frustrated!

why, oh, why, can't i think about anything other than art? sitting in class during reviews for finals, i am planning my next necklace. while reciting poetry and memorizing dates, all i can think about is taking photographs. any time i see an image--sometimes even in text books--all i see is new 'pulp' designs.

i have been passionate about writing and literature all my life, but for the first time, i haven't concentrated on grades as a form of self-evaluation. my new philosophy is this: if even just a few books i skimmed over in class impressed upon me enough to pick them up again post-graduation, then school has been good for me. if, while writing, my tense-changes are more apparent, and i'm a better critic of my own work, then school has been worth it.

for such a long time i thought school would be the key to graduating to the next step--grad school, publications, jobs....

now...it just feels like my entire life is on hold in order for me to finish. i am choking on inspiration, suffocating under the weight of all of the beads just begging for my attention.

and relationships?

psshfhhfhffh. forgedaboudit.

extra! extra!

for the past two years, i have been asking the staff of metabolism, "when do i submit?" each time they answered, "anytime! just submit." they were encouraging, expectant, excited. the more submissions the better. but somehow, not having a deadline, impeded my ability to do so. there was no time. no date. no 8 am last minute window that required me to stay up all the night before editing. no push. no drive. no frenzy. anytime i wanted, i could go to the site, and upload a file, and push a button...anytime...so i didn't.

i have been focusing so much on art lately, that i haven't been writing for myself at all. this is compounded with the fact that i am studying writing. the energy i put into my workshops and readings of other authors exhausts my ability to invent, for myself. i have to invent for those who i am paying to make me better--to secure my "future." i didn't want to submit something i had done for a class, but had no energy to do for myself. then, i my "personality" class one day, i woke up. the professor mentioned memory briefly, and alfred adler's theories about the creation and accuracy of memory.

then i saw the photos of myself as a child, with my mother & my father, for the first time. and the memories came. and i wondered how accurate they were. i wondered if they were inventions of mine, or fabrications of my mother, or fairy tales. i saw that some of the pictures matched the ones in my mind of specific moments, ages ago. so i wrote a poem.

it's really fitting, actually, that psychology would inspire me to write lyrically, given that i grew up with the jargon of pathologists, and that a picture i took on one of the last walks with my dog was accepted. i left the other dog, nina, at home that day. i thought, "maybe panda just needs more time with just me. maybe she misses our solitary jogs and early-morning romps in the woods. maybe being around another dog all the time isn't what she needs. even the fence in the back yard is too small for her. so i left nina and grabbed my camera. it was one of the best walks we have had (or did i invent that?). each time i started to take a picture, she waited patiently. that day, it seemed like all of the squirrels were hiding away until we passed, so that she wouldn't disrupt a single composition. she sat and waited and even posed a couple of times.

the acceptance of these works was just what i needed. it was what i needed to remind me about the dreams i had as a child of growing up to be a poet, and of all the young writers' workshops and young adult magazines and newspaper internship. a small nudge of validation.

so here is the link:
metabolism
click on the link at the top of the page:
ISSUE 2: a most superlative initiative