So at 30 years old, I can still pass a Marine Corps physical fitness test—by a hair and probably a beat or two away from a heart attack. Question is whether I can keep it up. In regards to fizzling out, both my writing and reading have been on a strange hiatus. The writing feels sort of deserved after the brain-sapping thesis. If creativity can be compared to ejaculation, a romantic notion, then I’m currently spent. The reading hiatus is more bothersome for me since I am now free to rummage through books of my choice without a tower on my shelf that I “ought” to be reading. Much of it seems to stem from a paralyzing wave of sudden downtime and the inability to find a starting point: “then how should I begin.” There are several Jean Rhys books I want to read including a less taxing re-read of Good Morning, Midnight. I started Ames’ Wake Up, Sir, a raconteur novel derivative of Wodehouse but darker at times, and often less funny. The differences Ames has injected from the Jeeves and Bertie Wooster sagas has yet to impress, and unless a distinguished story arises besides being dirtier and more grotesque, this book may sail away to the land of the unfinished. I am also giving it more time because it has simply been quite some time since I read an organized narrative. The dark arts of poetry and “vanguard” short fiction may have caused irreparable damage on my reading habits.
I seem to be inching closer to the federal jobs. I got a notice yesterday that my resume package (package is a good word to describe all the shit you have to put together) was sent up for a print media job for the Army in Colorado Springs. Colorado Springs…that I can do. My name is still in the mix for a job with the NIH in Maryland. That one is much brainier than the Colorado gig. I’m surprised I even made the candidacy. Looks like a busy ending to June. Besides preemptive packing, there will be a Disney trip, and then Eric and Shannon are flying in for a few days.
2 comments:
Not that I don't have a thesis to work on or anything, but I too have been a troubled reader this summer. My reading volume has always subpar'd others, but this summer, I feel like the MFA has taught me how to instantly hate whatever book I start, making it mighty easy to put down (just like all the ones I've tried reading for classes). The Hours by Michael Cunningham is a slow start, although I did perk an eye at a potential lesbo scene. I'm even having trouble getting invested in funny man Twain's Huck Finn. All I've finished this summer is Kafka's Amerika, which is, itself, an unfinished novel. Bummer.
OMG--I made the blog! How did someone as "lowbrow" as myself make it in? ;-) see ya in a few!
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