So, anyway, back to what I was saying. Well, actually, I wasn’t saying anything. I’ve been throwing an enormous figurative temper tantrum and I’m (sort of) done, so I’m back. The last few weeks have been crazy. Up and down and down and down. Mostly down. I was contemplating starting a different blog, but I cannot figure out Square Space, and naturally refuse to watch a tutorial which is twenty minutes long, so I guess I’ll just continue here. I’ve been thinking that it’s been over a year since I started this blog, which began because I was trying to figure out my new world, and trying to get over some huge disappointments, and I thought it might be a good idea to have a fresh start. But maybe wanting to start a new blog is just me trying to run away from the fact that precious little in my life has actually changed, and it really isn’t something I’m proud of. (Relationship status: I left a party early on Saturday to go home and drink wine in a bubble bath while watching Ted Talks on my iPad) In this state of mind, self-disclosure is incredibly hard and I’ve been spending my free time protecting myself from blows I never saw coming.

On the practical side, school is trying to break me down and murder me, so that’s fun. Last session I could not get a class (again, I’m not changing my concentration to poetry unless I can get credit for dirty limericks) so I thought I would be a genius and sign up for TWO classes this term, I’ll outsmart those Bruins in the end. Naturally I got BOTH of them, and am drowning in a sea of backstory, POV and a quirky little protagonist that I’m seriously starting to fucking hate. But all anguish aside, I have less than a day to post the completed first chapter of my book (3,985 words, in fact) to be workshopped by 30 writers. I am finished, although I will probably rewrite it until five seconds before it goes up, but it has basically consumed me for three weeks. I hope for some good feedback and encouragement and naturally worry that I’ll get 30 versions of “work harder at the job you have now, because you are not a writer.” In reality, I just want honest and constructive help, but it feels a lot like taking off all your clothes and just asking strangers how you look. Based on the self-flagellation diet of red wine and burritos I’ve been on lately, not great.