and don't feel like I have the mental energy to process that kind of work.

Earlier, as I was sitting at the computer, clicking mindlessly through xkcd comics, checking the clock every four minutes, my mind wandered to a posting on Facebook I saw the other day. My friend had posted a bunch of photos he had taken on a Walgreens disposable camera; most of them turned out pretty cool, and I find the slightly fuzzy, colors slightly off, scanned-in effect endearing and possessing a new freshness in this age of digital photography. I began to think, wouldn't it be fun to do that myself? To carry around a dispoable point-and-shoot and take photos of interesting things throughout my day? What if I turned it into a project? Every week would have a different theme of kinds of photos, for example.

Then I thought, hey, I have that really nice copy of National Geographic's Field Guide to Photography that Jordan's mom gave me a couple of years ago. I've flipped through it, but I've barely scratched the surface when it comes to technical understanding of digital SLRs. I can take a decent photo with my Nikon D40, but how often do I stray from auto, or the very basic knowledge I have of manipulating the manual settings? I realized that my Field Guide would be the perfect book to bring to work, to look through during slow times and increase my photography knowledge.

With all of these thoughts swimming around in my head, I came up with this idea: I want to be a better photographer, I have an awesome camera and an awesome photogrpahy guide; why not turn that into a project?

So here it is: Beginning next week and going through, December maybe? - ending with the fall semester seems doable, and gives me a solid timeline that I'm accustomed to - I'll pick a theme for the week (red things, trash, architecture, and darkness are among the ideas I've jotted down so far) and, using skills learned from my photography guide, I'll take at least one picture every day within that theme. I have to look at my guide again, but maybe I can divide it up by chapter or theme as well; f-stops, or shutter speed, or utilizing flash, etc.

I think this is doable. Short term goals are good for you, right? And this way, I'll have specific weekly goals to help me work through my guide and enhance my photography skills, instead of just flipping the pages aimlessly and taking ten photographs of my couch, or other random objects. It will (I hope) help me get to know my camera while training me to see interesting, beautiful, captivating things within my daily life.

I think I'll post weekly photos, just to make it even more fun! At least one a week, or more, if I happen to have multiple favorites. I'm excited!

I'm feeling pretty lame right now. The day has been pretty normal, nothing bad has happened. It's just one of those days where my thoughts start to snowball until I feel overwhelmed, and bummed.

My parents and little sister are moving to Idaho next week. My older sister is going back to California, and school will be starting soon. I'm not really looking forward to school starting. I hate the countdown of the final days of summer, knowing I only have so much time left with family and friends before everyone either moves away or becomes insanely busy.

I guess it's normal to just want to sit around and enjoy the summer days with my new husband, but I've been beginning to feel like I haven't been very productive since . . . well, since we got back from our honeymoon. Granted, settling into the new place is a process that still isn't finished, but there are so many little things I've been putting off, like mailing thank-you cards or setting up times to hang out with my friends who are among those leaving the state early next month.

It makes me wonder if I truly spend my time well, when every time a big change comes along, I'm always dwelling on what-ifs and wishes that there was more time to spend.

Work Thoughts

One thing that kind of bites about working retail is the late nights. When I worked at Hobby Lobby, a closing shift would usually be from 2:00 to 8:00. Six hours isn't an abnormally long shift, but it's a long time to be on your feet. At my new job, a gift shop, we don't close until 9:00, so if I'm on the closing shift I'm usually not driving home until close to 9:30.

All sorts of people come into the shop. Well, they're all tourists, or nearby merchants looking for a discounted soda, or, once in a while, someone looking to sell their products to the store. What I mean is, there are a lot of different types of customers:

The friendly, jovial type. They'll chat you up about the weather or what song is on the radio, and they usually buy something.

The opposite of those above: people who don't acknowledge you when you greet them, who may not even look you in the eye as they silently skulk around the shop. Maybe they'll buy something, but it won't be much.

Then there's the customer with a clear purpose. They know what they want, and they're not going to waste time browing. I had one man come in who, before I could even say "Hello", said to me, determinedly, "Pins that you put in baseball caps." He skipped the normal social graces of a greeting or a smile; he didn't even phrase his desire in the form of a question, that's how important it was. It was a simple, direct statement, and when we didn't have what he wanted, he left to seek elsewhere.

Some tourists are so, well, touristy. They don't want to spend money on anything that's not made in New Mexico. We carry small stone trinkets that are made in Peru; a little girl told her mother she liked them, but when mom noticed the "Made in Peru" sticker, she said, "Oh, put that back, we want something from here."

Of course, customers come in all shapes and sizes. Girls my age chatting about wedding plans and who seemed to pretend that I didn't exist once they got to the register. They wanted to talk to each other, buy their things, and leave, without making small talk, or much eye contact, with me. Excited kids, bored kids, kindly middle-aged couples, or angry parents, perhaps exhausted by walking in the heat. A mother asked her daughter to pick out a gift for someone; a friend or cousin, perhaps. The daughter responded in a murmur I couldn't hear, and the mother bent down and nearly shouted in her face, "I don't care!" I resolved on the spot to never shout in the faces of my children, unless it is truly for their benefit.

I'm working today for nine hours, and again tomorrow, which will make two Fridays in a row that I've closed. I'm hoping that Friday night closing shifts won't be a consistent trend.

Flash Fiction Experiment

The man does not say anything.

The woman gets up off of the sofa, walks into the kitchen, pours herself a glass of water, and drinks it silently in the dim bluish light of the television screen. The man looks at his hands. The woman sighs and turns to put her empty glass in the sink.

"You want anything, then?"

"Nope."

The woman walks into the bedroom and quietly closes the door. The man walks to the bookshelf, picks up a book, considers it for a moment, replaces it, and returns to the sofa. In the dim bluish light of the television screen, he reaches for a half-empty can of soda that sits on the coffee table and finishes it in two or three gulps.

***

Not really sure what this is. I've been wanting to write some "flash fiction" ever since I was exposed to Amelia Gray's "AM/PM" a few months ago. I've also been wanting to see if and how characters develop when writing takes on a distant and observational tone, relaying actions and words without adding any kind of meaning to them that an omniscient narrator or first-person perspective allows. I kind of like this minimalistic form. We'll see what comes of it.

Career Choices

We all know how it goes.

There you are, standing at a crossroads, facing a choice: the non-practical one that you love, or the practical one that you can make money with?

I feel like I should say here that this is not necessary a right vs. wrong, or good vs. bad decision. Maybe I'm saying that mostly for myself, because it usually takes me so long just to sort out what I really want that it's sometimes hard for me to sacrifice even little things that I care about for the sake of the more practical path.

Here's an example. My first year and a half of college was spent in often gut-wrenching indecision. I didn't know what to major in, and I felt that the rest of my life and happiness rested on that one decision. Not to mention the fact that it made registering for classes a very stressful experience. So I took an acting class, and I took some music classes, and I knocked out a couple of gen-eds, but by the end of my first year I still felt like I had gone nowhere. Of course, that's not entirely true; I've learned that growth happens whether you realize it or not, but the question still remained, what was I going to do?

Third semester my interest in writing and radio really caught on fire. It started as a paper project, where for paper credit I produced and edited a short podcast about my experience being in a play. It was a blast, and I was very proud of the result, even though it's all quite amateur. I started thinking about journalism, and how much I love radio shows like This American Life, and I learned about a field of study and literature that I had never even heard of before: Literary Non-Fiction, or Creative Non-Fiction.

"Any or all forms of the essay may be enlivened and made more meaningful through attention to imagery, voice, character, setting and scene - the elements of imaginative writing. Such essays may be called literary non-fiction or creative non-fiction, terms to describe the kinds of essays that include the personal but don't necessarily stay there, that include the factual but search for the greater range and resonance."

That's from my great writing book, which I recommend to anybody interested in being a better and more thoughtful writer (or reader, or person in general); it's called "Imaginative Writing: The Elements of Craft" by Janet Burroway. I used the 2nd edition, even though it's not the most recent, mostly because that's the one my creative writing instructor made us buy.

I love creative non-fiction because it's informative, and it has credence because it's about real people and real events (like the news), but it's not boring (in that way, unlike the news). I think Janet Burroway says it well, as she always does:

"In a first-person essay . . . you would have 'distance' [on your topic], a perspective that embraces not just the immediate event but its place in a human, social, historical, even cosmic context. Because creative non-fiction has this deeper (or wider, or more universal, or significant) subject, it won't necessarily date in the manner of yesterday's newspaper."

Okay, enough examples of why I love creative non-fiction. The point is, last fall I finally had somewhat of a grasp on what I wanted to do. I wanted to write! I wanted to learn how to be an imaginative, creative non-fiction writer, and I wanted to (maybe) work in radio someday, maybe for a show like This American Life, brining thoughtful, insightful, funny, real stories to my audience. And I decided to choose my major: English, with an emphasis in creative writing.

And now, I'm considering changing it. Probably not drastically, but I may switch to the more practical technical/professional writing emphasis, and take creative writing classes as electives.

When I first started thinking about this, it upset me. Finally, I had found something in college that I wanted to study, and now I was facing the possibility of letting that go. But the more I thought about it and looked into it, the more reasonable it started to seem. The classes sound interesting, and practicality can't be ignored entirely. Jordan and I are on a tight budget right now, and when he goes to grad school I'll be the one working more and making most of the money (which is what he's doing now while I finish my undergrad). We want to have children someday, and those children are going to need a good home, good schools, and college funds. Maybe that's looking too far ahead; maybe not. There is a future that we want, and there are certain pragmatic steps to be taken in order to prepare for it.

It's a constant struggle, it seems, the practical vs. the . . . I'm not really sure what to call it. Non-practical? Purely enjoyable? Hobby-ish? I believe there is value to things like music and art and creative writing, and I know other people do, too; if not, those kinds of things wouldn't be out there, it wouldn't even be an option. But as my World Literature professor once said, we may say we value certain things very highly, but our actions say otherwise (i.e. who doesn't value education? Yet how much do we pay teachers for their efforts?)

We'll see how it all turns out. Another thing I'm learning is that a lot of things turn out differently than you expect, or even plan, them to. But that's not necessarily a bad thing.

Yesterday was the busiest day I've/we've had in a while.

We got up, had some breakfast, and then I went through all of our cards from the wedding and organized the money, checks and gift cards people had sent to us. And then, it was errand time.

First we went to get me new tires for my car. Somehow my old tires had been messed up by tar; not sure if it's just because I've had them for three years, or if I accidentally drove on the not-yet-dry pavement when they were re-paving the apartment complex. It wasn't my fault - they usually had it blocked off by cones or caution tape, but for some reason it had been taken down, or maybe knocked down by another carless driver.

Next we stopped by my old work, Hobby Lobby, and I got a W2 request form. Apparently I never got one, or it never got logged, last year, and I need one for taxes and records.

Then we went to Target. We returned a few duplicates from our registry (still don't know how that happened; that's what a registry's for, right?) and then picked up a few things we need: a mixer, some wine glasses to replace a gift that got broken (also not our fault - Jordan was hand-washing a glass and suddenly it cracked down the side.), and some proper bedding. That last part turned into a bit of a trial. We browsed around the bedding aisles, and I had to call my mom to discern exactly what a "coverlet" is. We got one that we thought we liked, and then when I noticed it was part polyester I got worried that it would be too hot. Jordan found some basic cotton blankets, but they didn't have a very good color selection. We were both getting frustrated, so I took the one we had originally picked out and we headed for the register. Then the woman at the register tells us that "coverlets" are mainly decorative, but I told Jordan to get them anyway because I thought it would be OK.

We headed back to Hobby Lobby to get a specific kind of storage jar Jordan has been wanting to keep his pipe tobacco in, and on the way we talked it over and decided that the "coverlet" wasn't really what we wanted. So, after Hobby Lobby, we went back to Target and found my sister-in-law Nicole, whom we had seen going in as we were leaving. Nicole saved the day; she helped us pick out a nice quilt and gave us great suggestions on color, decorating, and type of pillowcase (go for the cheaper ones, like a jersey, unless you're really concerned about thread count). We left Target a second time feeling much, much better.

On the way home we stopped at the grocery store, and when we got home there was just enough time to put away everything and then Jordan had to run to work. Half an hour after he left, I left for UNM to go to a meeting for an all student-run radio program called Lobo Growl that's getting started. Jon told me about it last week, I emailed the guy in charge, and this was the second official meeting for the program.

There weren't that many people there, and I was the only girl; the student whose putting it all together is actually a PhD student, I think I was one of four undergrads, and then there was one law student/writing instructor as well as one of the managers from the local public radio station, whom we're partnering with to get this off the ground.

I am really excited about this program. I emailed KUNM, the local public radio station, earlier this week to ask about volunteering and internship opportunities, but Lobo Growl seems like exactly what I've been looking for. I may want to do some training with KUNM on the side, if that's possible, while everything's still getting started, but through this program it looks like I'll get experience not only in administrative duties, but also in the technical aspects of radio production and developing an artistic aesthetic. One of our first projects is to answer questions like, what will Lobo Growl offer that no other radio station does? Do we have a particular "sound"? What will our logo look like? What kind of music will we play, and what will our sources of content be?

We have a week to brainstorm, and we're meeting again a week from today.

After that, I went back home to start dinner. Jordan's friend and best man Trevor came over, and we had spaghetti and key lime pie and watched SNL's "The Best of Will Ferrell."

It was a very full day, and very rewarding. As I was reflecting on the day yesterday evening, I thought about how much I cherish these times with Jordan, early in our marriage, when we have entire days to spend together, even if it's just running errands. Doing things with him, my husband, makes menial things into meaningful things, and I am thankful for these special times.

I'm so tired of boxes and bags!

Last night, Jordan and I made another trip over to my parents' house to get some more of my stuff. I think this time I really do have almost all of it, at least the things that were in my room. The place is looking pretty good, but we really can't start decorating and playing designer much until I get the rest of my things put away. At this point, it's mostly clothes, which isn't too bad. I've got a big box of old mail and bank statements and papers from high school that I'm not sure what to do with.

Our two beautiful bookshelves (courtesy of our priest, Father Paul and family) are looking pleasantly full of books, although a couple of the shelves need some slight repair.

Later today I have a promising job interview lined up. I'm beginning to get a little stir crazy just hanging around the apartment all day, plus we'd like to have more money. Wish me luck!

Operation Move-In has commenced!

Well, we're already sort of moved in. And by that I mean, we're living in our new place, but a lot of my stuff is still awaiting either organization or storage at my parents' house, and our living room is still full of half-empty boxes of gifts that we haven't known what to do with yet. Today, Jordan and I stopped by Lowe's and got some dry wall anchors so we can start hanging stuff up and making this place look a little more put-together. Right now, he and his brother have gone to his grandparents' house to get a drill, which we didn't think we'd need since the anchors are labeled "self-drilling", but apparently we do.

I really like our little apartment. It's just the right size, we have a nice view off of our porch, and there's even a fireplace, something rare to find in a downstairs apartment. At first we were really excited about that fireplace, but it's actually turned into a bit of a hassle. Because of where the TV and router plug in, it's most convenient to have the TV in a particular spot - on the opposite side of the room as the fireplace - which basically means that we can either arrange the furniture to highlight the television, or the fireplace. Jordan's parents very generously gave us a couch and matching love seat because they bought new furniture not too long ago, but we haven't yet found a way to arrange them so that the TV and fireplace can be equally enjoyed. Right now, the love seat is blocking the fireplace, which actually kind of works for the room. At the half-joking suggestion of my eldest brother, we may change things around a couple of times a year and have a winter and summer arrangement; in the summer, the fireplace will just stay out of view, and in the winter we'll move things so that we can enjoy its warmth.

In other news, I've resolved to compile a summer reading list to stave off the summer-brain-melt syndrome. I hope I can stick to it this time; it seems every summer vacation I decide I'm going to get so much reading done with my extra free time, but it never happens. The temptation of complete laziness is overwhelming sometimes, but with planning the wedding this last semester, I couldn't focus on school as much as I normally do, and I miss mental activity. I've asked Jordan to suggest some good philosophy reads, and I want to re-read some of my books. So far on the list are Athanasius' "On the Incarnation", maybe Gregory of Nazianzus (all of those heretic-fighters), and a book about the Orthodox church of which I can't remember the name. I'm playing with the idea of going through "The Lord of the Rings" again, but I'm not sure if I'm up to it just yet.

Things I'm Thankful For

Those memories that make you ache somewhere between your heart and your stomach, because they make you happy and sad at the same time. Those long talks that start out unplanned, and span the emotional arc from crying to laughing to calm contentment. Those friends who are worth missing. Those friends who you take for granted because they're too close to miss. Those friends who can be gone for months at a time, and then join you for lunch as if they never left. Those friends who've seen you at your worst, and still want to help you be your best. Those late nights that breed fellowship and choose to forget early mornings. A life that's worth reminiscing about. A life that's worth looking forward to.

Into thy hands, O Lord, we commend the soul of they servant, James Burroughs (Papa), and beseech thee to grant him rest in the place of thy rest, where all thy blessed Saints repose, and where the light of thy countenance shineth forever. And we beseech thee also to grant our present lives may be godly, sober and blameless, that we too may be made worthy to enter into thy heavenly Kingdom with those we love but see no longer: for thou art the Resurrection, and the Life, and the Repose of thy departed servants, O Christ our God, and unto thee we ascribe glory: to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit, now and ever, and unto ages of ages. Amen.

***

I've been journaling, but I don't have time to post a lot right now. More, when we come home.

I hate not writing for so long, so here I am. I'm in Zimmerman Library (the main library at the University of New Mexico), and I have a stack of six books about Oscar Wilde on the desk waiting for me. In the next couple of hours I'll be - I hope - finishing up a paper for my English Lit class that's due tomorrow.

I'm writing about the significance of fractured identities in Wilde's famous "The Importance of Being Earnest." If it turns out to be any good, maybe I'll even post part of it. Lately I've found myself wanting to "publish" bits of my schoolwork that I'm particularly proud of.

I thought about writing on Stevenson's "Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde" for this topic, but I chose the play because I've never thought of it as anything more than a ridiculous, witty comedy. But, thanks to my English Lit class, I see it in a new light: a biting commentary on Victorian society and ideals, a practical mockery of traditional forms of theatre and character, as well as traditional ideas about romance. Well, I'm not sure about that last part. In my paper, I'm more arguing that Wilde is not saying that love and marriage in Victorian society is shallow and foolish; my thesis is, roughly, that Wilde respects love, marriage and commitment, but the strict standards of Victorian society stifle and hinder his character's achievement of them.

We'll see how it turns out.

In terms of publishable work, I got a pleasant surprise in the form of my graded short fiction story that I turned in for my creative writing class. My professor LOVED it; I got a 100%, and I'm not even sure if it's entirely possible for anyone to get a 100% on a paper, especially a piece of creative writing, but it's nonetheless flattering. Aside from some minor suggestions of paragraph placement, sentence editing and perhaps one or two paragraphs added in to expand on some ideas, my professor thought it was great. He told me I should submit it to be published when I'm done revising it, and that he can help me do so.

The shocking thing about all of this is that I felt like my short story was crap. Well, not complete crap, but I certainly wasn't intensely proud of it. It was really challenging to write; I feel that poetry comes much more naturally to me. But that's the funny thing I'm learning about being an artist, of any form; you never know how your work is going to be received, which is a good and a bad thing. I may hate a piece, but my professor turns around and adores it. On the flip side, though, that leaves the possibility for me to love a work of mine, and others to think it's not that great.

It's so tricky with writing. There's definitely a line between good writing and bad writing; if something's bad, you know it's bad. But on each side of that line, there's a very large gray area in which it's hard to say, especially, I find, when I'm critiquing my own writing.

And, of course, what constitutes "good" writing has changed throughout the centuries, as well as with different cultures. For example, when the Enlightenment swept through Europe in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, good writing was concise, rational, an adequate representation of life and society and, above all, a criticism of the foolish. Think Alexander Pope, Moliere, and, of course, Descartes, who famously split the mind from the body.

Then along come Blake, Wordsworth, Byron, Shelley, Keats, and the rest of the Romantics, and they turn the focus to the emotions, to nature, to spirituality, and that's the stuff that makes good writing.

So the fact that my creative writing professor loved my short story is both encouraging and discouraging. Well, it gives me pause, at least. Maybe it's just because I'm new at this, and I'm still developing myself as a writer, but I'm not sure what to make of the fact that art is so subjective in one sense, and yet in another sense it's entirely objective. Like I said, there is good art, and there is bad; it's trying to find the distinction that's the challenge.

There's so much I want to write about. My grandfather; my trip to Biola; marriage; writing. But I just don't have the time.

I have another ninety-four pages of "Mrs. Dalloway" to read, a five-page short story to revise, and revise, and try to twist into something halfway okay, and a five to seven page English paper that I haven't started, due in six days.

We've hit that point. That part in the semester where nobody really has a lot of energy anymore, nobody really cares that much about school anymore, and every assignment seems like just a little more than we can handle on any kind of normal sleep schedule.

By this time next week, I'll have time to write and blog and think about life again. But right now, I have no choice but to compartmentalize. I can't think about flowers for the wedding; I just have to get this work done.

The Challenge

So often when I write, especially on my blogs, everything is "me, me, me". It's kind of hard for it not to be that way. Earlier I was writing in my creative writing journal, and I noticed how many times I use the word "I" or "me"; "I thought," "I said," "as I was doing this," etc., etc. Man, if I was someone else reading my journal, I'd probably get bored. After all, my day-to-day life isn't that fascinating.

For this challenge, I'm going to write exclusively in the third person for one week. This challenge applies to my blog only (though obviously not to this entry), excluding "Wedding Thoughts" (how would that work?).

I'm just tired of only thinking in one way, of only looking at the world and other people through my narrow lens. We'll see what happens.

The Saints of April

Today's featured poem on "The Writer's Almanac."

I think it's beautiful.

The Saints of April

by Todd Davis

Coltsfoot gives way to dandelion,
plum to apple blossom. Cherry fills
our woods, white petals melting
like the last late snow. Dogwood's
stigmata shine with the blood
of this season. How holy
forsythia and redbud are
as they consume their own
flowers, green leaves running
down their crowns. Here is
the shapeliness of bodies
newly formed, the rich cloth
that covers frail bones and hides
roots that hold fervently
to this dark earth.

Diabetes Repair, I guess

Well, it finally happened.

As I'm sitting at my desk last night, getting ready to settle into working on a World Lit paper that's due tomorrow, I look down at my Macbook and notice a half-circle crack one on corner of it's white surface. The crack branches out and snakes its way almost all the way across the bottom of edge of my laptop, leaving a loose piece on one end that I can wobble easily.

I say "finally" because I have on a number of occasions dropped my backpack while my laptop was inside, or it's slid off of the seat and landed on the floor of my car with a thud while I was driving. Yesterday morning, as I was getting ready to go to my first class, I slung my backpack off of my shoulder and intended to set it gently on the tile floor. It slid out of my hand half-way there, though, and hit the floor, making me wince because I knew my laptop was inside. That impact must have done it, because I hadn't noticed these cracks before last night.

My mom isn't sure if my laptop is still covered under warranty. The only thing to do is take it into the Apple Store and see what can be done.

Sorry, little Mac.

So, you know how I said I didn't think it was a good idea to change the focus of my non-fiction essay the day before it's due?

Well.

I did. I sat in the coffee shop across the street from campus for over two hours, just writing. I knew when I walked in the door that I wasn't happy with my rough draft, and I knew I had to change it. Ten pages later, it still needs some polishing, but I'm much more satisfied with the general product. Let's hope my professor thinks the same.

Speaking of writing - my English lit professor just sent out an email announcing the topics for our next paper. Our last paper was due before spring break, and with this essay due tomorrow and another course paper for my World lit class due on Friday, I'm definitely getting burnt out with writing and staring at computer screens. I guess that's what I signed up for when I chose an English major, but in my first year and a half of college I never wrote more than one paper per semester.

I need another spring break. But someone said the other day that there's only seven weeks left in the term (which is crazy), so maybe there's hope.

I feel really lame for not settling in to do homework until now. Once the sun goes down, I have less motivation to do work, and I the pressure to get it done within a reasonable amount of time is higher. But today is Monday, and on Mondays, I have class from 9:00 AM to 5:30 PM. Not back-to-back, but four classes with less than an hour break between any of them. It's exhausting, so by the time I get home a little after 6:00, I can't bring myself to do homework until I crash for a while.

Today, I turned in the rough draft of my creative non-fiction essay for my creative writing class. I really didn't feel very confident about it. I started out with one idea, and by the time I finished the draft last night I had totally changed directions. In hindsight, I'm not sure if it was the best idea. But the final draft is due Wednesday, and I don't have the energy to start from scratch, or to completely re-do the work I've done so far; also, I think it's just good practice to get in the habit of following through with my writing projects, even if I don't end up liking them very much.

I was up until 2:00 this morning finishing it. I called Jordan right before I went to sleep, because he was still up writing a paper, too.

"Jordan," I said, "I'm already getting burnt out from writing. I feel like this shouldn't be this hard, and it makes me feel like a bad writer."

"That's just because you don't have a lot of practice at it yet." Jordan often jokes that I lack an "inner logician", that voice inside my head that supplies me with logic and common sense. So, I've decided that Jordan is my logician. And I knew he was right. But I jokingly replied,

"I give up. I'm going to switch my major to art." Of course, I'm already so behind on my major as it is that switching is not an option. I'm going to be in school forever!