Stories that you read but never write

I'm writing this month long awaited blog post here at almost 3AM. I care not to really get into any linkage or media savvy discussion because, as my picture indicates, I'm more apt to writing about, well, writing. So let's get to it, shall we?

I am almost done with my M.F.A. program. I'm happy and, at the same time, sort of meh...unfulfilled. I know that I took on this program for my own personal desire to work towards my heart's desire. I wanted to have deadlines and discussion and work done on my writing. When I took this program on last April, I was in the midst of my crappy workplace. So having something to glue me back to my sanity was necessary. And the program was taken on. Yay for me.

However, now I am wondering where I want to go from here. I'm at the much awaited cross roads in my life. (Huh, I wasn't intending on getting to this in my post this evening. But I guess it all is related.) The way I see it; I can write anywhere, by any means about anything. I can carry my legal pad or my spiral bound notebook out to the porch with my tea and write away. I could be anywhere and I could write a story or a journal entry or a poem (my new found, lovely thing to do right now -- even if I am drastically untalented in the art since I am no Dickinson or Whitman or W.C. Williams) and my life's purpose would be complete. I am still fervently convinced that my life has to be lead first and foremost and then my writing can echo it in a way to describe the pathways. It may be silly to say this but, yes, I want to "teach" the future readership of my little section of shelf at Borders one day that this is how things were for me and this is what I learned from it all.

But teaching, even after an interview at the community college, I'm not sure I can or will or want to still do it. (Although nothing tickles me the same way seeing a book about grammar sitting in my lap as someone leans over and discusses "curriculum" with me does. Aahh...) I still am thinking of going a different route in my educational realm since this English bit isn't really panning out. I even had a lady at another, separate interview, query to me, "Not to be disrespectful, but exactly why did you chose an English degree anyway?" I had to admit, "Because I love it." I mean, what other explanation can I give? I love books and I love writing. I never expected to be a millionaire, I always expected to sit at a desk and pour over facets of print media and write things in a little notebook, just as I did since as long as I can remember.

Anyway, so tonight I got some of what I was supposed to do tonight but I still have to work tomorrow. It is now 3:04AM and I was going to make an early morning tomorrow and head to the pool. Apparently not. I still have reading to do before I go to bed and I still have things to write; just for me. I can work anywhere, live anywhere and this is what will always be readily available. But as always I'm still behind in real progress. I will, however, it just takes me a while to get there. I am not so much envious anymore of all that people do because I know I have the potential and the ability in me to do all the things I want to do. Now I sort of just appreciate seeing what kinds of things are possible.

My other thing I wanted to mention was that my poor fishy has died. I noticed him looking a little sluggish and I kept trying to feed him and chat to him and encourage him to be okay but I guess two years for a fish is pretty good. He was the one that my friend at school last year gave me when her mother bought one each for our classrooms. The kids loved them but they did try to overfeed them or shake them to "see if they were dead." Very nice. I still remember when we had the hurricane that school year and I had to bring his big plant filled beta bowl in the car with me, to the apartment complex and up the stairs; very carefully. By the time we got back to school, once the hurricane passed, I figured there was no reason to subject him to further torture at the hands of middle school children, so I kept him in a little one gallon tank on the kitchen counter. And there he stayed until his toilet bowl funeral yesterday afternoon. Poor fishy.

So even though I'm working through all sorts of my past habits and lying them aside (ignoring the impulses and killing off all the bad thoughts, etc.) I still justified my impulse to get another fish. It was a nice, hot Sunday afternoon and I hadn't even left the house yesterday since my books kept me on the couch, at the computer, and on the porch for some fresh air -- still not out of the apartment. I reasoned that I needed some sunshine and fresh air, a ride, some music, a visit to my parents (Mom made chili; like I'm going to pass that up. Plus I got my letter from school about my financial aid; I have an email saying that my classes are paid for, yet a letter that says I still have an outstanding bill. Um...okay?) I then took a ride to get $10 worth of gas. Then went to Dollar General for $15 of: Cascade with Bleach, Purex laundry softener (cheap but it works), a stationary set ($2 and purple!), bottles of water and sugar free Bubble Yum (that is no where to be found anywhere except the Dollar Store it seems; that is my driving gum brand of choice because it is the only one that hold the capability of bubble blowing.)

Then I went to Petco. Now what I intended on getting was, say a couple of goldfish or angelfish or something that wouldn't have to be all by itself in my little tank. I know that Bruce dying was sad and it definitely ended a part of my past life for me and made me think about my classroom once again (also made me really think that I need to get on the ball and email my friend again and see how she is doing at school, however that may entail a social situation and I'll have to get to that later too.) I looked and looked at the store in the freshwater fish department. The lady working there assisted a middle aged lady and her daughter, then a mother with five or six (well behaved, mind you) children who were all getting fish for their aquarium. It was cute to hear them discuss with one another what their fish's names would be. However, it was not cute that I was never asked to be helped. I mean I mingled, I looked, I browsed, I even had a couple of aquarium supplies in my hand but nope, even as I looked around for the lady working there to come back, she never did. No one wanted to help the girl in the Halloween t-shirt. (It rules; it's orange with a big, black splashy painted raven on it.) Anyway, so since it was evident that no one was going to help me get a fish, I started realizing how much easier it would be to get a beta fish. I mean I had all the stuff for one and they are very, very easy to take care of. Plus, if I even did go anywhere (I still hold out hope!) putting a little feeder in there would be easy as pie, or even taking the little one gallon tank to have someone else feed him a couple times of day works fine. So I looked at the beta fish, already sad in their little plastic homes and I thought, "I should just rescue one of these guys and let them live in a nice, happy, aquarium in my kitchen." I love hearing the sound of the aquarium and I didn't want to put the silly tank away and not let it keep life in it as it should so, I found a fish! I was looking at a big, pretty medium blue fish but both Scott (my first beta who died quite a while ago) and Bruce were blue. I couldn't help but notice the little red guy who was sitting on the shelf staring straight at me. I kept thinking about the Velveteen Rabbit and how the toys on the shelf were sad when no one wanted to take them home. (They really shouldn't traumatize children with such ideas, especially those with overactive imaginations and a sensitive nature. I always think of things like that and feel bad for all of them. I always understood why Charlie Brown chose that little Christmas tree that needed a home the most. That's why I always choose the ones that are short and fat that no one else would really want. Sigh...) Anyway, so I picked up my new red fish and have named him Borges after the writer that I'm writing about for my class right now. (If my professor ever comes across this blog, I hope he feels quite proud that I chose this name.) I figured that Borges was Spanish speaking, the idea of red and bull-fighting came to mind and seemed like a suitable name; although I did research and discover that this is not a practice, apparently, in his homeland of Argentina. Sigh...oh well. The same is there so it shall stay. How else can I be expected to be a writer if I don't name my pets after literary figures or characters. (I still say the cat is named after Jacob Marley.)

I'm also very, very tired of my current situation. I never talk to anyone and I never want to go and do the same old things I use to do a while back. The club is just dead to me and I have no desire to go anymore. And when I did go out a while back I felt depressed for days afterwards. I've been getting like that lately when I'm out with people and feel like I just don't have any connection to any of it anymore. This has slowly been taking effect on my for a while and now I really see how I'm just over it where I am now. I am so ready for a change in this solitary little life.

And that's about it for this evening. It's now 4AM and I really should go grab my books and head to bed so I can get up at a hopeful decent hour and get back to work. Before I go for now (I'm sure my writing/education/unemployment topics will surface again soon; supposedly I'm getting that extension on unemployment like everyone else in the country!) I will leave you with one revelation that I made while working this evening. Sometimes typos are a good thing.

Love and Live are only one letter apart. You have to remove the "I", as in the selfish side of yourself, perhaps, to allow that center, that empty place in yourself to be filled. "I" can live, but "O" is the center, the core of love.

Photo credit: deloresdefacto

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