Just went out with Larry to get some food. While we were eating he told me something that my English teacher talked to him about, involving me. It was short, I’m sure, but the words weigh heavy on my mind (there’s irony there; you’ll get it in a sec). My teacher told Larry:
“Clint’s too deep. He thinks about the wrong things.”
I’m not sure how many times I’ve heard that come from my English teacher; certainly more than I think is reasonable. I’ve also heard it from my brother, and a counselor. Is there something wrong with me? People are making me feel crazy; like I might wake up one morning strapped to a hospital bed with a doctor standing over me saying, “We’re going to get those thoughts out of there.” Why focus so much attention on me just because I think differently?
I’ve just come across a quote that disheartens me further because it is absolutely not true in my case:
“Make introspection your gift by creating a way to use it to your natural ability and advantage.”
So, I am taking English to use my gift of introspection to my advantage yet am getting nothing but negative response from people for doing so.
“Okay. Write this but don’t use any thought whatsoever. Make it easily understood by not writing how you want to. Make it readable to a two year old because nobody can understand what the heck you are talking about. Know your audience; they aren’t interested in thinking about things. They want immediate payoff. They don’t read for intellectual stimulation.”
That is my first semester in a nutshell. That and missing almost half the semester due to reasons which, if I wrote, would only sound like selfish, pitiful drivel and are better left in…my…head.
Last night I wrote a cheerful blog about how I finished a new book. Toward the end of writing it the program froze and I lost everything I wrote. So, here it is without much thought:
I read a book…
I finished a book…
I felt nice…
“That’s the thing about depression: A human being can survive almost anything, as long as he sees the end in sight. But depression is so insidious, and it compounds daily, that it’s impossible to ever see the end. The fog is like a cage without a key.” — Elizabeth Wurtzel
