Inspiration, indignation
I just finished another class. This last one was "American Literature - 1865 to Present". Because I am pursuing a double major, I only had room for 3 electives. I chose Spanish I, Spanish II, and this one. The Spanish I & II classes aren't scheduled yet, so this was my one elective between my general education classes and my actual degree classes. I was really looking forward to this one.
Unfortunately, it happened at a bad time. A time when I was busy, and burnt out. I did all of the reading, and I loved the reading. I got to read Steinbeck, and F. Scott Fitzgerald, and Amy Tan, and Allen Ginsberg, and Jack Kerouac, and everyone I love, really.
I was able to choose between about five different topics for my final essay. I chose to write on the Beat Generation and the impact they had or didn't have on American Literature and society.
I dove into it. I started researching weeks ago, I watched the movie, "Howl", I started reading a biography on Kerouac. I bought Howl and other poems. I read so much on the beat poets that I dreamt about them. I was reminded of my own teenage years, when I started reading them and loved them and wanted to surround myself with people like them. I was moved to write poetry this weekend. I was loving this class. I stayed away from my friends and family this weekend in order to finish my research.
The only thing I didn't do...
was start my essay until 9:00 last night.
My eyes were hurting so badly from reading and being on the computer all day, and I was beat (no pun intended). I couldn't focus. I have no idea if my paper was good or bad because this is the way I edit: I check for mispelled words and I hit "send". That's what I do every time. And then, I stress for a week about the grade. I have NEVER received a poor grade on my writing. EVER. I always get some sort of comment from the instructor that my writing is unique, and different, and enjoyable. I don't know why. I've always had people say that but I don't know what it is about it that is unique and different and enjoyable.
The problem is that for this class, I missed some (and by some I mean too many) deadlines and this grade is really, really important. It is 30% of the class. I know I shouldn't worry too much. I know that the feeling I have today is the same exact feeling I have every time I turn in a paper. I doubt myself. I question my writing abilities. I worry that I am not a good writer. Because my degrees are in Communications and Journalism, I doubt that I am pursuing the right career for me.
By 2:00 this morning, I hated Jack Kerouac. I hated Allen Ginsberg. I hated Carl Solomon and I especially hated William S. Burroughs. I hated my instructor and myself and all of the people that I've been blowing my school off for in the last few weeks. I started wondering if life was meaningless and if there was no hope for happiness. I hated my dog and my cat and my job and everyone I've ever fallen in love with.
And then I went to bed. And I woke up and went to work. And I will wait for approximately two weeks to find out if I just screwed myself out of $1116 and added another five weeks to my schooling.
And I realized that the fact that I spent the day wondering if life is meaningless probably means that I will pass this class.
Unfortunately, it happened at a bad time. A time when I was busy, and burnt out. I did all of the reading, and I loved the reading. I got to read Steinbeck, and F. Scott Fitzgerald, and Amy Tan, and Allen Ginsberg, and Jack Kerouac, and everyone I love, really.
I was able to choose between about five different topics for my final essay. I chose to write on the Beat Generation and the impact they had or didn't have on American Literature and society.
I dove into it. I started researching weeks ago, I watched the movie, "Howl", I started reading a biography on Kerouac. I bought Howl and other poems. I read so much on the beat poets that I dreamt about them. I was reminded of my own teenage years, when I started reading them and loved them and wanted to surround myself with people like them. I was moved to write poetry this weekend. I was loving this class. I stayed away from my friends and family this weekend in order to finish my research.
The only thing I didn't do...
was start my essay until 9:00 last night.
My eyes were hurting so badly from reading and being on the computer all day, and I was beat (no pun intended). I couldn't focus. I have no idea if my paper was good or bad because this is the way I edit: I check for mispelled words and I hit "send". That's what I do every time. And then, I stress for a week about the grade. I have NEVER received a poor grade on my writing. EVER. I always get some sort of comment from the instructor that my writing is unique, and different, and enjoyable. I don't know why. I've always had people say that but I don't know what it is about it that is unique and different and enjoyable.
The problem is that for this class, I missed some (and by some I mean too many) deadlines and this grade is really, really important. It is 30% of the class. I know I shouldn't worry too much. I know that the feeling I have today is the same exact feeling I have every time I turn in a paper. I doubt myself. I question my writing abilities. I worry that I am not a good writer. Because my degrees are in Communications and Journalism, I doubt that I am pursuing the right career for me.
By 2:00 this morning, I hated Jack Kerouac. I hated Allen Ginsberg. I hated Carl Solomon and I especially hated William S. Burroughs. I hated my instructor and myself and all of the people that I've been blowing my school off for in the last few weeks. I started wondering if life was meaningless and if there was no hope for happiness. I hated my dog and my cat and my job and everyone I've ever fallen in love with.
And then I went to bed. And I woke up and went to work. And I will wait for approximately two weeks to find out if I just screwed myself out of $1116 and added another five weeks to my schooling.
And I realized that the fact that I spent the day wondering if life is meaningless probably means that I will pass this class.
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