I Finally Finished the Expanded Memoir

One more thing off my list. Cornelia looked at it. When I gave it to her, I thought it was good. She said it was good. But because I have really high expectations of myself, I was discouraged when I reviewed her edits.

She liked it, but noticed some weaknesses. She's a good editor. And I made the changes. And I think it's better. I even gave a copy to Elizabeth. I'm glad I got it out of my system. While I was writing, I felt constricted. Most likely because this was for a grade. I know I write of things that at times made me so angry that I got tears in my eyes. Or felt completely isolated. This isolated feeling was always accompanied by anger. But I'm not sure I got that out in this essay. I'm still learning about this writing game.Unfortunately, and as I've lamented many times right here, writing is the only form of expression I'm "good" at. I use quotes because I don't really believe that myself. I'm still struggling with it. I still fear it. It still controls me. And yet, I keep wanting to do it. Because it's the only thing I've got. I want so badly to have this be easy. But I guess if it was easy, there would be no point. Maybe I have to get some distance from school. Perhaps words will start to flow smoother on December 20 when everything is done and I can take a break. Maybe I'll be able to wax philosophic on stuff. Relay coherently my thoughts. Tap into my subconscious. I think if I try hard enough I could reach it.  The ironic thing is that I found something out this weekend that's a little frightening. In doing some more research on the schools to which I'm applying, I discovered that, at CUNY, most English students teach freshman composition. Isn't that funny? I would be teaching writing. I would be helping them establish a style, academic or not, that I can't even find in myself. That's frightening. But this fear is rooted in my presumption that I will be accepted. And that's not how I'm thinking now. I'm thinking I need to finish this bloody statement already, so I can move on to the next thing. It's like a metal stake searing through my eyeball. Painful. And I can't see beyond it. So the expanded memoir is accessible now. I'm gonna go work some more on my statement and then maybe get to sleep before 4 a.m. Hitchens is lecturing tomorrow on Edward Said. The good thing about that is he likes to take smoke breaks in the middle of class.