It is Tuesday, and this hellish week is almost over (well, technically it's just starting, but my major assignments in this string of major assignments are almost over). It is exciting.
Last night I did my annotated bibliography for my final project. It was fun. I am doing the paper about women in Appalachain fiction, so I got to look through all kinds of books and read about things I remembered from my childhood. And, of course, it made me think. I love where I am from. I love what it has given me, but most of all, what it has not given me. I love being stubborn and independant, but knowing deep down what the important things in life are. I love being proud of who I am, and knowing that my very essence is backed up by a whole string of mountains and music. It makes me feel good inside. Now, I do not doubt my past, instead, I find myself praising it.
So this brings me to the much trickier subject of the future. When I daydream, I think of mountains, not publishing jobs in New York. I think of myself on the porch of my own mountain retreat, staring out as the sun dives behind the blue peaks, coffee cup in hand. I don't think of living in the suburbs, riding the train, smog, none of that. But for some reason, I'm heading straight into the city, begging someone to give me employment so I can live that very life. I don't know why. And for some reason, I can't stop. I'm selling out. It's like being on the side of the mountain and sliding down, unable to get a good hard step on anything, dirt flying around your ankles in mockery. I'm becoming what I so abhor. And I don't quite know what to make of it. It's like I have no free will anymore, like I can't stop the inevitable. I don't know.
It's scary, but I hate this sorry mood I'm creating here. So here's a lighthearted look at my current obsessions:
1. My paper, and the Appalachian ideas therein.
2. Michael Stipe. God love all bald men.
3. Buying new music, or making it, due to lack of fundage.
4. Nerds, both the candy and the people who make good academic conversation about War and Peace.
5. Flannery O'Connor. This could be a permanent obsession but we are rereading it for Southern Writers, so it's like getting back in touch with an old friend.
Last night I did my annotated bibliography for my final project. It was fun. I am doing the paper about women in Appalachain fiction, so I got to look through all kinds of books and read about things I remembered from my childhood. And, of course, it made me think. I love where I am from. I love what it has given me, but most of all, what it has not given me. I love being stubborn and independant, but knowing deep down what the important things in life are. I love being proud of who I am, and knowing that my very essence is backed up by a whole string of mountains and music. It makes me feel good inside. Now, I do not doubt my past, instead, I find myself praising it.
So this brings me to the much trickier subject of the future. When I daydream, I think of mountains, not publishing jobs in New York. I think of myself on the porch of my own mountain retreat, staring out as the sun dives behind the blue peaks, coffee cup in hand. I don't think of living in the suburbs, riding the train, smog, none of that. But for some reason, I'm heading straight into the city, begging someone to give me employment so I can live that very life. I don't know why. And for some reason, I can't stop. I'm selling out. It's like being on the side of the mountain and sliding down, unable to get a good hard step on anything, dirt flying around your ankles in mockery. I'm becoming what I so abhor. And I don't quite know what to make of it. It's like I have no free will anymore, like I can't stop the inevitable. I don't know.
It's scary, but I hate this sorry mood I'm creating here. So here's a lighthearted look at my current obsessions:
1. My paper, and the Appalachian ideas therein.
2. Michael Stipe. God love all bald men.
3. Buying new music, or making it, due to lack of fundage.
4. Nerds, both the candy and the people who make good academic conversation about War and Peace.
5. Flannery O'Connor. This could be a permanent obsession but we are rereading it for Southern Writers, so it's like getting back in touch with an old friend.
posted by Southern Belle at 11:04 AM
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