Anyway I met some other cheerful students along with one of the loveliest teachers that I work with as I was putting my shoes on. I thanked her for the Japanese pears she gave me last week, and left the bit out about absent-mindedly abandoning them in a friend's refrigerator. During first period I showed her my sketches for the dress I started making last weekend and we chatted about how it will be made. She gasped a few times and said, “very gooood!”, clearly uninformed of my actual skill level.
So now I'm just waiting for my fourth period class, which I already have planned. My mind is free to wander about its cerebral landscapes to the rhythm of my co-worker's nervously tapping foot. Thinking about my sewing venture is making me re-evaluate my creative capacity. Rather, the fervor behind it has. For a while now, I've been dabbling around in silly little projects that never seem to go anywhere. I worry that if there is any artistic fire left in me, certainly it was a chilly little thing. Striving without passion makes you feel like a real fraud. Like you're on a coattail ride of archaic dreams, secretly lusting for something to hold significance. People need to have 'favorites' and 'interests' because otherwise they cannot identify themselves with strict tangibles. Being creatures quick to deny the existence of our metaphysical selves, we might as well not exist at all without favorites, interests and hobbies. Things you can update on your facebook. Coming back to this old familiar love with renewed fervor has sparked some kind of cosmic orgasm that is completing the circuit between my tangible and my metaphysical charges.
Despite having thusly second-guessed every aspect of my innovation from seedling to sprout, I am forcing myself to push through the motions. I must refrain from the sabotage of self-doubt because as I track my progress, it is beginning to seem that we can only marvel at our own greatness in retrospect.
Alright, time to go make some copies. I hope the ink isn't out again because I don't know how to fix those blasted machines. Well, any machine, really.