*is irritated at self*
Jun. 3rd, 2003 05:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bloodygranuaileThis LJ and my handwritten diary have switched places, dammit. Because I'm off the Net so much, whenever I get back on, I feel like I have to write whatever's been going on, so this has become the running summary of my life (the fact that I'm always IMing people at the same time doesn't help me distract myself from anything other than the current social situation) while the paper diary is for the kind of odd rambles this was origianlly intended for, as I'm not allowed online an hour after I've gone to bed when the rants start bothering me. Yesterday, I went to bed really early, but it didn't do me any good... I got back up again an hour later and wrote a handful of pages on people's hair. It was long and descriptive and flowery and somewhat sentimental, and I think if I went back and reread it now I'd also find it absurd, 'cos it *was* done when it was the only thing still standing between me and sleep. But it ended on a nice note, which helped me immensely, so I suppose it worked out.
Yay, and now I'm rambling about rants. Life is bloody STRANGE.
Oh, here's the sort of badly melodramatic descriptive stuff I write when I don't have LJ access... this one was done after I froze on my first try on my Spanish oral (luckily, I got a 19 out of 20 when I retook it).
***
There are four pictures.
Each picture shows the stereotypical weather for a season. Drawn in simple black line on cheap workbook paper, they are utterly uninspiring. There are no people; nothing is really happening. The landscapes are as unremarkable as they could possible get.
I stare at them; an icy hand grips my heart and a shameful flashback to my French oral in seventh grade springs unbidden to my mind. I froze then, too. Then, as now, I didn't have enough of a grasp on the language to deal with it non-visually; I didn't have enough of a grasp on the language to say what I wanted to say, because what I needed to say was not structured enough--such a free-thinking exam is not a gift; it's horrible. I want to do real description; what I want to say is never what I know; the prompts are utterly and completely stupid, never mind that picture prompts as a rule are, in my opinion, one of the stupidest ideas in existence, and I've never, never been able to do them.
Not on tests, anyway. Real life is a whole different set of picture prompts; ones with meanings attached that you can say things about. I know what's going on; I can feel it; I can read it, I just want to describe and describe and describe and I know what's happening or not happening, or I know that I don't and I know what I don't know to a greater degree; it connects to what I know pf people and other memories are set off in my brain and I want to write; to trap the moment in words forever.
But test prompts are sterile; they have no connections, no ties to the emotion or memory or beauty that makes anything actually worth writing about; they are plain and boring and and unconnected, and they are completely, *completely* and utterly worthless.
Yet I must do them. But I *can't*. I simply cannot come up with anything to say; can't think down to that level when my brain still thinks in English and the exam's for Spanish bloody One; cannot make up a story out of nothing inspiring--especially not on command--and so I do nothing. I freeze.
And I get told I can try again later. I just hope it matters.
***
Never thought I'd say this, but thank Eru for Señora being an overly nice ditz.
Oh, and WHY does badly flowery writing come naturally to me? It's hideous! You should SEE the rant from last night! My Goddess.
Oh, look, no social commentary... ^.^ Don't know what I could comment socially without ticking anyone off at the moment, anyway. Heh heh heh. *evil grin* Things are so gloriously screwed up. (I'm in a Count Your Blessings And Then Make Fun Of Them mood.)
Thalia has been asking people odd questions. We are compiling the answers. She must still ask a couple other people, though...
Any my mom still has to call hers, already. Dammit, CALL already, mother, CALL!
~Claudia
Yay, and now I'm rambling about rants. Life is bloody STRANGE.
Oh, here's the sort of badly melodramatic descriptive stuff I write when I don't have LJ access... this one was done after I froze on my first try on my Spanish oral (luckily, I got a 19 out of 20 when I retook it).
***
There are four pictures.
Each picture shows the stereotypical weather for a season. Drawn in simple black line on cheap workbook paper, they are utterly uninspiring. There are no people; nothing is really happening. The landscapes are as unremarkable as they could possible get.
I stare at them; an icy hand grips my heart and a shameful flashback to my French oral in seventh grade springs unbidden to my mind. I froze then, too. Then, as now, I didn't have enough of a grasp on the language to deal with it non-visually; I didn't have enough of a grasp on the language to say what I wanted to say, because what I needed to say was not structured enough--such a free-thinking exam is not a gift; it's horrible. I want to do real description; what I want to say is never what I know; the prompts are utterly and completely stupid, never mind that picture prompts as a rule are, in my opinion, one of the stupidest ideas in existence, and I've never, never been able to do them.
Not on tests, anyway. Real life is a whole different set of picture prompts; ones with meanings attached that you can say things about. I know what's going on; I can feel it; I can read it, I just want to describe and describe and describe and I know what's happening or not happening, or I know that I don't and I know what I don't know to a greater degree; it connects to what I know pf people and other memories are set off in my brain and I want to write; to trap the moment in words forever.
But test prompts are sterile; they have no connections, no ties to the emotion or memory or beauty that makes anything actually worth writing about; they are plain and boring and and unconnected, and they are completely, *completely* and utterly worthless.
Yet I must do them. But I *can't*. I simply cannot come up with anything to say; can't think down to that level when my brain still thinks in English and the exam's for Spanish bloody One; cannot make up a story out of nothing inspiring--especially not on command--and so I do nothing. I freeze.
And I get told I can try again later. I just hope it matters.
***
Never thought I'd say this, but thank Eru for Señora being an overly nice ditz.
Oh, and WHY does badly flowery writing come naturally to me? It's hideous! You should SEE the rant from last night! My Goddess.
Oh, look, no social commentary... ^.^ Don't know what I could comment socially without ticking anyone off at the moment, anyway. Heh heh heh. *evil grin* Things are so gloriously screwed up. (I'm in a Count Your Blessings And Then Make Fun Of Them mood.)
Thalia has been asking people odd questions. We are compiling the answers. She must still ask a couple other people, though...
Any my mom still has to call hers, already. Dammit, CALL already, mother, CALL!
~Claudia
