Muse Gone Missing

I sincerely cannot wait to graduate. Why? Not because I really want a bachelor’s degree. I mean, if I just really wanted a piece of paper so terribly, I can go over to Staples or my printer, pull one out, write on it “Nelson, you are smart,” and then tack it on my wall. That’s basically what a bachelor’s degree is, right? So, no . . . it’s not that piece of paper for which I am so ravenously waiting.

Here’s what it is: I want to be free, and not in the sense that I feel oppressed by Harding. My creative drive is gone. I can’t think of things to write. Perhaps this is good because right now I don’t have time to write, unless, of course, it is in an academic sense.

But I want to write for fun. I want to keep trying my hand at creative fiction and maybe even dabble in a smidge of poetry when it feels appropriate, but I literally cannot do it right now. There is a wall.

Undergraduate studies have killed my creative spirit. It will be good to have some time to dive back into the world of creation again, whether that be nature itself or what comes of my own hands working together to craft something out of nothing.

I mean, seriously . . . I do intend to do this. I have a Moleskin specifically set aside to jot down poetry in, should the Muses brush me with their fingertips. But I don’t think they can get to me right now. That Moleskin’s been empty ever since I bought it so very long ago. I have constructed blockades against inspiration through the means of standardized education. I have made myself into this amorphous student, indistinguishable from any other sitting around me. Yes, I have those talents unique to myself, but until I have a chance to seek them out, they will flounder and stagnate. I have made myself subservient to the will of the god named GPA, and I am not proud of that.

In sum, I couldn’t be happier that I decided long ago to take a year off between now and grad school. I am burned out.

And this is why I am so excited about getting my own apartment. Sure, it may be plain as can be, but it will still be my malleable space from which I can create my own lair that will possess qualities to stimulate my mind. This is what I envision, at least. I may come to find that no such thing will happen, but at this moment I’m still idealistic, so we’ll go with that.

Much love.

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