#5: Here in darkness?

It's been a tiring few days. I actually passed out around 10:45 last night, rather than properly going to bed. Yesterday morning I woke up early, because we are now doing the occasional morning rehearsal for the Breakfast Ckub. and, to make it a real "Breakfast Club," we all bring an item for breakfast while we rehearse. I know, right? What a concept!

I still occasionally feel like New York. This week has whizzed by whereas time seemed to stand still on the trip, possibly because of how much we were constantly doing and seeing and learning about. In case I haven't properly impressed this upon people, that was an awesome trip: photos can be found here.

Life has gotten unsettled, as can be expected this close to the end of the year. I'm getting behind, I've got 3 summatives to worry about (next week in English is 5 days of super-fun in-class essay time a-go-go.)

Yesterday, I was in Guthrie's room after school, getting some precis work I missed while on the trip. So, he busts out some friendly questions like "what's in line for next year?" and I tell him the simple anser, that it's Sheridan for Journalism. And he seems happy that I'll be continuing to do something in a literary vein, but all the same he seems unimpressed with my choice of institution; I think he is of the belief that University is vastly superior to college, which is surely a difficult stigma for one to shakke in his mind, but one of which I am free: I simply don't agree.

He also suggested I look into Creative Writing at Humber, which I found funny, because I told him I'd applied for that and never heard back one way or the other. I also went into my diatribe about how I'd rather be a creative writer but need no education for that; how a Journalism education is more valuable than a creative writing one. I'm happy, knowing that Guthrie thinks so highly of my writing ability. Hopefully he recognizes that my interest in his class is not merely a passing one, but that I have a legitimate attachment to the material, and that one way or another I will find myself working as a writer. I don't know how many students he has had, or generally gets, whose devotion to the concept of writing is so pure and intense as mine, but here I am, and hopefully he recognizes that.

Watching Alfred Hitchcock's "Rope" right now, which is a fascinating piece of thriller about a seemingly perfect murder, which is short brilliantly using camera techniques that feel like all one continuous shot.

Life is not interesting these days. Far from it and nearly the opposite. I mean I just feel so very nearly dead inside. If you see me, you might notice that there is a lack of interest, of passion or vitality behind my eyes, and let me tell ya that's the truth. These old baby blues just aren't feeling alive. I'll tell you, there are points in the day when I just feel like giving in, and it's a struggle not to. I just can't see myself going back, no matter that I still think she's a fine girl, or my own feelings of loneliness.

I'm busy. I'm lonely. I'm tired. I'm me.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto