Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Butter toffee and syncretist religion.

That's what tonight has been all about. School wears on me, and so I ignored the professors for a day and just read a book I snagged from my grandmother's shelf - a thick paperback, a post-industrial romantic/business/hints of mystery novel called The Tea Rose by Jennifer Donnelly. I finished it this afternoon, procrastinated on my essay as long as possible, just like I am now.

I made myself some butter toffee coffee. Of course it smells more like butter toffee than it tastes - I take my "sweet" coffees (as if) just plain and black. Unusual for a fourteen-year-old girl. But I've grown to enjoy it.

So now, tonight, I finish that essay I believe I wrote about forever ago. Goodness, but it's boring - writing a Works Cited page over the eighth time, putting in signal phrases and varied sentence structures and all sorts of boring whatnots that I never have to think about when I write fiction - because fiction flows smoothly from my brain. So prettily. So fast. So... energetic. But school is just... forced. I have no passion for what I'm writing. Just persistence - a teeth-gritting, furrowed-brow persistence.

(Goodness, it's late. Phys-Ed is going to be hellish tomorrow.)

I feel an idea in my brain. It's sprouted from an old, old idea and an old, old, OLD character that I've made anew, and now it wants to grow. But all the schoolwork is crowding out its light and its food and its water and it can't get out, and it'll fester and die in there.

That's why I always start to falter near the end of the school year. Springtime brings me ideas - the heavy misery of cold, cold winter ends, finally, and ideas begin to form, but all of my responsibilities consume the time I need to bring them to fruition. Fuck.

If I finish this essay and I'm not tired, I'll write about a writing program I want to get into, then about a boy I can't stop arguing with (the asshat). And then, I'll sleep, like my creative, creative soul EVENTUALLY needs to do, no matter how much it protests.

Ah, and yes, that was sarcasm. Or it wasn't... to be honest, I'm too frayed to be able to tell, at the moment.

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