September 15, 2010

I have noticed an interesting phenomenon when comparing my E2 writeups to my school written pieces. My E2 stuff is better! Strange that when it matters I do awful, but in a community full of strangers whose opinion of me doesn't mean squat I write fairly well (at least compared to what I write normally.) Am I trying harder to impress a bunch of strangers? Is the boring uninspiring school environment counterproductive to good writing? Not in my opinion. What I think it is is that on E2 we can write about Everything! In school were assigned boring topics and asked to write pages on what we might as well know nothing about. On E2 we can write about what we like. So we work harder to do justice to whatever topics we favor. I would love for others to share their opinion of what they think, and whether or not you think anything i just wrote is relevant.

Today, I was walking out of my chemistry lab, and I realised that I was happy.

It feels kind of strange to have to think about your emotions like that. I was just walking up the stairs next to one of the lecture theatres, and I felt kind of weird, so I stopped to think about it. And my brain was telling me "You are happy. For the love of God, do not question it this time."

I'm not depressed. Unless I'm undiagnosed, I don't have clinical depression or bipolar disorder or any kind of mental disorder that would explain why it feels so unfamiliar to be happy.

But I have a lot of things to be happy about. I'm healthy. It's nearly time for mid-semester break. I submitted two assignments in the last three days. I'm getting closer to finishing off my first year in Hell. I've got a roof over my head, and food to eat, and people who care about me who live in this strange city I've dragged myself to.

I'm going home in two days.

Even though I've started to refer to my room here at the hostel as 'home', it's mostly just for simplicity. Home will be, for a long time, the house that I grew up in. I'll be there for two days, then I'm going to my aunt's house to help mark lambs. My aunt's house is so familiar it's almost like being home, except it's bigger and quieter and the overly-vocal cat who resides there is a male Burmese and not a female tabby.

Being here, in this city, it's like I'm washed out. I walk, I talk, I go to university and I bitch about the professors. But whenever I go home, I remember what it's like being surrounded by people who love you unconditionally and will give you a hug if you need it. I remember what it's like having my damn cat hog the covers. I remember what it's like eating decent food and not whatever I can be bothered to throw together after nine hours of classes.

Back in the city, I remember all this, but now it's all gone and I have to fend for myself again. It hurts. It takes a few days for me to get my head back together. Each time it hurts a little less.

Today, I am happy. Tomorrow, I probably won't be. On Friday, I am going home after classes. I get to see my father, and go on a road trip singing stupid songs from the 80s all the way along the road and talking about books.

I can't wait.

A warning...

So, I feel compelled to point out that three of my favorite bodies of work on E2 are The Custodian's Park Ethereal, Jet-Poop's Metro City Chronicles, and the The Von Wicked Chronicles. I am not sure how much anyone really cares what I think, since I am new here and (admittedly) more of a reader than a writer. That does not make my opinion any less true to me.

To me, fiction, poetry, and personal experiences are the very heart of E2. Sure, I could use E2 to look up a yummy recipe for dinner (and have), or to find out what in the hell Grimm's Law is. However, I could also Google those things. It would be a less interesting and unique read, but it would get the job done. The fiction and personal experiences here on E2 are what make it special for me, and I feel like it is slipping away before I have had the chance to really enjoy it.

I have read some things recently by Jet-Poop, The Custodian, and to a lesser degree (a beautiful poem btw) even Evil Catullus that really makes me start to panic thinking they might pull their work from here, or just stop posting it. I understand the desire to be published and read by a bigger audiance. I just worry (for myself) that once they are gone from E2, I will never have the pleasure of reading their work again. I wish I had known about E2 before last year. Of course, it was probably because I had my head buried in a book.

I am new. My writing needs improvement before I feel comfortable posting with all of you. I cannot upvote your works. I love them though. When The Custodian posted tunnel vision the other day after making me wait 3 weeks from the last chapter, I could have just strangled him for making it so short and leaving me hanging like that. Then he swoops in with Where and when a few days later (yay!). I stumbled across one of the Von Wicked Chronicles, and had to go back and read the entire series. I thought today that I would check to see if I had missed one of Jet Poop's Metro City Chronicles, and I found his daylog.

These three writers I have used as examples, because it is most fresh in my mind. I have come across so many great writeups by so many people on this site. I have read works by people who have moved on. I just sucks that I will not be looking for the newest update to their stories.

Get ready for me to tell you when I like your writeup. Sure, I am new and it might not mean as much to you as someone with more influence telling you. At least you will know one person liked it. From now on, I will be sending anyone whose writeup I enjoyed that day a message. Feel free to stop me if you’re feeling squeemish…

DriftingHere

"What do you want from me?"

It was no good. I love women who can't fake it, but when you request a fake you should expect it to be all wrong. The first time she asked the question she meant it. If I could just remember her voice, the sincerity in her question, then I could write something truly amazing.

I want you to never fear me. I want you be able to point to me and say: See that guy? That guy has never been in a fight in his life, but if you hurt me he'll rip your nuts off with his teeth. I want you to inspire me. I want you to make me be a better man. I want you to make me read something worth reading. I want to want to read. I want you to help me.

My peg is the most giving, loving, caring, nurturing peg you can ever imagine. I want you to see that.

You are the perfect drug, the perfect drug, the perfect drug...

I am not a Creep, and I do not wish I was special. I do not want to be special, I do not want to be the smartest one in the class, I do not want to be the only person you've ever met in your normal life that has ever not had a drink of alcohol.

I want you to help me find somewhere I fit. I want to feel acceptance and camaraderie.

"You and I...we can talk."

Well I want to talk.

I want you to call me because you need to talk. I want to be there when other people's wagons are exploding. I want you to understand and be able to explain it to everyone else.

You make me hard, when I'm all soft inside, I see the truth, when I'm all stupid-eyed...

I want you to trust me even if you don't understand. I want your help creating something more amazing. I want to hold your hand again. I want you to explain to the only person reading this who knows you besides me that it's okay that I want that. Really, it's okay. But I want support, I want to just be able to answer the question: what did you say? without feeling like I can't make him understand.

My blood wants to say hello to you, my feelings want to get inside of you...

I want to be able to be completely honest with you, I want you to be able to judge every moment of my life and understand that not only am I trying, everyone is. I want you to take all my great ideas and match them with anyone who has the ambition to turn them into a reality that makes me filthy, filthy rich. That way I'll have more time to write and I won't have to get ready for work.

If you can't give me what I want then I want you to find me a woman who can, but most of all I want you to know that don't expect to get much of what I want, but I'm willing to trade heavily for the things you do offer.