I like my new job better.

Teaching, that is.

Today I worked at the flower shop for yet another holiday. Why does Mother's Day always have to end up during finals week? Ugh. But I owe my father favor upon favor, so today I worked and in doing so remembered just how much I grew to hate it before quitting to take on the G.A-ship. Retail sucks. It really does. This, I was reminded of after answering the phone and listening to a mother complain that she didn't get her flowers. Flowers that #1, she didn't know IF they were actually ordered, and #2, didn't know whether or not they were ordered from our shop (if ordered in the first place). Now, believe it or not, I am someone who likes to make other people feel good (or at least I try), so it is very stressful when someone tries, for no particular reason, to make me feel bad. Especially for something that I am not responsible for. What is it about retail that gives the customer permission to forget that the person they are talking to is actually a human being? These are problems that I don't need. And I must say, working today made me realize just how nice it is teaching at BSU.

But anyway...

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At the moment I am enjoying a glass of wine in celebration of finishing my VW final. Yes, it is the same bottle of wine that I was drinking out of to finish my cont. writers paper. So much for alcoholism. And I would be really excited except that I still have two more papers to go. What the hell is taking me so long, I don't know. I've put long hours into sitting here staring at this computer plunking out one slow (backspace backspace) sentence (delete) at a (backspace) time. But fine, I'll continue. And the faster I do so, the sooner I'll be done. As though this isn't motivation enough!

And speaking of writing, I've noticed that this blog has deteriorated drastically, horribly, pitifully. I've given deep consideration into quitting blogging, at least for the summer. But blogs are addictive. Why? Audience? A constant desire to be heard? I'm not sure what it is, but I'm thinking that some private writing time would be good for me. My journal awaits. Summer awaits. Getting away from this damn computer awaits. I'm amazed that I've publicly recorded one of the most difficult years of my life. Ok, I left the worst of it out, which led to pure drivle in the end. It's time to move on. Thank you Blog for being a stepping stone, a crutch to lean on, but...

Blogging, for the most part, has become a space to complain, whine, complain, and occasionally publish words that should never be published. The "writing community" has become strange and vindictive. I find myself wondering what it would be like to be a writer in the "good old days" when people got together and shared their words over good conversation, wine, coffee, cigarettes. I'm trying to remember if I've ever experienced this, and I think I have, but it is too long ago to remember.

And so I've decided that the best thing to do is to retreat from the world until I have something worth sharing. Maybe then there will be a group of people that wish to do the same. In person. I look forward to that day and wonder if I'll have to move away in order to find it. I hope I'm proved wrong.

This summer I am looking forward to writing. Lots of writing. Oh god, lots and lots of writing. I can't wait! I plan, everyday, to write, to make headway on my thesis, but more importantly to tell the stories I've wanted to tell, but have not yet given myself the time or space to do so. My first plan of attack is to go to summer school. Creative writing only! But behind this lies my real motive and that is having the second half of summer off... to write, to write, to write. What would it be like to not be a writer? I wonder. As a writer, an artist, there is no such thing as "time off." Fine, always to have a purpose in life, I can settle for that. To write and to paint and swim in the river... this is my goal for the summer. Everyday except for when it rains-- then I'll just read. I'll sit on the porch listening to raindrops on metal and read.

Until then, I wait, writing side-notes in my head while I drive, or walk, or sit and stare. And maybe I won't quit blogging; I just won't feel like it needs to be done everyday. Why? Because this is gibberish, all gibberish. And I'm looking forward to getting past all this gibberish.