Untilted Because

I have too much to say and too little room to say it. I can't believe it's true, but it is. I could like, talk about so much and add a trillion quotations, not only primary but secondary. But no...but...no.

again and for the same reasons

Soooooo this one is hard to start. I'm just not sure where I'm going with it - uninspired, I guess? Perhaps it's because I don't understand the question well enough...I don't know. But I guess at this point i have to just go with it =(..........................sigh

This Strange Case...

Yeah so, as you can see I'm back again to b!tch about essay writing. This time it's R.L Stevenson's Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. It's funny because I'm doing a lot of "research" on the double-self, but in all of this I feel like I don't really have a dual self --- OR DO I?

Maybe that's the issue, the paranoia...perhaps there is something deep down, something I suppress - something we ALL suppress. A darkness that daily is the opposition to all of our decisions, that from moment to moment we must say "no" or "yes" to. But I suppose I would define this as the product of a CONSCIENCE, or as Freud has taught us, the difference between the ID and the Superego. The duality that we feel is merely raw emotions and desires before it gets buffered by everything we are taught by society on being a "good" individual. Thus the split: we are shamefully aware of our initial desires that seem to stem from something unnatural, something that we intuitively define as the self but not.

OOOOOh I think I might use this for my essay! hahaha Well seems like it IS good to free-write just to get my thoughts down.

I WANNA DO SUMMER STUFF! But for the next week or two I'm stuck with essays. AH well, August is free, free, FREE!

Feeling good. Till next time.

You again...?

Just don't feel liked/likable.

Self-criticism? Or just a general observation?

It's been a long time....

But I really don't even know why I write here. I realize with a sense of dread that the Internet can hardly preserve my thoughts/words/feelings. Paper is the surest thing for that - paper makes it real doesn't it? Here, it doesn't really exist - unless read by someone else, of course - but paper doesn't need to be read because at least it's there, in the physical realm. What am I saying? Am I dreading my insignificance? But I wont write on paper because I'm here now and here is easier...more convenient. Plus I type better than I write...(yes I am a part of that generation). And on I go...

I was thinking of applying for the creative writing course at my school, but the admission process requires me to risk a 5th course that I need to graduate. As much as I like the idea, I do not want to come back for a summer term just because I didn't get accepted into the class. So that's that. I guess it's up to me to develop my skills...which, I haven't even been. As can be clearly seen I haven't even been doing my random poems.

15 mins until I sign up for my courses -breath- it always makes me nervous because I guarantee that EVERY time there's going to be a OH SHIT moment where doom seems to hang over me. And since this is my last year if it screws up in any way anything can be jeopardized...

Dammit I can't spell. How can an English Specialist NOT spell? I'm going to be owned in grad school if they care that much about spelling cause seriously...

What am I?
Am I the word,
The voice,
Or the body?
Is what I write me,
Or what I read?
Or is it what's inside,
Where no one can see?

Who am I,
But the things I say,
But the art I make?
And what is art
But an expression
Of me and mine?

This sucks.....what's happening to me.