Le Octopus

Today all of my school work has risen over me like a great tidal wave of assignments. Feminist theory, language in Shakespeare, describing fictional interactions with people.

Today I am wondering how important it is to take time out for yourself. I wrote a sarcastic note on tumblr recently about aspiring students who think that their English major is going to make them into a writer. I can tell you from experience, my English major has done little to foster that.

I am a writer though, because at some point I took up the backside of my math notes and began a story. And I fell in love with it. And I could not stop. Soon I wrote on the back of all of my notes, and on envelopes, napkins, scraps.

It is important, of course, to hone your skills to the best they can possibly be. I just worked with a mentor long before I set foot in college. So, I blame little of my development on my schooling. As I am swamped with assignments, lack of sleep, caffeine withdrawals, and all of the irrationality that comes from being a college student (though luckily I don’t live in the dorms, so I still have some solace) I realize that I have not written, let alone read, anything for myself in almost two months.

I begin to feel cracks in my mental state, in my whole perception of my self. And this is why I think you are not a writer unless you truly think you are one, classes notwithstanding. I do not feel human when I am not writing on my own, for no purpose than my own pleasure.

Write on, Octopi. Hopefully I’ll make it through this semester alive!