The conference procrastinator

Saturday: Procrastinator returns from conference
Sunday: No post.
Monday: No post!
Tuesday: NO! POST!
Wednesday: Why bother even checking today?
Thursday: What a dick!

Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. It's taken me a bit to digest all the goings on at the conference and to get back in the swing of things, especially class, back here. I got a 77% on my make-up cell biology test, which for me is bad. But considering I didn't touch a book for over a week and barely put any effort into things when I did touch the book, I guess I could've done a whole lot worse. But that's not what I'm supposed to be writing about. I should be writing about the conference. The conference! I know that I said I would probably break up my experiences at the conference into three parts, the people, the classes, and the consultations, but I'm going to stray from that format a little bit. It will still take me several posts to get out everything that I want to get out about it, I just may need different categories.

Tonight's category, actually, is me. The conference was the kind of thing that overwhelms me: new people, new food, new sleeping conditions, new activities, unfamiliar, unfamiliar, unfamiliar. It was one of those situations that make me sick to my stomach, my head, my chest, and even my throat. But I felt great the whole time. Tired. But great. I never had a headache worth mentioning. My stomach was fine even though I was eating large quantities of foods that I don't normally eat. I was like a different person, a normal person whose body doesn't shut down at the slightest bit of resistance or tense up at the merest signs of anxiety.

I was confident. I found myself talking to judges, MDs, psychologists, journalists, publishers, bigwig college administrators, and really, really good writers. But I wasn't intimidated. I would just sit down at a table full of strangers and introduce myself all around. I didn't think that other people would somehow judge me and think nasty things about me because they have reached the top of their professions and I am living in my sister's toy room. And I had a great time. I met a lot of people. I made friends. I was charming. . . I write this in the past tense because the conference felt like this mystical world where I was a superhero and no harm could come to me. I could show my crapcrapcrappy draft of my latest project to a few people, and they would tell me it was really good. I could make a cheesy wordplay joke, and everyone would laugh. I could be a writer, and that would be enough. But back in the real world, I bomb my biology test. When I say hello, the cute woman on the stairs seems more uncomfortable than friendly. And I still have to justify myself.

"What do you do?"
"I'm a writer."
"Really? What have you published?"
"Nothing."
"What do you do for money?"
". . ."

It's funny, a lot of 'great' writers had benefactors who financially supported them while they worked on their craft, and everyone seems fine with that arrangement. But if someone were to enter into such an arrangement and then not get that big artistic break, not create that masterpiece, then that person would be a lazy mooch that needs to get a real job. . .

Wow. The tone of this post has become more negative, more self-deprecating, than I had planned. I'm actually in a really good place right now. I may not be as confident as I was at the conference, but I did come back with more confidence than I had before I left. I'm on the verge of something. I know it.

I'm grateful for ice cream (20).

bloopers

Here I am at the conference, and it's been quite amazing. I'm not really up to detailing the happenings at this point, but later I'll write all about them, probably in three parts: the people; the classes; and the consultations. But to tide you all over for the moment, here's a funny story that, if this conference were a movie, would have been included in the gag reel.

All week, my first class of the day has been the Novel with Alexander Chee. It's the class that I feel I've gotten the most out of and the only one that I haven't skipped to do something else. Today, for a reason that never got explained, Chee wrote the word novel vertically on the black board. Then, for equally mysterious reasons, he circled the word. In mid-sentence, he stopped, looked at his handiwork, and said, "Hmm. . . yeah. . ." as he realized that his circle, which was more of an oval, was quite imperfect and. . . well. . . phallic. He turned his back on the class to conceal the fact that he was giggling. But he didn't really fool anyone, and the whole class stifled giggles in a collective attempt at not seeming too immature or low-brow. Chee then turned to face the crowd, said, "I have no idea why I did that," and began one of those laughs that looks like it's going to turn into a cry but never quite makes it. At that, everyone laughed openly.

I wish there were a tag to this story, a little punchline after the punchline to really entertain people that extra mile. But no. That's all there is. It will have to do.

I'm grateful for the thing that happened today that I'm not writing about until one of the more substantial posts on this experience. In case you're wondering, last night I was grateful to have been knocked on my ass by one of the pieces at the student readings (20).

Oh yeah

I'm not sure if I've mentioned this or not, but I'm taking a class this summer. A cell biology class that is the prerequisite for all of the prerequisites I'm going to need for nursing programs. Awesome. It's been pretty easy so far, mostly chemistry which I have a pretty good grasp of already. But things seem to be progressing to a tougherness that should make things more interesting soon.

The real exciting news, however, is that the bigdeal writing conference starts this Sunday. I've worked things out with my biology instructor, Arthur, so that it will be okay for me to miss a week of class. Excellent. It should be a fun week, an experience if nothing else. I'm hoping to learn a lot and to meet some fun and interesting people. I'm trying not to pressure myself too much about making serious connections with top professionals in the literary world. I hope to. But I don't want to get myself all freaked out before I even have a chance to say hello to anyone. I'm not sure signing with an agent or a finding a publisher is actually my primary goal for this conference anyway. I want to learn. I want to meet people. I want to have an experience or two. Everything else is just gravy. Of course, if you know me, you know that I feel there's no such thing as JUST gravy. Gravy is good. I really like gravy. Some foods aren't worth anything without gravy. . . Anyway, I'll try to sneak in at least a couple of posts while I'm away, but it looks like I may be quite busy with the conference, so I'm not sure how much time I'll have. But if I don't get in adequate updates, I'll try for a big one after a get back.

I'm grateful for gravy (20).

Car Wash

All week when I've driven past the assisted living community down the street from here, they've had a sign up that read, "Rummage Book Sale Sat. 9:00 AM." Being a bit of a book junkie, I decided to go to see if I could find a cheap fix this morning. Umm. . . I couldn't find anything resembling a book sale. I drove around the parking lot (used book sales are often outdoor events), and looked around the building. Nothing. Not even a sign. I went in to the main entrance only to find myself facing another door with a note that said something to the effect that visitors must use the phone to call the resident they're visiting and that resident can let them in. I'm pretty sure if there was a rummage book sale going on, they would've had the doors open. Anyway, I told you that story so I could tell you the following story.

So I was coming out of the parking lot at the assisted living community and I let a guy on a bicycle cross in front of me. As he crossed, he looped around the front of the car, stopped by the driver's-side door, and said, "There's a car wash at Felpausch [the local grocery store]." The guy's voice had that handicapped slur, and my voice took on that false, excited, interest that it sometimes gets when I talk to children, old people, and apparently the handicapped. "They are?!?!" "Yeah. You should go get your car washed because I know your car is really dirty, and they're having a car wash over at Felpaush. It'll cost you a few dollars. Do you have a few dollars? You should go because they'll wash your car and your car is very dirty. Are you going to go right now?" "No. I have some things I need to get finished." "Well, you should go right now. It'll only take a few minutes." "Well, maybe I'll go a little later." "Okay. But you should go right now." It was cute. This guy saw a problem, my dirtydirty car, and he knew a solution, the car wash just down the street, and just had to share it with me. Awesome. I sometimes wish I were as helpful as he is. . . I realize I may sound a little sarcastic in telling this story. But I'm not. I'm not making fun of this guy. He made what would have otherwise been a failed pursuit of cheap books into a worthwhile outing, a reminder about assisting those who are in need. And for that, I'm grateful (20).

I'm so. . . I'm such a. . . I don't know. . .

Today I was pretty upset and couldn't really tell why or how I was upset. Was I depressed? Was I tired? Was I frustrated? Was I freaking out? Was I. . . ? I didn't even know what to ask myself to find out if I was that or not. So I was talking to my Dad on the phone, and he said, "You're tired," meaning emotionally, spiritually, and mentally tired, not physically. And I was like Charlie Brown in front of Lucy's little psychiatry stand: "THAT'S IT!" I'm tired of this constant uncertainty, this longing to contribute, this nagging feeling that I should've taken a right at Albuquerque. I am walking toward a concrete goal now (even though I have a list of goals--publishing, starting a family, etc., etc.--they all seem somewhat abstract and far off right now) instead of pacing around aimlessly with occasional detours of purpose*. But I'm still tired. I'm damnnearthirty, and I'm just starting the path that most people start in high school. Just being damnnearthirty makes me tired. Trying to decide which nursing program I want to go into makes me tired. Trying to decide which class I absolutely have to get this summer in order to have a chance at any nursing program makes me tired. Taking simple but poorly written placement tests because they wouldn't have time to evaluate my transfer credits before the deadline to enroll for summer classes makes me tired. Trying to find a way to contact the instructor and ask him if it will be okay for me to miss a week of class for the conference makes me tired. Not finding a way to contact the instructor makes me tired. Tiredtiredtired.

So I was talking to my sister. "I don't know why I'm so upset right now." "You're scared." "THAT'S IT!" I'm tired, and I'm scared. I've finally picked something, and it terrifies me. But it's not clear why. School has never been that difficult for me. When I envision myself as a nurse, I like what I see myself doing. Why am I so scared? I think it's because I'm putting things in line to do stuff. The procrastinator does not do stuff. That's why I started the blog. To do stuff. It's a little overwhelming. I mean, my notdoingstuffness has left many aspects of my life to shrivel away. But in notdoingstuff I've also managed to build some crazyamazing aspects in my life (especially all of the beautiful people) that I would hate to weaken or lose. What if doingstuff fixes the stuff I hate about my life but unsettles the stuff that I love? Heh. Sounds like I'm begging for another pep talk. I'm not. But feel free to pep away if you'd like. I'm just saying, today I didn't know how I was upset, but tonight I know that I'm tired and scared. But I'll be alright.

*I stole the whole walking toward a concrete goal vs. pacing around aimlessly thing from z-man.

I'm grateful that today is almost over (20).

Ominous

So I finish with the previous post and it starts thundering. The sun is shining. But there's thunder. Is that some kind of sign or something?

Say it soft and it's almost like. . .

I have a confession: I pray. The atheist voice of my quasi-agnosticism tells me this is silly. The realist voice says, "What harm could it do?" The new-age voice says that praying is a way to fill yourself and the world with positive energy. The Western, monotheistic, Abrahamic voice says, "Of course God is listening and cares." So I pray. Almost every night. Usually, I just give thanks, show humility. Last night I asked for guidance. Internally, the past week has been tough on me. I've been struggling to figure out my next career step. What criteria should I use to decide such a thing? What if I make the wrong choice? What if there is no wrong choice? What if it doesn't matter? And as far as my writing goes, toward the middle of the week, I seriously considered giving it up. I haven't enjoyed it for several years now, and I wasn't sure I ever did enjoy it. This thought kind of pissed me off. In order to improve my writing, I decided to get an English degree which has not helped me at all in finding a job. So I got an unemployable degree in order to improve a skill that I maybe never liked in the first place? I'm such a donkey. Fortunately, I realized that I still love writing; I just need to change my approach. I don't just write anymore. I try to be brilliant. I sit at the computer, thinking, 'put some genius into words. Wow people. Make them marvel at you.' I pressure myself. I believe if I make this project good enough, it will publish, and I will no longer have to worry about a career. I'll make millions off my genius. I still want to be a brilliant writer. I still want to wow people. I still want to publish. But I still need to grow as a writer. I'm still learning. I think we've covered this topic before, but it's hard to improve if you don't give yourself that freedom to be a bad writer, to explore what works and what doesn't, to find your own voice. . . Somehow I got a little sidetracked from my original intention for this post. Last night I got slightly freaked out about my next career step. A few of the choices I have to either pick or eliminate by Tuesday, because that's the deadline for registering for summer classes, and a few of the programs have prerequisites that must be fulfilled before you can take the core classes. So I was doing a lot of wellmaybes and whatabouts and yeahbuts and wouldIreallys and thepeacecorpssoundgoods and whatthehelliswrongwithmes. So last night I prayed for guidance. Now you can attribute the results to anything you like, but I woke up this morning with one thought, "If I can't figure out something that I want to do, then I should do something that others need someone, me, to do." Of all the career options I've considered recently (including those that I haven't mentioned here), the one that seems most needed is nursing. Everyone says it's icky, hard work that is tiring and underappreciated. But it is important. I could see it as being very rewarding. I've done a little looking around on the Internet this morning, and there are a lot of different paths in the nursing field, hospital work, clinical work, administrative work, private practice work, research work, teaching work, and so on and so on. I don't know. It seems like it would be good to have a job where you can actually see the service you're providing, see that you're helping people even if they don't seem to appreciate it. While considering careers that people need, I think I may have actually realized that nursing is something I want to do. And even if it isn't something I enjoy, it is something. Several people have told me that I just need to do something, anything. Just pick something and do it. Just pick something and do it. Just pick something and do it. That should be my mantra. Anyway, unless the adviser I talk to tomorrow convinces me otherwise, I'm going to be a nurse. There. It's settled. Next. . .

On a side note, last weekend we watched A Night at the Museum, and there was a line that got me. "Maybe you're just a regular guy who should get a job." Maybe. . . maybe. . .

While I'm quoting, last night, in an attempt at self-distraction, I was watching Futurama. It was the one where Fry becomes convinced that he is a robot and everyone else tries to convince him that he isn't. "Yes I am. I just haven't discovered my primary function yet." Heh. I can relate to that.

I'm grateful for everyone who has listened to and read my struggles over the past week and for all of their guidance (20).

where should I go now?

Today I went to the community college to try to talk to an adviser to see if I could get some help deciding what field of study would be best for me. I went to the main desk and the guy there (a very helpful student who probably deserved to make more money than they were paying him) told me that they had drop-in advising in another building, not far from where we were. So, I walked about two minutes and got to the advisor, who told me that he was an academic advisor and I probably needed to speak with a career advisor. I should go back where I came and make an appointment. So I went back to the desk, and a different guy, a guy eating Cheetos, helped me. He said that the career advisers were booked for a couple of weeks, but if I went to one of the other campuses, the advisers over there probably wouldn't be as busy. So, I took a twenty-minute drive to West campus and told the woman at the desk the situation. The women behind her were listening and started to laugh. "We don't actually have career advisers here," said the woman at the desk. Umm. . . ok. . . Now what. "You could set him up with Dave," one of the other women offered. "He sometimes handles career stuff." Ok. So now I have an appointment on Tuesday to meet with Dave who "sometimes handles career stuff." Fun. In the meantime, there are a couple of classes I need to look into taking during the summer, because if I want to get into the nursing program in the fall, there's a biology class and a CPR class that I need to have taken. So I now need to email all the professors who are teaching these classes, and see if any of them are willing to work around the fact that I'm going to be gone for a week in the middle of the accelerated summer class schedule. Crap. Why do I always make decisions like this one so close to deadlines?

I'm grateful for the opportunity to get a feel for what may be my new campus (20).