In a word...afraid. Even coming to this class made me a little edgy. I went down to De Harts and bought a pack of American Spirit ultra lights (one of my many vises) and couldn’t rip out a cigarette fast enough from the yellow box.
Why this reaction? Fear of failure maybe. But more of a fear that I am going to have to endure another class so full of shit that I am not even going to be able to hack it, and have to quit before I even make it half way. I am quite popular for doing that. Quitting that is. I start something that has a lot of potential and then I drop it.....abort it.....slit its throat. If I don’t see potential right away then I slowly start to convince myself that I am wasting my time and should move on, just say fuck it.
This is true for all things in my life. Writing. Jobs. School. Relationships. Friendship. Family. However, when it comes to school I tend to get more anxious, afraid. I’ve been here since 2001 (With the exception of that year and a half where i tried to "find myself" in Seattle....Jesus, was that a mistake) and I still don’t have my associates degree.
So why bother, you might ask? Because with every semester I learn something about myself that I probably wouldn’t have attained otherwise. Because with each new bit of information about the world I become more comfortable in my own skin and see a hope that is still blurry, but there. Because I come “this much” closer to polishing my craft in writing. Because, although I know that I will not make as much as a CEO of some land raping corporation, I will be happy with my ability create fictitious truth, that I hope will shake the very foundations that I and others stand on. . .
I can only anticipate that this class will give me a few more tools to push on, grow, and conquer those terrors which hold me back.
With these (im)perfect words, I leave you.
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