Why I shouldn't be let near a computer when sleep deprived...

So the semester is almost over. I have never been more keen to see the end of a school year. It’s ironic actually, most of my high school years were spent building to and pining after college, and now that I am here it’s turned to dust. *sigh * Okay, now that I have the melodrama out of my system, I can almost look at this semester objectively.

 

I am beginning to fear that college just isn’t for me. It’s a strange fear to have, considering the fact I’ve spent 2 and half years here. And yet, I find myself dissatisfied as I listen to my fellow English majors rant about critical theory and their analytical papers. I grow tired of reading a book and discussing everything except the story, but most of all I find myself weary of writing—not fiction, before you all keel over and die—but those strange beasts called papers, where the only tone that is acceptable is an academic tone.  My inability to write an academic paper passing-ly well, frustrates me to no end, before the emotion doubles back on me and I start my doubt my ability to write at all. Do I have what it takes to be writer? Am I just kidding myself when I tell people I want to write for a living?

 

And I know doubt comes with the whole “if you want to write for a living deal”, that it’s part and parcel with this great love, but sometimes its just hard to ignore all of the shredded essays around your feet, all of the blood red comments over your words. I frantically search through the bits of fiction I have written this semester and find hardly a word worth saving let alone a sentence.

 

This semester has been a dozy and I am ready for it to end. Maybe the next one will be better suited for me.