But the real truth is that writing, esp. fiction writing, is like the very best drug ever. And I am a total junkie. I love, love, love the written word. The written world.
I like stringing together words in ways that nobody has thought of yet. I like knowing that I say something like, “… hints of honey and cream light…” and you see the dawn’s slow fingers caressing the window sheers.
It isn’t just my words that I am addicted to. Reading is the other side of the coin. I had the thought that maybe other folk’s words are like methadone – words that soothe in the absence of the true spike of writing your own stuff.
Voila! Mostly text/school books.
Gaming & source books.
Am on a carbless, Steven King kick, I see.
Hm. Maybe.
If that is so, then it’s the best methadone on the planet. So many words. So many worlds. In the right combination, words can bring understanding, peace, anger, love, grim acceptance, escape. They are the most amazing magic we are capable of working.
∴ So, this weekend – particularly Saturday – sucked gangrenous donkey sack. I wish I could say that it someone else’s fault.
Saturday was the day that I have my Philosophy class. This Saturday past, I was in class taking a “quiz” that should have taken me all of thirty minutes to complete.
I, in fact, spent two hours with it and STILL did not get it done. Not even close. I was the only one left in the room, struggling with it. Finally, I just gave up and turned it in. Near tears and pretty much hating myself thoroughly, I went home. I spent the better part of the afternoon sobbing. I had not felt so completely and utterly useless/stupid/worthless in a very long while.
What, you might ask, was this Philosophy quiz over? What was so damn difficult for you? Isn’t there ‘no wrong answer’ in Philosophy?
I have no idea. We hadn’t gotten to the Philosophy portion of the course, yet. Instead, we were covering logic and formal language.
Something like this
These? These are notes taken directly from the board along with an example problem. When this was being explained, I could almost get what was being said. I asked questions, they got answered. And while I was parsing the information that had been told to me – the professor had moved onto another problem, another logic rule.
Don’t get me wrong. I liked my professor. He’s smart, funny, and dedicated to his craft.
I just didn’t grok his teaching style.
*SIGH*
I think it’s safe to say that I totally bombed that quiz.
Again – not felt that idiotic in a long while.
∴ Sunday was a far superior day. Sunday was game day. I am playing in a DnD 3.5 game. It is light-hearted, silly fun. Totally what I needed after Saturday’s fiasco.
My GM had written to say that we should come to game in costume. I took him at his word. Although, as I said to Mister Man, “He didn’t specify what sort of costume he wanted us to wear.”
You can't see it but I'm wearing a sort of gothy Tank Girl getup.
I felt pretty, the group had a blast and I got home in a fabulous mood. I finished up an essay for Critical Thinking and turned it in. Watched “Heart of Darkness: A Filmmaker’s Apocalypse” for class. Checked on some other grades (5/5 and 5/5 – woot!)
I feel ever so much better, today.
∴ — Today is more school and more buses (STANK!) and no eating after midnight and and and.
Do you want to know what one of the worst parts of going to school for me is?
It’s not the classes full of kids who are young enough to be mine.
It’s not the bewildering maze of buildings.
It’s not the early hours or the homework or the issues with a professor.
No.
The very worst thing is that there is no parking. Which means that I must get on a bus, twice a day, with a slew of funky-ass kids.
All of whom have that pheremonal1 stank.
This is AFTER we let some people off.
Now, please excuse me. I must run off to school.
1 – Like a monkey-house but less pleasant. Also, often with unbelievable amounts of cologne or body spray on top of it. “Eye-watering” is an understatement.
The Process 