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2003-12-10 || 8:45 p.m. || the deep end is right there. i'm waving at it. || oh heavens. presently freaking out in the most serious sense where i'm not even going to cry about it/have nice pity party involving burying self in quilts and blankets and turning out lights for possible sweet 8:45 pm bedtime and blessed stretch of hours where conscious concerns cannot get in. i forgot that kind of stress that manifests in those physical ways, where you feel like you're drunk or sick and can recognize anxiety in the fingertips and nostrils and chest cavity, down to the nerve endings and synapses. efffffff. but i would like to document this moment, please, at 8:48 pm on wednesday night december 10th, when i innocently decided to delve into MFA application process. the past few months have been cushioned by All the Time I Have, the smug feeling of Starting Early, the lofty assumptions that statements of purpose and novel chapter re-writes would come to me in dreams or visions or other painless vehicles, and all of the sudden i have unwittingly popped all those nice bubbles to find what i have. i have. no time. and so much work. and i was standing outside just now, trying to delay the inevitable unspontaneous combustion, watching the way the rain looks under orange streetlamps, calculating down to days (36) how much time i have, making promises and remembering i can't ask God for any help because we broke up (albeit in a quiet uneventful dispassionate way) years and years ago. and i know i'm overreacting. when it comes down to it there isn't that much to do and i have the time (but what about christmas and new year's??? and shopping. you have to buy presents and make cards and drive down to orange county where you will get nothing done; you know that.)(oh and you work too, you know. and you're not one to jump on the productivity train when getting home after ten hours spent at a stupid fucking job that really, honestly, is a big waste of time steady paycheck or not). i forgot my point. oh yes. i'm fucked, relatively speaking, and i just wanted to share that the next month is going to be not so fun. that's why i'll be wearing the same clothes five days in a row and my hair will fall out and i'll forget words and proper speech and grammar. heretoforth i'm not allowed to spend time writing about things to do and my present fuckedness because that just makes me batty and upset and doesn't get me anywhere really. efffffffffffffffff. but more importantly: i can't give up. i can't decide it's too much and there's always next year and i promise to be much more diligent about things next time around. i can't cite emotional state, sessions with therapists, a general unworthiness, the probability of not getting accepted, my little problem of not ever going for the gusto, or a pretend decision to Try for Something Else. promise, jenny. you will see this through if only to say you tried. then you can hole up under your quilts and eat cookie dough by the tube and gain three hundred pounds and have the roommates move the telly into your bedroom so that you can watch the oc and the simple life until your heart explodes in a chocolate-chip filled extravaganza. promise. guestbook || notes || archives || profile || photos || d-land |