Day Twenty
Seven: Life is waiting for you
Why is
there no post-secondary option of Writing: whenever, wherever, however? Why can’t I just take a year off and write in
a tropical location? Wake up at two in
the morning to write five hundred pages and then nap the rest of the day? If I make a portfolio, and get published, and
then get advance payment or a sabbatical of sorts would this happen? Can this happen now? Why can’t I just work on my novella’s and
make that my living?
Not saying
that I’d ever in a million years just want to write and travel, I would love to
continue community involvement and all that jazz, but it makes me so much more
happy. Don’t get me wrong, on those good
days I enjoy university and enjoy the readings and enjoy the classes, but every
other day I would get more out of life with less bullshit and more input. More creativity. That’s why I write here, but unfortunately my
imagination does not get me a useful degree.
Some people
believe theirs does, it doesn’t.
My ability
to dream up characters and situations and poetry will never pay my bills, but
it makes me happy. Why must we choose
between making a living or the feeling of self worth and happiness? Some people love what they do, and I intend
to love whatever I end up doing, but could it not just be something that I
really enjoy doing that also happens to help people? And is this degree necessary? If I read the next twelve pages of sonnets,
and understand why they were written and what it reveals about the human
condition, will this really help me in the future? Potentially, but ultimately it’s just another
uncomfortable obstacle in my adventure of undergraduate studies.
I don’t
mean to say every class is useless, or that any class is useless, I just really
want to write. I don’t want to spend my
time being too busy to enjoy anything.
Is that good for anything? Good
for humanity? The economy (eventually)? Health?
The environment? Maybe at the end
of all this, in hindsight, it will make sense and I will understand, but I’ve
never felt so motivated by the fact that there is two weeks until reading week,
and after that week there are only four weeks until classes are over, and then
two weeks until I’m done this semester.
Yes, I spent a good two minutes figuring out the exact countdown until I
no longer have to do these courses.
And these
are the courses that I enjoy. I like to
learn about drama in the nineteenth century.
I like listening about the craziness that is Queen Elizabeth I, and the
1960’s have always been a favourite of mine, but why is it that I can’t get
through it this time?
The fact
that I just came back from a term thousands of miles away from home in the most
amazing city in the world and I learned more half-assing it in those four
courses and seeing the world than I do here?
Probably. I feel virtually
helpless, like I can’t even begin my life until I can afford anything in it, or
maybe afford the time for it. I can
hardly find time to write this blog, let alone enjoy a coffee with a friend, or
read for pleasure. Hell, going to get
physical activity would be wonderful if I could spare the damn time away from
readings and preparations.
Maybe I’ve
never liked university, maybe I’m just stuck at the moment, as much as I drone
on and on about enjoying the term, I just want it to be the summer. After I graduate.
x
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