It's Like This:
Saturday, December 15, 2007
The standard end of term reflection/complaint is upon us again. Tonight has been up and down and up. Packing has been mostly smooth, but then I left to meet up with this really great kid at a party thrown by someone I despise. The party wasn't so bad, though I definitely had some moments of staring out quietly amid the madness a la Garden State. Then the kid and I left and had a conversation we should have had four months ago, about how I'm basically in love with him even though I know it doesn't make sense, and he basically said, "yeah, you're right, you're really great but I'm sorry." And I cried, which felt good, but I felt pretty sheepish about it. How lame is it to have someone sitting in your dark room (he'd already packed the lamps) a) liking you unrequitedly and b) crying in your arms about it? But he was very sweet.
So then I went to my studio and broke some pots I wasn't happy with, walked home in the ice singing Joni Mitchell and decided to not drink another beer. Or pack, for now. Instead, I made some tea and watched some porn. Then, on a whim, I looked up the one and only fan-fiction I ever wrote from sophomore year of high school (Conor Oberst/Joe Knapp, of course), just to see how it read. It wasn't so bad, if flowery and written by someone who had never had sex or gotten drunk, both of which were key plot elements, naturally. Then I was eyeing the "feedback" box, and wondering, "Did anyone ever give me any feedback on this shit?" And they had! In droves! Well, not droves, but all of the comments were very complimentary, and, perhaps more pointedly, seemingly written by articulate people. A reoccuring theme was "write more!" Perhaps I should quit this poetry/short story business and revert to the form of my previous sucess.
¶ 4:15 AM 0 Comments
So then I went to my studio and broke some pots I wasn't happy with, walked home in the ice singing Joni Mitchell and decided to not drink another beer. Or pack, for now. Instead, I made some tea and watched some porn. Then, on a whim, I looked up the one and only fan-fiction I ever wrote from sophomore year of high school (Conor Oberst/Joe Knapp, of course), just to see how it read. It wasn't so bad, if flowery and written by someone who had never had sex or gotten drunk, both of which were key plot elements, naturally. Then I was eyeing the "feedback" box, and wondering, "Did anyone ever give me any feedback on this shit?" And they had! In droves! Well, not droves, but all of the comments were very complimentary, and, perhaps more pointedly, seemingly written by articulate people. A reoccuring theme was "write more!" Perhaps I should quit this poetry/short story business and revert to the form of my previous sucess.
¶ 4:15 AM 0 Comments
