Maaaaaaaaan the whirlwind is slowly winding down, the torrential rainfall that has been these past two weeks, the steady downpour of books and finals, it’s all coming to an end in these last two days. And it brings up some very interesting emotions, ones I am try desperately not to over analyze, emotions I am simply trying to allow myself to experience, a sentiment that seems terribly wordy. It is amazing how goals can be completed, and yet there is still feelings of loss and confusion. As if the goal had somehow been an understatement, and I had underachieved in reaching that goal.
Book end blues, which is silly because by no means have I completed a book. Yes, I have a first draft of my manuscript, a work of words far exceeding that which will actually be published. In fact, as Stephen King said in “On Writing,” we may use twenty percent of that which we write, which is good because I have seriously overwritten this bitch and it’s now time to trim the fat. But as with mean, fat makes it tasty. Ultimately, it’s unnecessary, but the trimming will be interesting, the stage I am entering, the trimming of book fat. Fatty fatty book fat. I have over two times the content I will turn in, upwards of two hundred thousand words, and they will be trimmed down to a lovely 75-95k. An appropriate meal. None of this Cheesecake Factory overdoing it style. It’s all about moderation. And yet in completing this first draft, I find myself sad. Like, the end of this is really the end of that part of my life. The part I am writing about. As if getting all out means I can truly move forward, free of the noise in my head. White noise is comforting sometimes.
It was the same when I made amends, they all went so well, and I – on a strange subconscious level – wanted someone to be mad at me, to hate me to my core, to be unable to forgive me. But the people to whom I made amends were all so fucking gracious. I didn’t know what to do with the self-loathing I’d become so accustomed to feeling. Once I was free, forgiven by them, I had to start forgiving myself. Super. Difficult. Still. Doing working on it. And so with the end of this book, I feel free to say that! Those words on the pages are my past. They are the things I did and the things I didn’t do and some of the things that were done to me. But none of that, those words on those pages, matter anymore. Because all those words cannot clearly and concisely define who I am. What a human is. Because I, human beings, are all experiences, experiences of one another, the interrelationships in life comprising memories upon memories and none of those memories mean a goddamn thing until you and I shake hands. And even then the only tangible evidence of our existence is a handshake. They…those words…. are just memories.
Also, I finished a three hour Biology final yesterday, and felt as if my brain had finally exploded from the mitosis and neural connections being built and pruned. Interestingly enough, when I took this class at San Diego State, I had no idea what was going on. I failed to grasp the enormity of these tiny, micro-sized discoveries, cellular structure and reproduction failing to interest me. But now completing the course, I understand very well why these things didn’t interest me. I lacked imagination. I lacked the ability to think abstractly about things, especially things happening in my body at that precise moment. And I lacked the drive that it took to understand and enjoy the subject matter. I got a C in that class, and going into this, an unrelenting fear plagued my early classes, fear of repeat, fear of failure, fear of apathy due to inability to comprehend the mighty mighty mitochondria. That’s not what happened, in fact quite the opposite. Not only did I ace the class (I’m fairly sure..), I’ll be taking another Bio class next semester as one of the pre-reqs to get into Cal Berkeley. All my classes to get into UCLA are finished, now I must think outside the box, outside what is right in front of me. Imagination is crucial when deciding upon a collegiate career path.
And so it is with great excitement and incredible wonder that I trudge forth into summer. It’s summer already? When did that happen? A few days ago, in between a book and a book. Now revisions will take the day, close contact with my sherpa Sarah, steady steady we will climb up this mountain, together. Unafraid and wide eyed.