Friday, November 4, 2011

No life November

It's November and the rate at which time has passed since beginning the semester is baffling.  It seems like only yesterday I moved onto residence, acquainting myself with my class schedule and my independent domestic capabilities (which, I say, still suck, considering my room needs a dusting and much of the food I eat is from a box); instead, I lay in my bed with thick socks staring at my calendar on the wall filled with an obscene amount of readings and work to be done between now and the last day of classes, November 28th.  The optimist in me idolizes the idea that we're 13.333% percent done the month of November already; the pessimist weeps and plans my own funeral.  I'm left with three final tests and four major essays to hand in - the last full week of class makes me shudder, as two of the tests and one of the essays land someplace during that week - and the procrastinator in me chooses to write a blog post instead of starting an essay (and by start I mean even looking at the essay question, because I haven't) due on Thursday.  As to not entirely ruin my weekend, I'm planning on visiting my assignment on Sunday evening, where my [projected] hangover from the [hopeful plans of the] night before will have finally faded.

My work motives have been put at a handicap by two rather large factors, one significantly more meaningful than the other.  The first, for some reason, is because I've rediscovered [NERD ALERT: do not read on if 1. you do not think highly of me, because you will think less of me, and 2. if you do think highly of me, because you will think less of me] Pokemon after discussing it feverishly with a friend.  By Pokemon I clearly mean the game (do they even still make the cards?), which I have downloaded an emulator for so I may play on my computer.  I don't think I'll ever fully move on from those games from my childhood, probably because, well, they were my childhood, but also because even still to a 20 year old they're pretty amazing and the nostalgia while playing is intoxicating.  (people never really understand unless they played them when they were a kid.  I know this because I get weird looks from these people) Excuse me while I go read Aristotle or watch an R-rated movie or buy scratch tickets or liquor as to remind myself that I am a 20 year old..

The second, and, as you might have guessed, the more meaningful of the two, is because I'm participating (like many failed times in the past) in NaNoWriMo, or, if you don't know what that stands for, National Novel Writing Month.  It's a "contest" (for the lack of a better term) where one may challenge themselves to write a 50 000+ worded work of fiction in the month of November; editing is discouraged, but given that I'm an extreme perfectionist, I rewrite passages twenty times until I deem myself fit to continue.  Another general stipulation (if I recall correctly; I didn't "officially" sign up this year online because my user account with two failures on it is depressing enough - point is I haven't acquainted myself with the official rules) is that the story to write must be 100% original to the month of November, and that previous planning is discouraged.  Well, screw that.  The novel I'm writing is one that's been in my head for at least three years - the concept and characters, that is, who never saw the light of day due to my many failed attempts at writing it as well as a general lack of incentive.  So I guess I'm breaking the rules in that it isn't completely original, but it's still my original work, and judging on my previous failures with NaNoWriMo, I think it's a safer bet to go into it with framework.  It's all very exciting to me; I've long forgotten about how passionate I get when I actually have the chance to write, and it's all I think about, given that I'm not already thinking about the essays I need to write or the Pokemon I need to catch to complete my team.  (goodness)

My progress?  Zero words.  I was up to about 2000 yesterday but after letting it sit in my mind I'm once again displeased.  As I said, it's all because I'm a perfectionist.  I've written far more in the past, but success only comes after I'm entirely pleased with my exposition; from there, I have enough strength to move past weaker segments of the body of the work and just keep writing, because I know my foundation is solid.  I have yet to strike gold, but that's why I've allocated my Sunday evening to my schoolwork as to allow for the rest of tonight and the majority of tomorrow (given I don't occupy myself otherwise..) to writing.  I guess it's sort of a punishment: don't work on meaningful things for school until you've written the opening to your story goddamnit!

As usual, I pull through.  I have the utmost faith in myself as an essay writer since I've never received horrifying marks on the ones I've written, so I know I'll get the work done; it's just a matter of so many to-do things hanging over me that I collapse by the mounting pressure of "get this shit done and get it done now."  I'm hoping my writing (fictional, that is) will provide for me the means to maintain my sanity by the month's end, but here's hoping that my novel doesn't drive me crazy like my schoolwork, too.  Send creative brainwaves my way!

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