Wake Me Up When September Ends

I'm feeling kind of nostalgic, but it's weird you know? Ever since the test ended around noon, I have felt so much more liberated, even if I don't have any idea what to expect for my results. My scores could be horrible. They could be delightful. They could be disappointing, but hopeful.

I'm finding it harder to miss those who were close to me. I'm so proud of myself for learning to let go. Here's Stacey letting go of the bittersweet past and a past neurotic, spontaneous self.

It's strange.  How the people I thought I'd miss the most, I'm actually forgetting quicker. Maybe I've become resilient, possibly harshly stoic enough to be this apathetic. Perhaps it's the listening to "Tiny Vessels" a hundred times.

I watched a few clips from TEDTalks last night, and I came across a speech by the author of Eat Pray Love. Elizabeth Gilbert brought up an interesting idea--the perception of how artists are these dark, twisted, manic-depressive souls whose creativity spawn from their troubled lives. I admit to attempting to be a creative individual. Writing is an odd passion for me; a lot of times I try to back away from it because I am afraid of criticism.  But I am the author of countless fanfiction and two novels, so what the hell, damn, I'm a writer. I also happened to have suffered from severe depression and suicidal thoughts. My mind is a squalor of debauchery and unspoken twists and turns.

I guess my point is, creativity is a scary process. Which brings me to a fearful fact: I am obligated to finish my novel in two weeks, design, plot, additional stories and all. Oh, and the editing process is GODAWFUL. And I'm a little scared. But I can do this, while getting fit, fixing my skin, and getting my nerd on. No big deal.