Writing

Have you ever not been able to sleep because you need to finish a book? I'm like that. I can't sleep unless I've made it to the final page when I'm reading. And I'm finally able to read again. Not the typical textbook requirements from college, but what I want to read and can find.

Lately it's been some fluff, some for fun. I need to get back into it, keep working on the classics. It's funny, that after graduating early from college, I feel like my mind is dull and out of tune. I watched a few things on the history channel tonight, and it felt like trying to scrub mold off a sponge. I'm used to remembering everything that I see and hear. My intellect has stopped working like that. I only hope it's rusty, not gone completely.

Isn't that funny, wondering if your mind is gone? Especially after the "rigors" of college life. At night I tend to think in extremes, in black and white. Tonight, I would say that I'm disappointed with the effort I put forth in college. I put forth minimal effort for each quarter, for the most part disinterested in my lectures and coursework. The rare exception to this was creative writing, and even there I procrastinated until the last possible moment. It's quite pathetic, as college is an opportunity, especially at a school as phenomenal as OSU. And I purposely was bored.

For this I am disappointed. My vocabulary has shrunk to an abysmal level, and my range of thinking that of a teaspoon. I was given every option and took the laissez-faire route as often as I could.

So I wonder, what it would be like for me to go back to grad school? Not full time, but actually working and paying for my own education. If it were a sacrifice for my husband and I, would I work harder? Make myself excel beyond my worth? I hope so. I don't know if I deserve another shot, but it is something I was to try.

I just finished The Secret of Lost Things. I was enraptured by the title, by the books on the cover, by the story of a girl named Rosemary. Also, the bargain bin in Barnes & Noble helped matters in my choice of story. Still, upon reflecting as we do when we finish stories, I'm not sure about it. It was a decent novel, surely, and beautifully crafted. But I can't tell if I like the way writing is going or not. Probably not, since I'm questioning it. It makes me wonder if I can fit in or not.