11-27-04
I think I’m running into a case where I have to choose what I’m going to believe about something.
On our group’s evaluation, Katherine wrote “Amy and Jeff, you’ll make truly fantastic teachers!  And, Avrila, you will obviously be a success in whatever career you choose to pursue.”
Now, I’ve been trying to figure out what the heck she meant by that.  I want to teach—that’s why I’m taking classes toward an education major.  I can’t help wondering if she was somehow trying to nudge me away from teaching…
And yet, I don’t think so.  I’m not such an awesome presenter yet, because I haven’t done all that many presentations.  This one wasn’t my best, either, I think because I was saying stuff to people who were already supposed to know it from the reading, and I’m better with getting information across.  Also, the lectureesque part is relatively minor when the students are nine years old.  But…I’ve seen the presentations Mrs. Harms, Mr. Watson, and Miss Mortlock do.  I could do that.  Part of the problem is I didn’t have a totally killer handle on what I was trying to put across, and part of the problem is kids are different from grownups.
So, I don’t think she’d be right in nudging me away from teaching, and really, I wasn’t worse than lots of people, so I don’t think she was.
Which leaves…maybe this is nutty, but since she’s been practically bullying me about the fiction writing classes, I think she wants me to be a writer.  That would be partly because she’s a writing professor and probably wants to have a hand in shaping the writers of the future or something…and partly, because she thinks I can make it.
I can live with that.  There are a lot worse things than having someone believe in you.
But even if I do seriously pursue the writing thing, I still want to go through with teaching too.  Having a life outside of writing will be good for my writing.  For one thing, I wouldn’t want to try to pay the bills out of royalties alone.  For another, the life I live and the people I meet inform the material I have to write about.  If I only wrote and didn’t have anything else going, even assuming I could afford to somehow (there’s that lottery ticket again), I’d be taking water out of the well and not giving it a way to fill back up.  Eventually, I’d run dry.
So I’ll write on the nights and weekends and in the summer when I’m not doing school stuff or going to conferences or something.  I can do both.  And there could be worse things than writing in the summer, ’cause I’ll be traveling some summers, and I’ve heard that travel writers can bloody near travel for free.
I know I can pull off the teaching thing…and if a writing professor says I can pull off the writing thing, well—I thought I could anyway, and I guess she knows what she’s talking about.  So I’ll do both.

12-6-04
So…since last entry, I’ve landed a job at Valsetz.  I’ll have to stay on-campus at least half my weekends (a single tear rolls down my buttcheek—less time around my mom) ’cause I’m scheduled to work on blue (as opposed to yellow) Saturdays.  Naturally I’ll be trying to grab extra shifts anywhere I can.  If I have to sacrifice time with my freaking stressful family, oh, darn.
The new job and the food handler’s card’ll be making my resume a little longer shortly, as will the writing 440 final where I get trained in state writing assessment scoring.  So I’m not totally freaking out about not having a winter break job lined up—I think I can use plastic and borrow from my dad to make stuff work out.
And if I’m supremely lucky, Jeff’ll still have the Tuesday dinner shift next term, ’cause I’ve got that one too, and we can bond over dirty dishes or something.  Trying to grab extra hours should also help with the odds on that one … dang.  Am I turning into a girl emphatically enough?
As long as I still have Work-Study funds to burn, I should be able to balance my logged hours between the two jobs, and if I knock myself out on the website keep myself at 20 hours a week, or $145, which will really help with the freakin’ medical bills.  And after I run out of Work-Study, I can still try to get a lot of hours from Valsetz, ’cause money is a very helpful thing when one is a college student.  (I take that on hearsay, ’cause I can’t remember having enough of it.  But, not being broke would be nice.)
I’m just so freaking tired of being stressed out about money stuff and family stuff.  This is gonna sound crazy, but I actually kind of like the school stuff kind of stress, because I can do something about it, and either way it goes away on its own at the end of every term.

12-15-04 12:35 AM
Okay.  I’m freaking tired of going “duuuuuuh” when the laws of reality accidentally give me a chance to work on my stories.  To this end, I hereby begin brainstorming.
Current setting-type stuff: Springfest celebration, Dragon’s Gate
Recent events: Menela and Cairal are officially a couple now; Kerana just had and won a battle royal with a set of rank-and-village patches for the outer cloak of her formals; Rali’s showing bard potential
Stuff going on: Kerana and Tamlan have a running difference in their trust and respect levels toward the Spirits; Tam still wants their friendship to turn into more; Kerana’s getting killer headaches (caused by, and they don’t know it yet, a curse cast on her by Edfor, the mage of the rat familiar Pouncepaw caught and an associate of Curnlin, who 1: hired Emmirae’s dad to kill Tam’s parents, and 2: is Dorlin and Brollin’s father)
    Stuff about this curse:
        Causes headaches

        Increases target’s access to magical power—causing target to eventually burn out -->
Nayelle’s hand will have to be going bonkers or I lose credibility here)
Nayelle’s still got an eye on Shosa Nisha who’s got an eye on the Circle and reports (when she has to) to the Seekers; Nisha’s finding out everything she can about the Seekers --> she eventually decides the Seekers actually are OK (and they actually are too!!!) and loosens up on the info --> Nisha finds out Nayelle knows about the Seekers at the same time as the Seekers decide to help the Circle with something (?????) --> Nisha gets an awesome line about “Why did you assume that people wanting to know about you was a bad thing?”
Stuff to set up for: Tam’s going to his parents’ old place in King’s River Port; Kerana’s going to get messed up by that curse, and Pouncepaw’s going to go for help—help being Brina Zhala and Tamlan—Zhala won’t be able to do it so she tells Tamlan about him and Kerana being Spellcraft partners (which allows him to use her powers some) and “Tradeblood,” which is worth something since his mother was a healer
Stuff I want to include in the Springfest celebration scene: Kerana kids Menela and Cairal about “stopping at the half-dozen” because of the saying that a girl who dances seven times around a fire at Springfest will be married inside the year; Kerana dances a round with Tam (on impulse) but then pulls back (of course), and Tam says something to the effect that she shouldn’t be telling him to trust beings he’s never seen when she doesn’t even trust him and she knows him; Kerana messes up an ankle and gimps off to a quiet corner, Tam notices, checks on her, and notices that she’s using crazy amounts of power on a self-healing—and that worries him (self-healing is harder than healing others, because it’s hard to be objective about damage to yourself, and it’s a fairly minor injury, and there are tons of healers around ’cause it’s a Temple gathering), partly because the amounts of power she’s burning aren’t hitting her at all and she doesn’t seem to think anything of it
It’s now 1:29 … to which I can only say DANG!!! … and I’m going to try to sleep now … but now I think I have what I need to rough out an outline.  (Or at least a pre-outline … something to go on, whatever ya wanna call it.  It’s late.  I’m tired.  Go away.)
9:25 PM
… unless we’re being technical, a whole new day
I just thought of something—since Skystar taking this long a trip is practically unheard of, I bet the Headmaster has something in mind for the Circle to do at—or, wait, it’s not totally the Headmaster’s own idea…

12-16-04
I’ve been thinking on a thing or two of late.  I know that most people, when they’re in college, make all these plans to stay in touch forever.  And then usually they don’t.
I haven’t kept in touch with anyone from Chemeketa, but I didn’t even try, and I never thought I would.  I’m not really thinking about keeping up with people from Western, after graduation, either.  Maybe I moved one too many times as a kid, or something, but all my friendships, of whatever degree, seem to be incredibly transitory…and I worry about that some, because it’s not like I’ll have that many opportunities to interact closely with other adults in my future career.  I need to make some friends that’ll actually last a few years while I’m still around mostly grownups, but…not planning to keep up with them might be a problem.
I e-mailed Jeff today—my main excuse was that I’m trying to hunt down some stuff for the Professional Core application, but really I mostly wanted to say anything, so he’d have to write back ’cause that’s the rules.  I just can’t help thinking—there’s a guy on this planet who’s into reading and writing and may know I exist.  I’m not actually dumb enough to let that get away without a fight, am I?

12-27-04
Okay, umm--I probably really should write about Christmas.
Mom and Dad have this thing where they go to the convenience store for coffee in the mornings.  Used to be a normal thing for us kids to go along and grab a juice or soda or something.  They said Christmas Eve that they were going in the morning, I asked if I could go along, 'cause hey, free juice.
So I figured we'd be meeting in the motorhome, 'cause we always have and (I thought at the time) that was where Mom was sleeping.  I get down there a little before Mom said to.  An hour later (I kid you not--7:54-8:55), Mom gets back (!) and wants to know if I want to go for mine now.  The first words out of my mouth were "Mom, what the heck!?" and it degenerated from there to how I should have asked where we were meeting because things changed since I moved out (I guess some people just don't understand that standard operating procedure is a good thing, and changing it without telling other people is a bad thing), to how they took so long because of walking the dog or something, at which point I said that maybe I should have been a dog so she'd like me--she never felt like she had to take her human kids to the park every morning--and later, her stunning response to that was that the dog bonded with her with just a little spoiling.  I filled her in on the obvious: I was, still am, mad about other things, or maybe I said it better in writing that night:

Another day, another fight.
I can't say that I'm always right.
I want things straightened out again,
But they weren't normal to begin.

It hurts so bad I want to scream.
Real conversation is a dream.
Sometimes, I know, I make it worse
When pain inside me won't disperse.

I know the words she wants to hear,
And it's within my power to say,
"Everything is all right now."
But I'm still mad.  It's not okay.

I've said it, so I know it works,
Except that what's inside still hurts.
I hate that she can make me cry,
But it's not who I am to lie.

I tried to be the perfect kid,
Let her talk about my dad,
But I was just complaining if I had a problem.
Her problems mattered, mine didn't.  I learned fast.
I was nine.  And twelve.  And seventeen.
And everything in between.

I know the words she wants to hear.
My mind, not mouth, won't let me say,
"Everything is all right now."
'Cause I'm still mad.  It's not okay.

She's got this thing where she says everything's her fault, to try to guilt people into saying it's okay--and that doesn't work on me anymore, 'cause I realized going along with it made me feel like crap.
Do I have a mouth on me?  Yes.
Did I say things that made this worse?  See lines seven and eight.
The thing is--if Mom would stop pulling crap, I could get over stuff, I think.  But she keeps doing stuff to make me mad again.  And I'm not going to say things are okay when they aren't.
And I’m going to try to run that poem in the Northwest Passage, the school literary thing, 'cause everything Mom told me about Dad that was some kind of secret (and probably not true)--that's not my secret any more.  It doesn't bother me that I'm mad with a reason.
And it wasn't my fault when I was a kid--so it's her fault I'm mad now.



~current~
Archives in reverse chronological order:

~recent (latest entries first)~
~Starting over (in progress)~
~So this is what it's like to not be good enough (earliest entries first)~
~interlude, including still more family stuff (earliest entries first)~
~Junior Year Begins, including more about my mitochondrial DNA (earliest entries first)~
~Summer before Junior Year, aka "This is why I worry about my mitochnodrial DNA" (earliest entries first)~
~When I started at Western... (earliest entries first)~
~When I went to Chemeketa... (earliest entries first)~