It has been a very, very long time since I have felt rested in any sense of the word. Perhaps as a consequence, all the writing I have done in the past five months or so has been forced (at worst) and usually uninspired.
I wrote the final exam of my undergraduate degree just under a month ago, and it has taken that long to rediscover my “normal” self (if there is such a thing as my normal self). Some time away from the city — see the picture above — and some time spent with my rather carefree brother helped to fight my fatigue. During the last couple of days I have experienced actual excitement and a sense of purpose with regards to my creative writing. How extraordinary! I had nearly forgotten what a difference inspiration can make. Continue reading
UWO’s student journal, Occasus, has published one story, two poems, and one experimental piece of mine in the 2017 issue (launched today). This journal has been very, very good to me throughout my time at university. Now that I have completed my degree, this is the last publication I will have in the journal.
To bid me an especially fine farewell, Occasus granted my story, “Alyson and the Haunting of the Home Decorating Store,” first prize in its contest. This is a story inspired both by my time working at Pier 1 Imports and by an old coworker of mine. It is also a story I thought would forever go misunderstood. It deals with very subtle Marxist themes, but more significantly with the dangerous undercurrents lurking within retail. In addition, it’s slightly comedic — and, considering comedy is something I always struggle with, this story provides a nice alternative to my usual writing.
Farewell, Occasus! It’s been swell.
Disclaimer: I did not take this photo; my brother did while climbing a tree in order to get a closer look at this long-nailed, big-lipped buddy. I was down below, on the ground, watching the magic unfold. In another, blurrier photo, the porcupine shows his orange teeth in what looks like a smile, but is probably closer to a territorial snarl.
This all happened in a forest far away from the internet. I spent a week at a camp, not going online once, and found it heavenly. I have always been a proponent of “less screen time,” but I often fail to achieve my own ideals, what with this blog and various social media outlets pulling constantly at my attention. I didn’t realize until I spent this week away from computers how much these distractions were affecting me. Recently, my creative writing has been scarce — partly because my focus was previously on academic writing for summer school, but also partly because my mind was much too scattered to produce a coherent narrative. Continue reading
“To think as a feminist means trying to think connectedly about, for example, the science of embryology as it may connect with sexuality (what does it mean, for example, that in the fetus male differentiation occurs only after several weeks); about human body-rhythms and their relation to natural cycles (the menses and the lunar month, the connections between woman, darkness, sleep, and death in the male unconscious; the connections with these and male attitudes and political decisions affecting women); about the uses and criteria of psychology.”
— Adrienne Rich, “The Antifeminist Woman,” On Lies, Secrets, and Silence
Tomorrow I will write the final exam of my undergraduate degree.
Ehem, yes. Tomorrow I will write the final exam of my undergraduate degree!
If you’ve been following my blog for a little over a year, you might remember my post, Time and Too Many Monsters: Why I am Leaving Formal Education, in which I professed my reasons for dropping nearly all of my classes in the early spring of 2016. For a short synopsis, my decision had both to do with persistent mental health issues and a stagnant, frustratingly dreary existence that went along with university life. Continue reading
The photo I wanted for this blog post was one of me completing the final essay for my undergrad degree, but it just so happens that not many people like to hang around taking pictures of me sitting with my laptop, especially when I usually tell them to bugger off because they are distracting me. Instead I have this photo of the sunrise on my cottage lake. The water is quiet and mist-covered at six o’clock in the morning, and this photo will serve well enough to represent the passing of time.
I am usually the opposite of grateful for the passing of time. I don’t like to see years go by, let alone months or even weeks. Recently, however, the passing of time has seemed the greatest blessing. The passing of time means the end of summer school, monotony, and exhaustion. The passing of time, in fact, means more time. Continue reading
After reading through my last 101 Reasons to Keep Living post, I decided that “Movement” would be a fine companion to “Naps.” After all, movement (of the mind or body) is what makes me tired enough to nap, and the energy I gain from naps gives me the ability to keep moving.
Movement, for me, has always been a confusing dichotomy. On one hand, I love travel. Going from country to country, getting little to no sleep, learning new languages, making fast friends, experiencing foreign cultures, partaking in spontaneous adventures… These things have always held me enraptured. On the other hand, I have perhaps unrealistic dreams of owning a farmhouse complete with fireplace, overstuffed bookshelves, deep couches, rugs, cats, maybe two or three rambling kids… You get the picture. Continue reading
Busy days, filled with family and friends, sluggish with work both for school and paid, stuffed to the brim with exhaustion and weird stomach pains, nearly always require naps. Here’s the bed in which I slept this afternoon. It is sufficiently, if not exceedingly, cozy. I remain grateful that I have this extraordinarily piece of furniture to curl up in. Continue reading
“She would not say of anyone in the world now that they were this or were that. She felt very young; at the same time unspeakably aged. She sliced like a knife through everything; at the same time was outside, looking on. She had a perpetual sense, as she watched the taxicabs, of being out, out, far out to sea and alone; she always had the feeling that it was very, very dangerous to live even one day.”
— Virginia Woolf, Mrs Dalloway
My days recently have been filled with poetry as I prepare for my experimental poetry reading with Catriona Wright, which is just under two weeks away. Never before have I so diligently written poems — my interests usually push me toward short stories — and so never before have I experienced the raw satisfaction of continuously playing with words. Continue reading