January 07, 2008

Attempt no. 356 to write a decent blog post

Guess who had finally made a plan to go to the library today and read read read for her thesis? The same one that got called into work with a helpless cry of "We're swamped!" Well, they were swamped, I did a whole page on my own basically. But let me tell you something: I'm swamped too. I have a thesis due beginning of April, and I should be working only three days a week. I've been thinking about taking time off in March, but now I'm beginning to wonder how the hell that should be possible with that chronically underemployed newsroom I'm working in. And I'm still working for a monthly magazine as well. By the way do check out my newest article in our January issue on the student pages - an Interview with a lesbian activist university lecturer. Hell, be noble and check out our whole January issue ;)

Don't get me wrong, there's no problem in working - I love my work most of the time - (there is a problem with writing a thesis). What really bugs me is that I don't have time for the things I love privately. The things that fulfill me, the writing that I want to get done that is not work - basically all that is art to me within me. It's not much, for instance I can't paint to save my life ;) but there is comparably a lot burning in me these days. It's all so feverishly ardent when I'm moving - to work, from work - when I'm listening to Mika Vember who's music has developed a strange grip on me, the lyrics speaking to me as strongly as not many do. But once I "rest" at my desk, confronted with my daily tasks or get home knackered from said tastks it all gets drenched in routine.

Finn and I have been talking about a project lately, and this is one that we're really going to go through with for a change - we just didn't have enough energy for that last plan of ours, commune we wanted to build ;) But this one is a good one. Seriously. And my head is swimming with ideas that I want to realise, ideas that if realised will make me a happier person. The problem is that right now I don't have time. If I had time, my mind would probably be an endless, idea-dry desert.

Seriously. I wrote my last short story forever ago, the last poem in what seems like a different lifetime. Before Christmas I read John Irving's Cider House Rules and after the initial reluctance I always experience at the beginning of his books again this one gripped after about 50 pages and didn't release me. I wanted to blog about it, about John Irving's genius story telling, about his ability to craft these enormous colorful images in my mind, drawing me in completely while always maintaining that familiar and appreciated tone of sarcasm. Guess what, I didn't find the time to do it and now it's two weeks later and the words I had are pretty much lost.

Damnit, I want my life back, I want my music back and I want my words back!

Can you tell how driven I'm feeling?

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