buried deep.

somewhere, deep within my subconscious, there is a being who can write an essay that sounds GOOD, that can pour out the exact word required by a sentence, who can impress professors and fellow students with a brilliantly written turn of phrase and a paragraph that could make you weep.

now if only i could figure out where i put her. she may have died of old age, or boredom due to being stuck back there for years on end. she may have twitched herself into a seizure at the sight of some of my writing over the years. or maybe she just fell asleep, and refuses to wake without a kiss from her prince. in any case, she is lost to me, no matter how hard i try, and sometimes that rankles.

what on earth makes me think i'm cut out for graduate studies? i'm not brilliant. i'm not an avid scholar. i'm a dabbler, a jack-of-all-trades. i cannot remember anything when i need it. i'm terrible with dates (a huge bonus for a history major, i'm sure), and most of my non-fiction writing makes me twitch with repressed horror. is THIS the best i can do? this mediocre piece of self-important crap? where is the motivation? where is the drive?

lost to me, for now. maybe it'll come back in a few months and wake the muse with a kiss. and then, we'll see what becomes of this.

i'd forgotten how much i loved this.

when i still lived at home, i would rearrange all my furniture once every few months, just for the fun of it. my mother thought i was mad. now that i live in an apartment, there's only so much rearranging i can do, what with the wires being in certain places and everything being fairly jammed in. so i take out my need to do stuff on Lindvior. *evil grin*

prepping today went well, i can't believe some of the stuff we found in that room. SHE PAINTED A SPIDER. 0_o

tomorrow: priming, then painting. a bit more shopping, maybe the creation of some doors. let's pull out them ole carpentry skills...