December 16th, 2010

Rainbow || Rainbow northern lights.

(no subject)

In my household, there are two phrases I am particularly well known for. The first hardly applies presently (although this paper due Friday does have that inherent "fuck my life" mentality). I will start with that phrase.

"I can't even."

Today I was procrastinating on Facebook and saw that a friend-of-a-friend of mine was tagged in an art album. I thought 'oooh, eye candy!' and hurried on over. I scrolled and was incredibly impressed. I got to a picture of McGonagall chalked on a wall. I knew I had to contact this amazing person and tell her how fantastic she was, so I did, because 'shy' has never really been one of my merits. I continued through to see more incredibly beautiful art and, to my surprise and delight, more Harry Potter--McGonagall, in fact! Plus some Hermione/Snape. I was incredibly pleased, but I'd already messaged, so I thought I would leave it at that.

We have been chatting. We settled our endless love for Minerva McGonagall. I mentioned I wrote, she asked if my writing could be found anywhere, I pointed her toward my fest fic. (Beware, I'm about to lose my sanity.)

alsdjkflasjdf KLAJSDFLKAJSDF!!!

She had read "Unicorn Horn Delight"; she had participated as well. I'm sure you all remember this Minerva/Wilhelmina gem that spread around our collective flists?

I think I squeed my head off. Small world meetings on Facebook.

This friend-of-a-friend is fandom unrelated, too; she's big on Glee fandom and gayboys (Klaine, I believe it's called). But once again my worlds have collided. Let's see the connection thus far.

Kiwi --> Molly, via Sheroes Central, a feminist board once run by Tamora Pierce --> Cassia, an unschooler (what cool people call 'homeschoolers') friend of Molly's through an unschooling camp much like my own hippie Rowe Camp; Cassia lived in MA at the time too so we met up after chatting and now are good friends --> Lani, another camp friend I met through Cassia and Zephyr (Cassia's boyfriend) --> tartansocks!

And, as we've just established, tartansocks and I participated in the same fest; we even used prompts of the same pairing. Harry Potter. Thus unrelated to the prior community mentions.

I am shocked and giddy. Small world, small Internet!

Thank you, Minerva McGonagall. You've improved my life again. (:
Rainbow || Rainbow northern lights.

(no subject)

It's 20 to 8 in the morning and the sky is growing lighter.

Standing between me and a d-u-n dead semester: a few changes of a handout, two presentations, some printing and this paper (2000-2500 words).

I have about 1,900 words. They're terrible. Well, actually, the words themselves aren't terrible--each sentence taken on its own isn't so bad and I don't tend to get marked down on my writing very much anyway.

But I know it isn't good. I haven't outlined and thus far I've only used three sources, which means I'm clearly going for the write-it-out, bulk-out-references technique. Which, yes, is pretty popular with students. Two of the references were also ones that the teachers suggested--again, not terrible, but generally not the smartest move to use them as the Home Base for the paper, since the teacher usually knows them well. Not that I'm plagiarising. It's just...not wise common practise.

So, yeah, I know I'm not really doing this the smart way: sources, research, notes, outline, write, edit. I have my sources but am now doing read, notes, write; read, notes, write; read, notes, write...without a real outline, just intuitive moving things around. Some things are double-mentioned, some things aren't in the right order, one section I haven't touched.

And clearly I care to some level, care enough to bring it up, but not enough to actively...change it. It's strange being someone who has a history of both procrastinating and panicking. I read once (while I was panicking about my procrastination) that procrastinators tend to cling to something as 'more important' to make them feel more at ease, perhaps less guilty about their obvious procrastination. Yet as a panicker, I would soon lose grasp on that and think that whatever I was supposed to be doing was the End All, Be All of Everything and then I'd lose touch with reality and then Boom, panic attack. It's strange to be in this place where I am not really procrastinating (I've been working on it for a while and all the rest of my work was finished early) and am not panicking, because I KNOW in my heart of hearts that there are things that are more important in my life than university. No procrastination (well, way less) and no panic.

Yet this. Because I know there are more important things, this feels inconsequential to a degree. I know I am not doing my best and can't be bothered to force myself. Then, I'm used to feeling something isn't my best until I've panicked myself to hyperventilation over it--and I'm through with that, I'm done, there are more important things in life and my breathing is one of them.

I've given in an essay and received a 52 (C) for it. I didn't die. In fact, I didn't much care - perhaps then because I knew I did give it my best, but regardless I got a number I feared back and lived on.

And yet somewhere, as I can sense by the echo of a voice while I cannot pinpoint its location, my old standards and self are screaming at me for not bleeding over this, for acknowledging where I am not performing at my Most Perfect and knowing I have time to fix it but not doing it. I can't tell if I am just playing at this "eh, all I need to do is pass" mentality and will actually be hurt if I don't get a good mark back.

I feel a bit broken for all of this. Sure, I was one mind-frak after another in my old state, but at least I was consistent. Perfectionism --> procrastination --> panic --> attack --> work --> done --> deadline --> high marks (but never high enough, of course). It was comfortable if only because I knew it.

So where am I now? What path am I on? I don't know the path that starts with imperfection, especially since I know that perfectionist is in this brain of mine somewhere nagging at me--and I'm sure it's that nagging that lead me to write this post despite that I wanted to avoid more uni whinging. I'm confused. Part of me wonders 'why for my FINAL YEAR?' and the other thinks it's here because this IS my final year and I'm recognising there is a life out there waiting for me outside this School System I have been in since I was 3, and I am disengaging from it and its stupid numbers and evaluation of me.

Ugh. I'm sure all of this has been stated before, student after student, year after year, generation after generation in whatever varied forms. The mind of a student. I can't tell if I feel guilty and I can't tell if I should. Can I tell anything? No, seems not. Maybe that's why I'm having trouble with this sodding essay. My mind is a stupid place to be, at least with school. I can't wait 'til I can empty school from the Active Portion of my mind. It'll be after 18 years. 18 years in this stupid system that I hate and I get to leave it. Here I am, waiting. No, I'm beginning to think, it's not at all strange of me to have difficulty gathering the motivation for this essay in a class I hate. I remember it now: it's called senioritis. And the guilt is because I feel I'm letting people down. It's all coming back to me.

I have the disease of being in the last year someone has to spend in an institution, whatever institution that is. School and I are getting a divorce. Right now we're just battling over who gets the dignity, who gets the Hybrid, who gets the cat and who gets all the random things we've collected through these nigh-two decades. We're just testing who has more fight left. I am a weary wary woman on the brink of a divorce she's been after for too long. I am going to get the dignity and I am going to get the cat; the rest, bah, frak it--I'll ride a ruddy broom.

Things that matter to me: 1) Cassia buying a Christmas Tree and deciding it is Kiwi Tree because it is cute and short. 2) Casey sending me a Facebook video message with heart hand-signs and telling me she loves me and can't wait to see me and chocolate, because chocolate always matters. 3) Going home on Sunday to see all these people I've missed. 4) Smiling with my housemates when 6 out of 8 of us were awake until 6.30 in the morning because we're all clearly crazy. 5) New small-world connections that knit all my favourite communities together. 6) Not having a panic attack.