Yet again I find myself astounded by the rapid passing of time. It's hard to believe I've already completed my first semester of third year. It seems like literally yesterday I moved away to residence and was buying textbooks and getting lost when finding the right classroom on time on the first day of class; now, I've handed in my last papers and thrown out particular notes that I have no care to ever read again and am gearing up for my only final exam (ha, only one) in a week's time. True, I'll actually be completely free from first semester after I finish writing that last exam, but now living at home and seeing my best friends again has returned my life to normalcy, and to be honest the thoughts about my exam are and will continue to be on the back of my mind until the day before I have to write it - studying is for the weak. Until then, I'm enjoying having cable on TV once again (let alone even having a TV) and home cooked meals every night and the knowledge that a friend is probably a phone call away.
Towards the end of the first semester - really, the entirely of the month of November - I couldn't help but feel like my room and the rest of my townhouse quickly became much less like a home to me. Perhaps it was a delayed reaction to the homesickness I figured I would've experience when first moving away: instead, my first month away was perfectly fine and quickly adaptable, but the feeling faded as the finish line of the semester rapidly approached. I found myself looking to hear from my mom more frequently throughout the weeks, and my every motion was governed by the idea that, hey, you're moving home in x days! (funny, though, I've already been driven up the wall by some of the stupid things my parents have done or said, but I'll always prefer living at my home) Perhaps it was due to the increased time I spent alone in my room behind a closed door which quite honestly felt like a prison sentence. Perhaps, by extension of that, it was because my house quickly lost its homelike qualities. Either way, the final few weeks of the semester were hectic: at least one paper and/or test per week (including three papers and one test on the last day of class) my stress shot through the roof, but as usual looking back on it now, completed, it seemed like only a marginal obstacle.
Aside from my moving home, November has come to a cohesive conclusion for me.
"There's a small animal living on your face"
I grew a bit of a beard throughout November. It wasn't officially done for Movember though the idea of the month long event urged my decision to try it out. (maybe that's also why I went beard and not mustache: mustaches are creepy and my dad has a mustache and I'd prefer not to resemble my dad or look creepy) Mostly I left it up to the fact that I wasn't going to see my family for the majority of the month because I know they're rather judgmental and I'd have to explain myself for wanting to try out how it looks on me. I still have it. I like it. I think it suits me. The reception has been rather nice and rather unexpected - that is, aside from my parents. Literally the first words coming my mother's mouth when she came to pick me up was "I don't like that" before she offered me a hello and a hug. My dad hasn't been any better; he cracks jokes about me, telling me I look like a homeless person and that I shouldn't go out in public looking like how I do. I suppose my decision not to shave it off is now derived from the idea that I'm tormenting my parents every time they look at me. That, and because I've decided I might be able to keep it as a protest until they buy me a Mac for Christmas. (which, they've said, will not happen, but I think otherwise)
My quest to write a fifty thousand word piece of fiction throughout the month of November was essentially a failure: I wasn't able to reach the high goal within the parameters of the month given that my free time was quickly diminishing because of the stresses of school and other infuriating things, and that when I did have free time, I watched Dexter, and I watched a lot of Dexter considering I've now caught up to the current season on TV. As of November 30th, my official word count settled at 38,153, which I'm still ecstatic about reaching despite its failure to the mission. I've astounded myself in many ways: first, that I was able to come up with a concept and pursue it enough to actually want to write about it; let alone actually writing about it, finding a few hours late at night to excitedly sit down and type up a fury. There were days that I hammered out a few thousand words in a few hours, and at times when I wasn't writing I would constantly be thinking about where I could take the story and if it was plausible and if more events were needed to be inserted at the beginning or end or what have you. Of course, I'm not stopped just because November's over: to stop at 39k words and admit failure would be literal torture to me, and I would feel entirely unsatisfied and unaccomplished in the incompletion. I'm looking forward to writing without the pressure of a time limit - I won't have to force myself to write until two in the morning because I had to get another two thousand words on paper (..computer screen?) to keep myself on the right track toward hitting fifty thousand. Now, even, I look ahead to the possibility of drawing my story to a conclusion long after 50k, or even before - I have no way to tell how much longer it will take to tie itself up. All I know is it's a long road ahead of me: I still have to draw the story to a close before I edit it, and I know the editing process will be extensive given that my precedent is absolute perfection and my philosophy is that a piece of writing is never perfect because of the infinite possible combinations of words together; the same thing can be said billions upon billions of different ways, and knowing such, I'm striving to hit as close to my standard of perfection as possible. I literally cannot wait for my friends (those who've asked, that is) to read my work, because only then will I feel like an accomplished author. The future reader will actually take time away from their life to read my book written by me, and that concept thrills me.
S'all I got for now, folks! Now that I have a lot more free time I'm sure the frequency of my writing will amp itself up once again, so stay tuned.