reprints

Throughout all four years of college I made intermittent entries in e-journals I affectionately named in honor of each year. These titles aren't especially ingenious and could actually be a source of embarrassment to me if I publicize them. Perhaps on another day when I am feeling more bold...
Still, not all of the material contained within the journals is rotten. Much of it should be picked up again and developed further. Now, I'm not at all interested in telling you any sordid and intimate tales of love and loneliness. As I so clearly stated when I began this blog, unreserved self-disclosure simply isn't my style. I like to keep some cards up my sleeve when writing, going on first dates, or socializing at work. Therefore, any of my journal entries reprinted on this blog will be carefully selected and edited, if necessary. And I may not always tell you when I've done the latter. All of that being said, here's a little something from a night at the library junior year:

November 28, 2006

Call me crazy, but sometimes I really enjoy working. Adam's curse does not always pan out in life, thank goodness. I had this epiphany as I was working on ideas for my senior paper and taking notes for an upcoming Romantic Literature paper. Any time I try to develop ideas and logic for papers it takes a long time. I must sit quietly, not writing, just thinking. Then I must re-read works, often taking painstaking notes (but not always, mind you). In regard to productivity, it must be likened to watching paint dry. Yet, when I get an idea, when my brain is in fire, and I scrawl down some beautifully profound connection, it's total euphoria. There is this satisfying feeling that usually causes me to sigh with pleasure, and shuffle my papers vigorously, setting them back neatly to signify that similar order has now come to my thoughts.

As of now, I'm unsure that this evening's work is worth that satisfaction. My senior paper idea has not been approved, and I have not officially started writing my paper for Romantic Lit. Perhaps when I do the real work of writing I will kick myself for feeling mildly happy about the work completed tonight: Stupid, stupid...that wasn't even close to insightful. You were just taking up time doing mindless drivel so that you could pretend to work.....Oh gosh, I hope that is not the case. And now it is too late anyway. This journal entry has just interposed doubt into pleasurable feeling and it has subsequently turned it into a sickening feeling. In writing about a hypothetical future I have made it my present. Yuck.

It's funny how little journal entries, so disheveled in their organization and feeble in their offerings, influence when I only intend them for reflection. All I wanted to say initially was: I feel good about the work I did tonight. What I ended up doing was second-guessing myself and souring any sense of accomplishment. In five minutes, in two hundred and fifty words, you can end up falling back into cynical patterns and convince yourself that things are really worthless after all.