Can't sleep, flight tomorrow, and strange emotions have come over me. I thought that I was feeling down because I really do miss my hometown, my family and friends. But I think what is keeping me up this morning is that I've been thinking about, again, my "new" life -- the new environment and change of of pace.
Now that I have a bit of time to reflect I have come to feel that for the most part the MA program may be the right place at the right time -- it's smaller, not too competitive; but now I wonder about this program at Urban U. It's not that I'm unhappy, isolated, and whatnot, but I'm feeling kind of dull, maybe mechanical and just blah.
I didn't think I would say/admit my second thoughts when I was on such a high about classes. It's only been, what, 3 days since my last class, and I think -- how long is my break? -- 6 weeks might be psychologicaly painful to bear. So the self doubt is creeping in slowly: my State U may not the best program for me. I know in previous posts I was raving mad about feeling right at this point in my life and not having doubts about my decision to not enter a Ph.D program, but now I am feeling kind of weepy. Though arguably my State U would probably is a "cool" campus/college town if I were to pick a State U in my State.
But now I said it -- what would I do with this obviously evil thought when I resume classes? What am I saying, really saying though? Quitting is out of the question because I want to continue, but how does one deal with not being at the top choice? I think about Washington U occasionally, and speculate what my life would be like if I had chosen a different program, new faculty. So maybe now I'm angered at myself for not risking enough for the things that could change my outlook on academia. Now this is because I have, more or less, chosen to live my life comfortably, even carefree. Is that so bothersome to me? Certainly there will always be more competetive, ambitious (and smarter) students.
Has this suddenly come over me because I read possibly the most melancholy and painful Joyce short story -- "Eveline" ? No, it's probably not just the story, but just tracing all my decisions. I am too cautious to risk full happiness, I guess. Is it foolish to talk this way? I am blogging in circles--Risks.
I even thought that perhaps I just read to fill the that would send me spiraling downwards into the root of what's really bugging me. It's a sickining feeling, but ah, you love to read and learn -- that's way you are here. So it's the pressure of where i go from after a year. Don't despair -- you just have to dive in and see what happens. That's right, even if you think you aren't good enough for hotshot school. It's funny how books take up a certain amount of time that I can be so completely oblivious, which is always frightening. And because I take public trans I literally just think of getting to point A to point B and feel so rushed.
Sometime I make hasty decisions. Maybe once I start reading I won't feel so down and out. Maybe I just need to collapse when I visit my folks and lock myself in my room and get some real reading and thesis searching.
"I love this one everything but the girl song called "before today" :
I don't want excuses. I don't want your smiles.
I don't want to feel like we're apart a thousand miles.
I don't want your attitude. I don't want your face.
I don't want a phone that never rings. I want your love
and I want it now ..."
Is that it?
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
theory class reflection
What We Talk About When We Talk About Interpreting[1]: Creating an Academic Identity
This semester I found myself attracted to “queer” theory, perhaps because through Butler I also get my dose of deconstruction and post-structuralism without getting lost in Derrida’s jargon. I like that I can trace other theorists influencing each other and see how academics utilize, say, deconstruction, in ways that are more productive. Although ambiguous, elusive works of literature and film intrigue me, I am also troubled by what it means when an author ends a story abruptly, only to leave a reader with no answers. I am, however, acutely aware of the pleasure I get from equivocal works—a criteria for me, I now know, because I often believed it was merely “fun” to be baffled by something that I was never going to pin down, something that will always be in the back burner but never removed.[2]
For instance, I watched a few David Lynch films in high school, which—though cool—had also fallen flat in lots of ways. So these days the idea is that I can revisit the films and find ways to piece things together, but also complicate it even more (always frustrating). It is what I value, which brings me back to the static endings: I like to think and feel that I am piecing things together, doing, moving towards something—this, I think, is where Derrida’s euphoric “play” will end for me. Of course, this is not to say that I think authors should pick a side and resolve endings, but I (a reader) want to resolve the end and come up with my own conclusions if I think there is a reason to pick a side. However, for the moment, I find myself on a real binary kick, and I could probably spend more time trying to destabilize categories. This is also one reason why I thought Butler’s anxiety under a “lesbian” sign interesting. Another discovery in the process of making critical moves is that I can’t escape psychoanalysis if I really want to pursue more queer studies, so the project is to read more dead men and see if I can piece things together. Ambiguous works thus provide me with something to chew on.
The warrant for all of this is that there is, in fact, a real cultural significance/value in works of literature that allow some leeway for multiple interpretations, because it affects readers and writers. I value this because there is something transformative embedded in works that seek to destabilize categories, as with Michael Chabon’s novel. It matters because a project that seeks to think about naming, citing, categorizing makes one think about one’s own position and response—see? I am back, more or less, to Freud's Psychopathic Characters on Stage, which brings to conscious (too see the conflict via reading) my own opinions and asks me to look back at myself (the mirror! OMG), and what I will become in pursuing what I value.
The process of writing (and coming up with ideas—thinking block), however, is still a struggle. I work with pieces of quotes that I find interesting, but making connections between ideas and pushing those ideas further, as well as pacing and breaking this task into smaller, doable chunks is a difficulty—an on-going project that will be manageable through time and more experience, I hope. Really.
update: 12/15/05 -- 2:41 am
This semester I found myself attracted to “queer” theory, perhaps because through Butler I also get my dose of deconstruction and post-structuralism without getting lost in Derrida’s jargon. I like that I can trace other theorists influencing each other and see how academics utilize, say, deconstruction, in ways that are more productive. Although ambiguous, elusive works of literature and film intrigue me, I am also troubled by what it means when an author ends a story abruptly, only to leave a reader with no answers. I am, however, acutely aware of the pleasure I get from equivocal works—a criteria for me, I now know, because I often believed it was merely “fun” to be baffled by something that I was never going to pin down, something that will always be in the back burner but never removed.[2]
For instance, I watched a few David Lynch films in high school, which—though cool—had also fallen flat in lots of ways. So these days the idea is that I can revisit the films and find ways to piece things together, but also complicate it even more (always frustrating). It is what I value, which brings me back to the static endings: I like to think and feel that I am piecing things together, doing, moving towards something—this, I think, is where Derrida’s euphoric “play” will end for me. Of course, this is not to say that I think authors should pick a side and resolve endings, but I (a reader) want to resolve the end and come up with my own conclusions if I think there is a reason to pick a side. However, for the moment, I find myself on a real binary kick, and I could probably spend more time trying to destabilize categories. This is also one reason why I thought Butler’s anxiety under a “lesbian” sign interesting. Another discovery in the process of making critical moves is that I can’t escape psychoanalysis if I really want to pursue more queer studies, so the project is to read more dead men and see if I can piece things together. Ambiguous works thus provide me with something to chew on.
The warrant for all of this is that there is, in fact, a real cultural significance/value in works of literature that allow some leeway for multiple interpretations, because it affects readers and writers. I value this because there is something transformative embedded in works that seek to destabilize categories, as with Michael Chabon’s novel. It matters because a project that seeks to think about naming, citing, categorizing makes one think about one’s own position and response—see? I am back, more or less, to Freud's Psychopathic Characters on Stage, which brings to conscious (too see the conflict via reading) my own opinions and asks me to look back at myself (the mirror! OMG), and what I will become in pursuing what I value.
The process of writing (and coming up with ideas—thinking block), however, is still a struggle. I work with pieces of quotes that I find interesting, but making connections between ideas and pushing those ideas further, as well as pacing and breaking this task into smaller, doable chunks is a difficulty—an on-going project that will be manageable through time and more experience, I hope. Really.
update: 12/15/05 -- 2:41 am
And while I think that I am engaged and excited in psychoanalytic and “queer” approaches, I feel rather limited in lots of ways, if this kind of study is an extension of my own identity, which I guess comes with becoming an expert in an area. I do find it (at this stage, at least) rather bothersome, and feel I could be filling gaps in literature and waiting for epiphanies of some sort.
[1] I borrow part of my title from Raymond Carver’s What We Talk About When We Talk About Love.
[2] I got the soup(of ideas) on low fire metaphor— always warm, even if other projects are in the way the ideas continue to percolate and never leave one’s head, or something to that effect—probably from a book about writing a dissertation (can’t remember) or maybe an academic’s blog.
Totally Crushed
In haste -- posting a few lines from James Joyce's "The Encounter"
1. The sun went in behind some clouds and left us to our jaded thoughts and the crumbs of our provisions.
2. He said that my friend was a very rough boy and asked did he get whipped often at school [....] A slap on the hand or a box on the ear was not good: what he wanted was to get a nice warm whipping. I was surprised at this sentiment and involuntarily glanced up at his face. As I did so I met the gaze of a pair of bottle-green eyes peering at me [....] I turned my eyes again.
3. He described to me how he would whip such a boy as if he were unfolding some elaborate mystery [...] and his voice, as he led me monotonously through the mystery, grew almost affectionate and seemed to plead with me that I should understand him.
sigh. I can wallow in Joyce.
1. The sun went in behind some clouds and left us to our jaded thoughts and the crumbs of our provisions.
2. He said that my friend was a very rough boy and asked did he get whipped often at school [....] A slap on the hand or a box on the ear was not good: what he wanted was to get a nice warm whipping. I was surprised at this sentiment and involuntarily glanced up at his face. As I did so I met the gaze of a pair of bottle-green eyes peering at me [....] I turned my eyes again.
3. He described to me how he would whip such a boy as if he were unfolding some elaborate mystery [...] and his voice, as he led me monotonously through the mystery, grew almost affectionate and seemed to plead with me that I should understand him.
sigh. I can wallow in Joyce.
Thursday, December 08, 2005
almost out
I am so looking forward to collapsing this weekend -- just one more paper, one mock-conference presentation, and a 2-page reflection paper. After I recover I can do a bit more reflecting -- did a bit today when I wrote awesome comments for Dr. Ivy League's course evaluation.
Otherwise, I am currently sleepless, under nourished, aching in so many places, and daily caffeine intake that loses its effect to quickly. Must focus -- I will stay up one more hour -- and write as much as i can, then bed by 4 am. Getup at 10 am, i hope, which should give me enough time to get ready and have 5 hours of writing, i hope. But let's not forget to eat here.
Can skip the last day of Fem class? It's not like we have a final tomorrow, but might leave a bad last impression on Prof. fuggidy fug.
Otherwise, I am currently sleepless, under nourished, aching in so many places, and daily caffeine intake that loses its effect to quickly. Must focus -- I will stay up one more hour -- and write as much as i can, then bed by 4 am. Getup at 10 am, i hope, which should give me enough time to get ready and have 5 hours of writing, i hope. But let's not forget to eat here.
Can skip the last day of Fem class? It's not like we have a final tomorrow, but might leave a bad last impression on Prof. fuggidy fug.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
things are a clickin'
James Joyce class was strangely exciting tonight, what, with only two students in Prof's office. We read"The Sisters" and the "Encounter" -- interesting to read him this time around, much more melancholy (sinful!) than I remembered. As usual, prof/psychoanalyst (aka Dr. Joyce) would use some clinical examples about his own patients, noticing small details like the way one patient walked into his office, or how this one Prof was upset about not getting his Grey Poupon (sp?) instead of regular mustard and how that Prof related "Grey" to his black and white existence -- his crummy dept., and loveless life, among other things. And I guess what kept circling around my mind was that nothing is purely random, which I find so bothersome but uncertain why, exactly. I guess I have a strange faith in random things occuring to me. I hold on to a faith that I'll stumble into something that will bring me joy -- but does that really happen without my own effort, I wonder.
Did I say how Dr. Joyce said dreams aren't random? Uh, okay, let me just say that yes, I know how totally naive I sound, but hey, it's not like I ever had massive doses of Freudian classes in college; it's just that I am becoming increasingly self-conscious about what I say, what I do, what I write about, what my body language says -- how everybody else translates my public persona. Self-conscious mixed with anxiety of some sort.
To top it off, I had my second (almost) death dream: 1) I died in school -- die (whoa, I just typed "die" when I meant to write "did" I blog about death dream 1?)
2) this week the dream was: I am flying home and suddenly I am writing a mass email announcing my impending death, that is, that the plane is going to crash b/c of a wing malfunction. So in my email I joke around and apologize for writing frantically when it's quite possible that I might actually live the crash, but then I write that I might hit the ocean and freeze, and then I insert some dumb movie about sharks eating me alive (I forget the title of the flick, but had a couple scuba diving in the bahamas). Then I start acknowledging loved ones and friends and -- get this -- then I say, oh by the way, you can check out my blog (with jazz hands flapping in the air). Ah. So okay, I'm totally bonkers.
I wanted to transcribe a section of "the Encounter" that I really enjoyed but my book is hiding.
Time's up anyway. I'm bloggin' when I should be writin' my paper!!! Hard to face it when I just don't feel like sitting here and doing some more work. Crap.
Did I say how Dr. Joyce said dreams aren't random? Uh, okay, let me just say that yes, I know how totally naive I sound, but hey, it's not like I ever had massive doses of Freudian classes in college; it's just that I am becoming increasingly self-conscious about what I say, what I do, what I write about, what my body language says -- how everybody else translates my public persona. Self-conscious mixed with anxiety of some sort.
To top it off, I had my second (almost) death dream: 1) I died in school -- die (whoa, I just typed "die" when I meant to write "did" I blog about death dream 1?)
2) this week the dream was: I am flying home and suddenly I am writing a mass email announcing my impending death, that is, that the plane is going to crash b/c of a wing malfunction. So in my email I joke around and apologize for writing frantically when it's quite possible that I might actually live the crash, but then I write that I might hit the ocean and freeze, and then I insert some dumb movie about sharks eating me alive (I forget the title of the flick, but had a couple scuba diving in the bahamas). Then I start acknowledging loved ones and friends and -- get this -- then I say, oh by the way, you can check out my blog (with jazz hands flapping in the air). Ah. So okay, I'm totally bonkers.
I wanted to transcribe a section of "the Encounter" that I really enjoyed but my book is hiding.
Time's up anyway. I'm bloggin' when I should be writin' my paper!!! Hard to face it when I just don't feel like sitting here and doing some more work. Crap.
Monday, December 05, 2005
why it is worth it all
Sometimes I forget why I am grateful to be at place that nurtures the mind and soul, and it's only at odd moments in time when I think about why I need to get the most out of my program. Last Wed I ran my tentative argument to Dr. Ivy League during the last 10 min. of class (we had writing groups that day), which carried on to another 20 minues in the hallway. I don't know if I can ever describe fully what moments like those mean to me. I was a mess at the time, frantically trying to piece an argument which seemed like it was going to fall apart the night before it was due; but standing there listening to Dr. Ivy give suggestions inspired me in so many ways. I am grateful that Profs are THERE. Strange how some days things seem to be just right, so maybe I am at the right program after all. I wish I can always feel this good.
Two more weeks and I start anew -- but first 2 final papers this week, and I'm on the flight back to ma and pop city, where I will do nothing but watch films (and the Sopranos) and hang out with old friends.
Two more weeks and I start anew -- but first 2 final papers this week, and I'm on the flight back to ma and pop city, where I will do nothing but watch films (and the Sopranos) and hang out with old friends.
Sunday, December 04, 2005
chronically sleepless
Two more week of classes and I can resume to reading equally fun stuff -- here's on my winter reading list:
- Hollinghurst's the Swimmingpool library (or maybe the new one?)
- Foucault's I Pierre Riviere ...
- Foucault interviews
- Some of Butler's Bodies That Matter
Maybe I should read another Winterson since Written on the Body was quite nice to read. Also, I am thinking of getting a Cultural Studies introduction or reader -- must ask Prof.
What else? O yes, I have 2 paper due this week, and a draft due tomorrow. It's also 2:32 am, and I'm thinking of another snack break.
I feel awful that my reader will be waiting ....
I could just sleep now and wake up early, since my poor eyes are ready to fall off but maybe do 1 more page and then shower many thanks to reader.
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
disturbed
things to blog about after the chaos that is final papers:
- new pal Spaz -- funny, funny person
- writing groups!
- the loss of deconstruction
I feel disturbed about this, so why am I constructing this:
gender--> body--> experience--> work (book)
how do i remove the "body" from this? by saying it's not "natural"? but a "construction" ? GAH!
why, why why (infinityX)
Monday, November 28, 2005
mull over
Does authenticity beg/demand a discussion of the body? I am not sure if i am confusing authenticity with authorship.
One claim for my paper is that Chabon wants to break the identification of gay men writing "gay content". after all, who says a straight author cant write about "gay" characters with an "authentic" experience.
In addition, because he disrupts this binary, he is able to win both straight and gay readers -- moving in and out of this binary structure. this mobility is positive for post- structuralist and deconstructors, but for a queer project -- is this enough? does this produce social change?
but before reaching that finale of crossover appeal, must one explain how an assumption like a "gendered" or named as "gay" under a sign is tied to a "body"?
which is something like an assumption that a woman, whose body under the sign of a "lesbian" produces an "authentic" lesbian experienc? does that make sense at all? Is this a discussion of authenticity? and authorship is based on the writer and the book, right? ie. gay author with gay characters and themes. Right?
more later.
One claim for my paper is that Chabon wants to break the identification of gay men writing "gay content". after all, who says a straight author cant write about "gay" characters with an "authentic" experience.
In addition, because he disrupts this binary, he is able to win both straight and gay readers -- moving in and out of this binary structure. this mobility is positive for post- structuralist and deconstructors, but for a queer project -- is this enough? does this produce social change?
but before reaching that finale of crossover appeal, must one explain how an assumption like a "gendered" or named as "gay" under a sign is tied to a "body"?
which is something like an assumption that a woman, whose body under the sign of a "lesbian" produces an "authentic" lesbian experienc? does that make sense at all? Is this a discussion of authenticity? and authorship is based on the writer and the book, right? ie. gay author with gay characters and themes. Right?
more later.
Sunday, November 27, 2005
prone to panic
It's around this time when I feel like hiding under my comforts, hoping to fade away. What, pray tell, keeps me going? Probably the strange mix of enjoyment and fear of disappointment from various people -- mentors -- who have shaped me in so many ways. To disappoint them by not being able to sustain all the ups and downs of grad life, I realize, would be my own disappointment at having failed at something so important to me.
I've had dreams of telling folks about leaving academic life entirely behind me -- that is, after I finish my MA program. Perhaps I am deliberately setting that up so that I don't have the anxiety of having to"do something" with my degree, but it's probably an illusion.
And with this small task of a paper looming ahead, it's so EASY for me to fall apart and whine. I feel like I can't get enough done out of my day, and it's bugging the hell out of me today. I know this is not a constructive way of dealing with my self-doubts but I do feel like disappearing. Didn't Holden Caufield used to say that? ugh.
I've had dreams of telling folks about leaving academic life entirely behind me -- that is, after I finish my MA program. Perhaps I am deliberately setting that up so that I don't have the anxiety of having to"do something" with my degree, but it's probably an illusion.
And with this small task of a paper looming ahead, it's so EASY for me to fall apart and whine. I feel like I can't get enough done out of my day, and it's bugging the hell out of me today. I know this is not a constructive way of dealing with my self-doubts but I do feel like disappearing. Didn't Holden Caufield used to say that? ugh.
Saturday, November 26, 2005
in the dead of morning
I've always had trouble sleeping -- I am thinking a glass of wine will help ease my mind. Had a bit last night and crawled into bed at 1 am. I would love to be able to go to bed at that time on a regular basis. Why do I kick myself for being completely useless when clearly I chose to spend the day popping in and out of stores with hordes of shoppers the day after turkey day?
I basically took two days off from paper writing. Now it's going to be serious hell for me this week, what, with two essays from peers that need feedback. But what else is new? I wish I had more time. O well.
I basically took two days off from paper writing. Now it's going to be serious hell for me this week, what, with two essays from peers that need feedback. But what else is new? I wish I had more time. O well.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
a local poet
I was editting some work at a blues cafe yesterday afternoon when a tall guy sitting in back my study mate handed me a piece of paper and said, "you can read it later, when you're not busy with your work." Okay, maybe not direct quotation but along those lines. So I gaze at the paper and find it hard to make out the words as it was written in a fancy, swirling font -- you know, like The Nightmare Before Christmas font. And no, I don't mean in italics. Here's what was written:
You are now wrapped in
the infinite and tender embrace
of a fairly delicious and
utterly precious moment
that I am incredibly
fortunate to be able to
share with you
through these carefully immobilized [imortalized?]
ink-smitten word-forming
meaning-conveying letter
0511201546
Sounds crytic? No, not really, except for the font and design. Study mate says, "are those numbers a phone number? I say, "hm, I thought it was a date." Now why did I say that?! Clearly it is not the month of May (duh), and those numbers are far too many. so that's Sunday for you. More cafe-hopping adventures, perhaps.
Monday, November 21, 2005
Dead...
tired that is. I've had a spurt of 15 minutes of productivity in the last 3 hours -- and mind you, I am in the library, keeping track of time! I had a latte at 5pm, so why do i find myself yawning? Do i need more caffeine? So thought I'd try to exercise some writing demons for a bit before getting back to my oh-so-dreadful rough draft that needs to be posted online in 2 days. How much work have a started? Well, I've got the making of an argument and a working outline for me to follow until I hit dead thoughts and blank stares.
Nice that it is so peaceful in our reading room, however. I wonder if I can pull another hour of cutting and pasting some work. My brain doesn't seem to want to cooperate; in fact, this blogger feels like ranting about physical ailments. Though i have been stretching my neck every half hour, my shoulders have been carrying rocks, large ones. So they feel tight and all knotty. Stop yawning!!
okay, we'll see how far i get done by 7:30 pm. Whoo.
Nice that it is so peaceful in our reading room, however. I wonder if I can pull another hour of cutting and pasting some work. My brain doesn't seem to want to cooperate; in fact, this blogger feels like ranting about physical ailments. Though i have been stretching my neck every half hour, my shoulders have been carrying rocks, large ones. So they feel tight and all knotty. Stop yawning!!
okay, we'll see how far i get done by 7:30 pm. Whoo.
Saturday, November 19, 2005
is this really me?
Well, here goes another spurt of unproductivity:
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Friday, November 18, 2005
beatifully warm
I've been amazingly calm for the week, even happy, I think. Strange that the feeling of happiness comes in such a strange time -- it's paper crunch time, so I should feel totally chaotic by now. But I wonder if this is part of my procrastination and denial that I can actually pull two 15 pagers this week, or if I really am confident that I can cobble something together.
plan for today:
plan for today:
- get preliminary argument done for Monday class
- write randomly about Winterson -- test out one argument and see where it develops.
- look for shoes or I could look for a red or black low heel (but I walk a lot, and really do not go out that much)
- I could use a black A-line skirt to wear with cute high boots.
okay, i'll check back and see how much I've accomplished. Maybe I am in good spirits because it is sunny!
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
tell me what comes to mind?
I signed up for a grad seminar that mixes psychoanalysis and modernism. Two weeks ago I had dropped it thinking that the load might be heavy, but prof left messages about acquiring the book and finding the location of his class (which is in his private practice). Yes, prof is also a therapist -- is that the appropriate term to call an analyst these days? -- and from now on psychoanalytic prof will be called Dr. Joyce.
Last night was the first meeting of the class, and I happen to be the first one to show up and so I struck a conversation with Dr. Joyce. So I got the usual set of questions like what sparked your interest in Psychoanalysis, why did you choose State U, what are you doing with your degree, but maybe after the 2nd or 3rd question he also asked, "Have you ever been treated?". Which of course is a typical question for a psychoanalyst to ask -- but hearing if for the first time struck me as something too private to ask. Why do I think that? Maybe because deep down therapy might help me -- but I feel silly in admitting it; is it b/c the word in "treament" makes me feel (or rather I make myself feel) like i'm a walking basketcase. Or perhaps I think getting treatement will somehow fuck me up in the head and make me even more self-conscious. But then we can all benefit from just talking and maybe then I can come to terms with my own fears, my own bewilderment about graduate school. I guess blogging is my own way of the talking cure and everything I say here will be part of something larger.
So I sat for a moment lost in my own thoughts while Dr. Joyce was talking about how people generally people have a hard time with the question "tell me what comes to your mind?" Anything, and what you pick up on is what's NOT being said. So while I feel like my blog is confessional, i also wonder if I am burying something else -- at least, I don't think I am, not conscious of it. I also wonder whether it would be a good idea to invite some friends to read this, mostly b/c it is hard to keep in touch with folks; but I guess if I "out" myself, it will defeat the whole purpose of blogging anonymously. There's a fear of self-exposure, my own troubles, my own naivete. On the other hand, there is a built-in narcissim in all this that desires other people to comment on what I'm thinking. Incidentally, I was thinking about how fun it is to people-watch on public trans -- the folorn looks on people's faces in the train, folks reading or sleeping or slouching, and what I arrived at is having other people gaze at me (and my own image) while I gaze back at them. Okay, so i got totally sidetracked here.
Anyway, only three students showed up this time around (apparently 6 folks enrolled). Now I have decided to stick it out b/c in part, the other students are more experienced (one guy is already writing is diss), the other girl is a poet. So this kind of environment might be good for me. If anything, I will just get to know Joyce's life, even if we don't go over clinical stuff. I will just think of it as a "warm up," or another kind of "training" to detect patterns, motifs. And what's more, I get to revel in Joyce's writing! After all, I don't think I will find myself taking seminars in Modernism anytime soon, so it's good to get all this background on the period.
okay, so it's 3 pm and I must:
Last night was the first meeting of the class, and I happen to be the first one to show up and so I struck a conversation with Dr. Joyce. So I got the usual set of questions like what sparked your interest in Psychoanalysis, why did you choose State U, what are you doing with your degree, but maybe after the 2nd or 3rd question he also asked, "Have you ever been treated?". Which of course is a typical question for a psychoanalyst to ask -- but hearing if for the first time struck me as something too private to ask. Why do I think that? Maybe because deep down therapy might help me -- but I feel silly in admitting it; is it b/c the word in "treament" makes me feel (or rather I make myself feel) like i'm a walking basketcase. Or perhaps I think getting treatement will somehow fuck me up in the head and make me even more self-conscious. But then we can all benefit from just talking and maybe then I can come to terms with my own fears, my own bewilderment about graduate school. I guess blogging is my own way of the talking cure and everything I say here will be part of something larger.
So I sat for a moment lost in my own thoughts while Dr. Joyce was talking about how people generally people have a hard time with the question "tell me what comes to your mind?" Anything, and what you pick up on is what's NOT being said. So while I feel like my blog is confessional, i also wonder if I am burying something else -- at least, I don't think I am, not conscious of it. I also wonder whether it would be a good idea to invite some friends to read this, mostly b/c it is hard to keep in touch with folks; but I guess if I "out" myself, it will defeat the whole purpose of blogging anonymously. There's a fear of self-exposure, my own troubles, my own naivete. On the other hand, there is a built-in narcissim in all this that desires other people to comment on what I'm thinking. Incidentally, I was thinking about how fun it is to people-watch on public trans -- the folorn looks on people's faces in the train, folks reading or sleeping or slouching, and what I arrived at is having other people gaze at me (and my own image) while I gaze back at them. Okay, so i got totally sidetracked here.
Anyway, only three students showed up this time around (apparently 6 folks enrolled). Now I have decided to stick it out b/c in part, the other students are more experienced (one guy is already writing is diss), the other girl is a poet. So this kind of environment might be good for me. If anything, I will just get to know Joyce's life, even if we don't go over clinical stuff. I will just think of it as a "warm up," or another kind of "training" to detect patterns, motifs. And what's more, I get to revel in Joyce's writing! After all, I don't think I will find myself taking seminars in Modernism anytime soon, so it's good to get all this background on the period.
okay, so it's 3 pm and I must:
- read one essay and post a question in 3 hours
- write odd pieces for Dr. Ivy league's paper
- collect quotes and think about a central argument for Fem paper
- read 50 pages of Orlanda (trying to read 50 a day in time for thurs)
which is more important? probably the final papers, b/c i NEED to start thinking about them NOW. hm, so maybe browse to essay first and think of a question in one hour. Oh, and get laundry.
Dr. Ivy league
I just want to take a moment to admire Dr. Ivy league. I was so totally daunted by the amount of work for the class -- weekly posts on questions about readings, 4 mini presentations (yes, it' only 10 min each but still speaking in public is terrifying), a writing group (yes! including analysis of other people's drafts!) the final paper, which doesn't simply apply a theory to cultural text but rather discovering or scrutinizing why it is we are so intrigued by a particular topic (for me, it's sexual ambiguity), and then a mock conference where we present our final papers to our peers!
So i have just been thinking about what her possible goals for the class -- that is, what she really wants to accomplish as a teacher, what she wants us to walk away with after the last 3 weeks of class. I think she is doing something really interesting with our final papers, which is unlike my other seminars. For instance, Fem prof just wants us to do a feminist reading of a book-- 15 pages plus research. But for Dr. Ivy leage -- it's all about me, my interests; it's about really trying to zero in why I really like doing what I do, why my reading or analysis matters. She wants us to be critics and to have a dialogue with all the theoretical works we've read this semester.
Of course, I also think she is pushing us to articulate our interests and ideas for the MA thesis. So I feel like our final paper, to some extent, is preparing us for that thesis. My interests will define who I am, what kind of academic I will be, and the kind of scholarly work I do. My experience matters. So, Dr. Ivy league -- you are inspiring and I value your work. I hope you get tenured, and if students have another opportunity to write a recommendation for you, I will totally do it.
So i have just been thinking about what her possible goals for the class -- that is, what she really wants to accomplish as a teacher, what she wants us to walk away with after the last 3 weeks of class. I think she is doing something really interesting with our final papers, which is unlike my other seminars. For instance, Fem prof just wants us to do a feminist reading of a book-- 15 pages plus research. But for Dr. Ivy leage -- it's all about me, my interests; it's about really trying to zero in why I really like doing what I do, why my reading or analysis matters. She wants us to be critics and to have a dialogue with all the theoretical works we've read this semester.
Of course, I also think she is pushing us to articulate our interests and ideas for the MA thesis. So I feel like our final paper, to some extent, is preparing us for that thesis. My interests will define who I am, what kind of academic I will be, and the kind of scholarly work I do. My experience matters. So, Dr. Ivy league -- you are inspiring and I value your work. I hope you get tenured, and if students have another opportunity to write a recommendation for you, I will totally do it.
Monday, November 14, 2005
deadline
Okay, so it's midnight and I have say, 1.5 hours to :
- clean my messy room in 10 min ? just light stuff, piling stuff in neat and orderly fashion and throwing out garbage while I am at it.
- Must write something about what I find intriguing in my project for my meeting with prof tomorrow. So, write a kind of dialogue about what you want to say to Prof and maybe test out ideas and ask for suggestions--but only if I can articulate what truly interests me.
My mantras for the week:
- Write before you do anything else in your day (qtd in diss in15)
- It's okay if your writing is incoherent this week; just write something.
Is it possible to write one page a day? Is that too little?
okay, stick to this for tomorrow!!!
Sunday, November 13, 2005
Safe
I've had an amazing weekend of unproductivity, which was spent watching the first six episodes of the Sopranos -- quite good. So although I haven't the time to divulge the details of my weekend, I just wanted to write quickly what has been swirling in my head, which might be part of another longer post at some p0int in time. Basically I have been reflecting a lot about my patterns -- old and new. Why is it that I have never truly wanted to be number 1 in anything -- and i wonder if this lack of competitive nature will affect my "success" in graduate school. I was/am always content with being 2nd place -- the safer route or the "good enough"; this is a scary thought for me. But does this mean I don't push myself enough? That I don't go out there and expose myself? I know i can't turn back time and torture myself for the reasons I have chosen to go to XX school and why I was happy with B+ average, but maybe I am not smart enough and don't want others to know -- or, more likely, I don't want to realize or admit to myself that I'm just not smart enough for this kind of life.
I guess it is also kind of psychologically painful to tell myself that I'm not "smart" enough, and honestly, I don't want to think that. I just want to make it out all right -- I don't have to be in the spotlight, but I should push myself harder to do better.
I guess it is also kind of psychologically painful to tell myself that I'm not "smart" enough, and honestly, I don't want to think that. I just want to make it out all right -- I don't have to be in the spotlight, but I should push myself harder to do better.
Friday, November 04, 2005
"I grow old..I grow old"
this is me at home on a friday, the night of our graduate pub night.
10:3o: I could use an apple martini. Yes, I should make an appearance. you know, say "hi" to other graduate students in our dept. Friend K will be there. She just got there, so I suspect she will be there late.
walk out in the cold with a scarf and wait for public trans ...
10:50 in the cold: where is public trans? it's almost 11 pm! This is dumb ... who goes to a pub after 11 pm? (Okay, I should say that majority of folks in my dept who go to these pubs are women. They leave after a while and grab a bite to eat...so... will they still be there?) Now I don't want to hang out with crusty locals.
10: 55: No, no, no I really should stay in. Yes. Stay in. I should read Ellison, bc I was reading in bed just a few minute ago, but it's just that I craved a drink. God, I should have a friggin' bar in my room!
11pm: walking back home in the cold: yes, see? the public trans was late b/c it's a sign. A sign that I should crank up the volume and listen to boards of canada at home and blog instead. Yes... and then after I can read before bed. That way, I can wake up early and hit the library before I see "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof" live. Yes, and then get a drink.
11:10: Boy, I could use a drink.
"Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?"
10:3o: I could use an apple martini. Yes, I should make an appearance. you know, say "hi" to other graduate students in our dept. Friend K will be there. She just got there, so I suspect she will be there late.
walk out in the cold with a scarf and wait for public trans ...
10:50 in the cold: where is public trans? it's almost 11 pm! This is dumb ... who goes to a pub after 11 pm? (Okay, I should say that majority of folks in my dept who go to these pubs are women. They leave after a while and grab a bite to eat...so... will they still be there?) Now I don't want to hang out with crusty locals.
10: 55: No, no, no I really should stay in. Yes. Stay in. I should read Ellison, bc I was reading in bed just a few minute ago, but it's just that I craved a drink. God, I should have a friggin' bar in my room!
11pm: walking back home in the cold: yes, see? the public trans was late b/c it's a sign. A sign that I should crank up the volume and listen to boards of canada at home and blog instead. Yes... and then after I can read before bed. That way, I can wake up early and hit the library before I see "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof" live. Yes, and then get a drink.
11:10: Boy, I could use a drink.
"Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?"
Sunday, October 30, 2005
the wild side
doot di doot di doot doot di doot doot...
You're Lou Reed.God, you are cool, can I touch you so the magic
will rub off?You are perceptive, witty, and badass. You wear
cool shades, even at night, and probably wear
black more than most people. You don't give a
fuck what other people think, but you are also
very sensitive in the way that you pick up on
things that others don't. Sometimes you come
off as an asshole, but that's what makes you
cool. You are a poet, and you embody New York
City. You will still be hip when you are old,
and artists love you.
Yes, for some time now I have been known to wear black -- and lots of it. I went through the black uniform phase in high school, and still adore black; but "badass" huh? hm...wishful thought. Maybe I should listen more to Lou -- I need to develop a backbone these days.
Which rad old school 70's glam icon are you? (with pics)
brought to you by
more distractions
A year ago I did this test and was "Theory Slut" but now...
You are a Gender Nazi. Your boundary-crossing
lifestyle inspires awe in your friends and
colleagues. Or maybe they're just scared you
will kick their asses for using gender-specific
language. Either way, the wife-beater helps.
What kind of postmodernist are you!?
brought to you by
How is it done?
So this is probably a post that will continue to haunt me for the assumed years I will be a student. How does one balance classes with an already full load of readings, plus read extra research-related material and still maintain life -- all the obligatory domestic chores ? So okay, get over myself, right? I'm not teaching classes nor am I even working part-time -- but STILL!
Paper due tomorrow -- why has it become increasingly difficult to produce a mere 3 pages? Have I internalized "performance anxiety"?
I was in a major slump three weeks ago, what, with commenting on just selected texts as apposed to all the required texts; so the days that followed were mixed with anxiety and disappointment -- mental agonies I had not experienced in a specific way -- and yet miraculously, the paper turned out to be "better than expected" -- that is, received some uplifting comments from Freudian Prof. So what the fuck just happened? Needless to say, my spirits are high and I think I can really rock final papers -- if only i can manage time more effectively. hmm...
Paper due tomorrow -- why has it become increasingly difficult to produce a mere 3 pages? Have I internalized "performance anxiety"?
I was in a major slump three weeks ago, what, with commenting on just selected texts as apposed to all the required texts; so the days that followed were mixed with anxiety and disappointment -- mental agonies I had not experienced in a specific way -- and yet miraculously, the paper turned out to be "better than expected" -- that is, received some uplifting comments from Freudian Prof. So what the fuck just happened? Needless to say, my spirits are high and I think I can really rock final papers -- if only i can manage time more effectively. hmm...
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
We "Other Graduate Students"
Maybe it is a cop-out, an inexcusable excuse to say that we never have time to do the things we love to do or should do; but why does my sense of motivation and enthusiasm hinge on the lack of time? Is it just a universal excuse to buffer ourselves from guilt?
Every week in theory class we post our reading comments and questions online, you know, to critically engage in the texts and create a dialogue amongst other students by attempting to work out the theories together, as a collaborative effort. Each week interesting/problematic questions are posed, which enlighten and challege us to percieve a range of possible interpretations -- sometimes disoveries , even "new" problems are fleshed out of the ideas and questions that confront us, which in lots of ways is exhilarating, if not just self-inflicting pain. As the weeks pass by, however, the follow-up posts continue to decline, perhaps symptomatic of post-midterm syndrome. Of course, that's not to suggest that a lack of engagement in the works has ensued, though at times posting questions has become a drudgery of sorts for some, as well as a risk of self-exposure. Perhaps I, too, feel that posting questions has become more and more like a chore -- that is, we just want to get through our classes, do our deed, and continue with our lives, whatever that might be.
So there is sadness at the thought of the myriad of unanswered questions floating around, if only until another work strikes us, a moment that will boost our intellectual groove of curiosity.
Every week in theory class we post our reading comments and questions online, you know, to critically engage in the texts and create a dialogue amongst other students by attempting to work out the theories together, as a collaborative effort. Each week interesting/problematic questions are posed, which enlighten and challege us to percieve a range of possible interpretations -- sometimes disoveries , even "new" problems are fleshed out of the ideas and questions that confront us, which in lots of ways is exhilarating, if not just self-inflicting pain. As the weeks pass by, however, the follow-up posts continue to decline, perhaps symptomatic of post-midterm syndrome. Of course, that's not to suggest that a lack of engagement in the works has ensued, though at times posting questions has become a drudgery of sorts for some, as well as a risk of self-exposure. Perhaps I, too, feel that posting questions has become more and more like a chore -- that is, we just want to get through our classes, do our deed, and continue with our lives, whatever that might be.
So there is sadness at the thought of the myriad of unanswered questions floating around, if only until another work strikes us, a moment that will boost our intellectual groove of curiosity.
Monday, October 24, 2005
unproductivity
Lately I have been daydreaming about decorating -- my room, the restroom -- and rearranging furniture, as well as fantasizing about picking awesome retro wine glasses, colorful vintage-looking plates, curtains. Is Anthropolgie the coolest ever? The days seem to go by too quickly for me to really enjoy anything for long -- wonder when my life will begin -- but what does that mean, exactly? When I will cease to worry? When I can have guilt-free play? That's probably what I meant, but it also probably means when I retire, which clearly is too far into the future.
I tried watching Jarmusch's Stanger in Paradise around 8 pm but my mind was too scattered that I felt I should be doing some life maintance -- uh, like organizing the cupboard and the clothes in the closet? Smart Move. What is wrong with me?
typical distractions this weekend:
I tried watching Jarmusch's Stanger in Paradise around 8 pm but my mind was too scattered that I felt I should be doing some life maintance -- uh, like organizing the cupboard and the clothes in the closet? Smart Move. What is wrong with me?
typical distractions this weekend:
- Watched Batman and Capote -- both were excellent, respectively.
- Hit a Bar with nasty unfinished beer, then margaritas and burrito
- 3 loads of laundry!
- A take-out chinese food with a failed reading group -- we had so much fun talking.
- a four excursion to downtown!
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
yo-yo days
Okay, so now I really do feel like a mess (again). More often than not, I find myself wondering when I will no longer feel bewildered, disorganized, flustered, passive -- terrified? It is times like this when I have to ask myself, what the hell am I really doing? Or, I might rephrase that and ask, why am I am pursuing graduate studies? Why is it that I constantly have to remind myself what i am really doing in grad school? Is it because it's so easy to throw it all away? Is it so easy to lose one's way so quickly -- I mean, I was excited but now I am increasingly feel like maybe I don't want to write and teach and publish. I know it is too soon to tell whether I will learn to enjoy all of the things that a life in academia entails, but maybe I am just not the into this. Now I almost said I'm not the "type" -- meaning, I'm not grad school material, not serious enough; but maybe that is a stupid thing to say? There is no type, right? One just needs to be committed, I think. I wonder when I will be able to just live my life, or whether I will ever feel "settled" as in comfort and security, perhaps. Maybe nobody ever feels settled.
I once emailed a grad student at my ideal grad school, who said that all I need is to be a self-motivator and a self-starter. Okay, so I have to just keep that in mind, because I know anything, however small, can throw me off balance. I don't even feel like I have a sense of balance anymore. And without fail, what do I do but fret and go completely bonkers. I know I will go through many rough patches, and I just need to be conscious of my patterns to cope with negativity.
I guess what brought on despairing thoughts was the conference workshop tonight. I tried imagining myself present a paper and being evaluated by academics. I understand that everything is a gradual process, and that I have to build my confidence (and knowledge) before going to a big conference, or even a conference made up of graduate students. But I think the very idea of giving talks just shattered me to pieces, bc it is part of professional life -- identity.
How could 3 months of grad school make me doubt myself already? Is self-doubt all too common? I guess I just worry because I doubt myself frequently these days. Boy, do I feel like a yo yo. Please, let tomorrow be a brighter day.
I once emailed a grad student at my ideal grad school, who said that all I need is to be a self-motivator and a self-starter. Okay, so I have to just keep that in mind, because I know anything, however small, can throw me off balance. I don't even feel like I have a sense of balance anymore. And without fail, what do I do but fret and go completely bonkers. I know I will go through many rough patches, and I just need to be conscious of my patterns to cope with negativity.
I guess what brought on despairing thoughts was the conference workshop tonight. I tried imagining myself present a paper and being evaluated by academics. I understand that everything is a gradual process, and that I have to build my confidence (and knowledge) before going to a big conference, or even a conference made up of graduate students. But I think the very idea of giving talks just shattered me to pieces, bc it is part of professional life -- identity.
How could 3 months of grad school make me doubt myself already? Is self-doubt all too common? I guess I just worry because I doubt myself frequently these days. Boy, do I feel like a yo yo. Please, let tomorrow be a brighter day.
Why oh why
Why must life be filled with many, many deadlines? And why is it that my answer is most often the lack of time to do the things I need and want to do? Or why is it when I am pressed for time, particulary on a deadline for a paper, I start a manic organizing and cleaning the room? Maybe to de-clutter my head? Just a habit of procrasitination, right? Right.
Today's task is must read several criticisms on Frankenstein for a couple of hours before Theory class; After theory 1 class, attend a conference workshop at 7:30 pm; then walk home, make dinner and try to finish the readings for Thurs. I am feeling guilty for spending more time on theory courses than my lit class -- we are watching a film for that class, which is why I feel rather slack; what I ought to do is begin the Henry James novel for the next week so that I won't fall behind, as usually the case!
I always seem to be scrambling -- and why do I beat myself over the head when I quite obviously choose to make plans this weekend and watch Capote and Batman? Silly, silly whiner. So okay, I absolutely need to get some work done before I reward myself with these films.
Diss in 15 says if I write everyday for 10 min and increase time gradually, I will establish my "writing addiction" -- of course, whiny rants do not count. BUT, once preliminary research plans start rolling around, uh, like next week, I will start spilling a bit more on possible topics.
current music addiction: Ladytron's Witching Hour.
Today's task is must read several criticisms on Frankenstein for a couple of hours before Theory class; After theory 1 class, attend a conference workshop at 7:30 pm; then walk home, make dinner and try to finish the readings for Thurs. I am feeling guilty for spending more time on theory courses than my lit class -- we are watching a film for that class, which is why I feel rather slack; what I ought to do is begin the Henry James novel for the next week so that I won't fall behind, as usually the case!
I always seem to be scrambling -- and why do I beat myself over the head when I quite obviously choose to make plans this weekend and watch Capote and Batman? Silly, silly whiner. So okay, I absolutely need to get some work done before I reward myself with these films.
Diss in 15 says if I write everyday for 10 min and increase time gradually, I will establish my "writing addiction" -- of course, whiny rants do not count. BUT, once preliminary research plans start rolling around, uh, like next week, I will start spilling a bit more on possible topics.
current music addiction: Ladytron's Witching Hour.
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
crazy...
So I got the nerve to discuss my paper with my Thursday Prof. I was totally flustered and tongue-tied, mostly because I value her criticism of my work. Sadly, I might have appeared or behaved like a neurotic student. Ugh. But after getting some one-on-one feedback on my issues with articulating x, y, and z, I felt an immediate sigh of relief. She ended by saying (and I'm paraphrasing here), "it's the perceptive ones who have trouble writing because they see complex problems in the text" -- okay, so it was something to that effect. A positive advice, I take it; so I walked home feeling somewhat inspired to think about my paper more critically.
I wonder: does this mean I am writing a paper to impress her? Or am I creating my own and thus asking her to understand me? Not sure I can really tell, and I doubt I am altogether conscious of these questions during the writing process. Hmm...
At any rate, it is interesting to think of the kind of intellectual growth that can come out of a teacher/student mentorship. I'm going to try to see more of my profs during office hours to get a sense of who I can work with and ask to read my thesis next year. Mantra: "It's not so bad."
Why do I feel like listening to Patsy Cline's "Crazy" ?
I wonder: does this mean I am writing a paper to impress her? Or am I creating my own and thus asking her to understand me? Not sure I can really tell, and I doubt I am altogether conscious of these questions during the writing process. Hmm...
At any rate, it is interesting to think of the kind of intellectual growth that can come out of a teacher/student mentorship. I'm going to try to see more of my profs during office hours to get a sense of who I can work with and ask to read my thesis next year. Mantra: "It's not so bad."
Why do I feel like listening to Patsy Cline's "Crazy" ?
Monday, October 17, 2005
infrequently
I raise the blinds and open the window beside my bed. This is the first thing I do every morning so that I can people-gaze for a few minutes before starting my day. It is remarkably bright and lovely out. It's a shame that I need to prepare for my class because I can lie in bed, drink coffee and read.
I have been, what, blogging once a week? I had a breakdown last week during midterms: I obsessed about my paper which basically ate such a large chunk of time that I couldn't think outside of it. I don't recall going through too many rough patches as an undergraduate; in fact, I used to be able to pull an all-nighter. Alas, it has been 3 years since I graduated -- I no longer have the energy to stay up and write. So I am trying to be mindful of my constructive (and destructive) writing habits and see if I can forge new ones as I continue to learn more about this academic self, whatever that really means.
I am reading Writing Your dissertation in Fifteen Minutes a Day; of course, I am not in a Ph.D program, but it helps to develop personal stategies that work best for me -- e.g., writing during the day, which I think is better for me. Though I've always believed that I'm a night person -- so I have quite a bit to discover. The first step is, well, sitting down to write for 15 min abou anything really -- questions and speculations about research materials or just life in general. So we'll see if I can write at least every other day if not every day.
I have been, what, blogging once a week? I had a breakdown last week during midterms: I obsessed about my paper which basically ate such a large chunk of time that I couldn't think outside of it. I don't recall going through too many rough patches as an undergraduate; in fact, I used to be able to pull an all-nighter. Alas, it has been 3 years since I graduated -- I no longer have the energy to stay up and write. So I am trying to be mindful of my constructive (and destructive) writing habits and see if I can forge new ones as I continue to learn more about this academic self, whatever that really means.
I am reading Writing Your dissertation in Fifteen Minutes a Day; of course, I am not in a Ph.D program, but it helps to develop personal stategies that work best for me -- e.g., writing during the day, which I think is better for me. Though I've always believed that I'm a night person -- so I have quite a bit to discover. The first step is, well, sitting down to write for 15 min abou anything really -- questions and speculations about research materials or just life in general. So we'll see if I can write at least every other day if not every day.
Thursday, September 29, 2005
Nothing else matters
I've rediscovered a real delight in reading aloud, curled up in a warm blanket, in the privacy of my room, on a day like today—sunny, refreshing. Reading as though before an audience, listening to myself breathe, pause between words, listening for a voice that is calm and collected, deep, commanding, aware of each and every nuance of a word. I envision myself having a powerful presence, captivating my peers.
This afternoon I read Kingston’s “No Name Woman,” a short story I quickly read as an undergraduate during my last semester. In retrospect, it was a chaotic time of speed-reading, spinning through classes and juggling books—doubtless, the stories have become a lost memory. Now, however, listening to Kingston’s voice, something—her tone, perhaps—resonates in me. Familiar and entirely new.
This afternoon I read Kingston’s “No Name Woman,” a short story I quickly read as an undergraduate during my last semester. In retrospect, it was a chaotic time of speed-reading, spinning through classes and juggling books—doubtless, the stories have become a lost memory. Now, however, listening to Kingston’s voice, something—her tone, perhaps—resonates in me. Familiar and entirely new.
Friday, September 23, 2005
Waiting
Stayed up late last night to write a short paper on Wordsworth. Found it all so strange a feeling to write about poetry again, or write in general -- familiar and yet dreadful. I even thought perhaps I don't want to write at all; I could simply leave it all behind me, because it is easy to leave. Sometimes I think that in itself is already an indication of my (lack of) commitment to many things I do -- and it is scary. So I'm not totally adverse to the thought that perhaps a day will arrive when I might realize that a life in academia is not for me. Alas, only time will tell.
Sunday, September 18, 2005
hope
I've been trying to find a moment in which to write and introduce myself to the blogosphere, but I realize now -- one week after the birth of Infinitely Fleeing -- that the fear of finding the "right" moment hindered me all along from writing my first post. And this isn't just a post -- but my whole approach to writing, which is why, I feel, I easily hit bumps and immediately arrive at a ridiculous conclusion that I am paralyzed. When I am in that frame of mind, all my doubts seem magnified, and I feel unable to cope.
Tonight I felt a distance: I ask myself so many times why I always already feel a distance between myself and what I do and I aim to do; it seems an impossibly heavy feeling to carry around, but it always there. So hope #1 is to be able to articulate and track my pattern of thought and see if I couldn't make the slightest bit of change.
Tonight I felt a distance: I ask myself so many times why I always already feel a distance between myself and what I do and I aim to do; it seems an impossibly heavy feeling to carry around, but it always there. So hope #1 is to be able to articulate and track my pattern of thought and see if I couldn't make the slightest bit of change.
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