It's another Monday night. A Monday that was a vacation weekend, in which I spent every night alone because I don't have a car and all of the fun parties in L.A. I know about, well, I had no ride and was too proud to ask.
Besides, it doesn't matter, I'm meant to spend my nights alone, anyway. It allows me more time to refine my writing, sewing, self-pity and hatred. I'll just sit here and recall all of my past failed relationships and write about them in my novel: Jet Set Desolate, or, 101 drug stories. Certainly seems like a good use of next semester to me.
Monday, February 12, 2007
Now, trying again. Trying again after a week of two workshops, which I would really not advise. The first, the novel seminar, was helpful and inspiring, the second was terrifying. I got called, "brilliantly evil" by my professor, citing, "the evil intelligence of the self-awareness of it's own irresponsibility," claiming it to be an, "ethical disaster." "What we all want to ask is, 'Did you mean it?'". I meant every word. It may be time for a student-teacher conference, or I can at least try to figure out if being deliberately provacative and confrontational is worth a high pass or not.