Where Oh Where...

Could someone please tell me where the summer has run off to?  I move back to school in just a week.  The first half of summer goes by slowly, nicely, as if one were taking a leisurely stroll in a forest full of possibilities.

"Oh, I could actually finish that story I've been working on."

"Oh, I could finally make that collage of my semester abroad (which I bought the supplies for a whole year ago), to hang up in my room, complete with souvenirs and pictures and everything."

"Oh, I could probably work on and finish that oil painting of the isle Capri that I started three summers ago, I've got plenty of time for that!"

"Oh, I could definitely clean out my closet of all that crummy, trashable stuff at the bottom and maximize on space in my room."

"Oh, I could read Madame Bovary.  I could read I, Claudius.  I could read Dracula.  I could read A Tale of Two Cities.  I could read Ulysses.  I could read The Name of the Rose.  I could read The Brothers Karamazov.  I can choose the novel for my senior project!!"

And so on, and so forth.

I've done parts of some of these things.  I've done none of the rest of these things.  Started Madame Bovary, finished This Side of Paradise, which wasn't on the list.  Read a plethora of Meg Cabot books, and they're quite fun, but academically speaking a 'waste of time.'  Worked on my stories a bit, worked on my oil painting for a week in the beginning of the summer, then stopped.

I have a theory that the second half of the summer, let's say starting around July 15th, goes by much more quickly than the first half.  You blink at that time and then it's time to go back to school.  The theory is that the space-time continuum somehow speeds up in that month/month and a half.

Think about it.  You know it's true.

Anyway.  I have goals for the new academic year.  One of them is to dress more professionally on a daily basis.  Wearing khakis/slacks instead of jeans, wearing more of my skirts, different shoes than tennis shoes, nicer shirts without so much writing on them, or graphics, etc.   We'll see how that goes.

Other goals are more vague.  Some of them are personal, but most are professional.  I should also have a goal to make dean's list again, since that only just happened for the first time last semester.  But sometimes I feel like that was a fluke, given how distracted I was then.  Of course, for once Latin wasn't dragging me down, but pulling me up.

It's going to be interesting not having a Latin class this year.  Finally, after 7 years of studying it.  It usually lowers my GPA...

Anyway.  Since I said a couple days ago that I hadn't been writing, of course I wrote a bit later that evening.  That's how it works, isn't it?  Some of this one story (probably a novella, not a whole novel, the way it's turning out) wherein the main character tells a group of new friends about her various failed, would-be romances from the past five years.  I take some situations from my real life to make up her stories, but I'm hoping to make it more exciting than what really happened, of course.  Does anything quite so exciting ever happen in real life?--I'm starting to wonder.

My birthday's coming up.  The 17th.  I'm feeling rather old lately.  Compared to what?  I don't know.  I'll be 22.  The song "Countdown" by Phoenix comes to mind...  "Do you remember when / 21 years was old?"  As in, when you were a little kid, I'm interpreting that to mean.  You've probably heard "Lisztomania" by Phoenix on the radio.  They're a French band, did you know?  They're pretty cool.

Anyway.  I can't seem to shake the whole LAUD thing.  I can't stop being a student...seeking purpose...much like I can't stop breathing.  I guess it's part of me, the whole quest.  It's a bit exhausting.  I've been going through a different job possibility each day.  Most recently, librarian assistant, greeting card writer, and (again) secretary/administrative assistant.

We shall see.

Christine out.

Someone Who Finishes

http://www.timothyhallinan.com/writers.php

If you read that page, well, you'll understand the dismay I felt when I first read it.  "A writer is someone who finishes."

It's a self-help website about how to finish that novel you've been working on.  Or in my case, several.  My stuff ranges from 30,000 words long (my Toni McGuire mystery; my fictional biography of sci-fi/fantasy nerd Timothy Goldwyn) down to 1,000-3,000 words long (a flashback, semi-nonfictitious story I'm writing; a story about a young British chap who travels around the US for a year), but I consider all of it to be, one day, eventually...finishable.  I'm not sure if that word's in the OED, but I just made it up under my poetic license.  I guess I do that often.

I haven't written more than a single paragraph for...weeks.  Unless you count e-mails and chat conversations and notes to oneself and lists for packing and the store.  Which I don't.  The other day is when I wrote my measly 2-sentence paragraph from my fictional biography.

Out of context, the paragraph means nothing to anyone.  And it was merely written because I felt I simply had to write a few lines after hearing Frank Sinatra's 'It Had to Be You.'  I felt like I had to write a whole movie just so there could be a scene wherein that song could be featured.

Which I'll be the first to admit is ridiculous.  But writers are allowed to be ridiculous.  Right?

I'm so not a writer.  It's pretty depressing how much I am not a writer.  If I were a writer, I'd be making more time to write.  If I were a writer, I'd be writing.

I suppose I'm writing this blog post.  That doesn't count either, though.

I've been incredibly busy.  I'm planning this Greek Fest party at my university.  It has the promise of being epic, if I can get everything in order efficiently.  I'm helping with new student orientation.  That's going to be an insane few days.  I need to talk to the other Swing officers, about our first meeting of the year.  Being president is going to be insane as well.  Of course.  Not to mention being student coordinator of telecommunications...

Life is too busy.  I didn't even say anything to the effect of my home life.  It's busy, too.  And I'm trying to finalize my living situation when I go back to school.  Thankfully I figured that out mostly on Monday.  Still, I really hate unknowns.  They freak me out more than anything.

I'm being boring, aren't I?  That's too bad.  I haven't posted in forever, so I was hoping to be interesting this time around.

I've been debating whether or not to post parts of my stories on here.  I always get afraid that some creep is going to happen upon my blog and proceed to steal what I've written.  And then I can never publish it.  The aim I would have in posting anything would be to get some general feedback.  Do I need to keep going the way I'm going?   Or do a complete re-write?  Recently I came to the horribly shocking realization that writing 'is' re-writing.  I hope I can do that.  We'll see.  Maybe?

I don't know what else to say.  I'm done with my summer job.  I hope I never have to work there ever again.  I can't take it, honestly...

In other news, finally got a credit card company to give me a card, despite my apparently low credit score.  I detest the fact that you have a credit score even before you start using an actual credit card.

Let's play out to Frank, shall we?  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_ipJ2P8duaY

Christine out.