hey now now, don't it always seem to go, that you don't know what you got till it's gone, they paved paradise to put up a parking lot
~counting crows, big yellow taxi
i heard this song this morning & i've always loved it, even though it's kind of sad, despite the upbeat tempo. for all of you that have heard it before i'm pretty sure you're humming it now, right? i'm right, aren't i?
the reason i've picked this song is that while it's not outwardly deep, ie jimmy eat world or some of the other lyrics i've been posting recently, it does make me think, which is always a good thing. & this is something that seems to be fairly prevalent at times, taking away the beautiful & replacing it with something more utilitarian, more ugly, with a whole lot less soul. near my parents' house recently several wooded areas have been bulldozed & replaced with town homes stacked upon each other. changing the face of st. paul, one block at a time from a city full of neighborhoods to house upon house upon house with no green space.
it's not that i'm against progress, because, really i'm not. but sometimes we each need to identify the things in our lives that speak the truest to us, the most beautiful, the most sacred, the things that we are absolutely unwilling to part with at any cost. & when we find those, we need to shield them, shelter them, protect them at any cost. & that's where i find myself at this exact moment.
i'm back in class right now. my very LAST in classroom class for my master's degree. i know i've thought that before, probably even said it, but this really is it. after this i won't take another one. this is the do or die moment for me. i'm taking a class called writing the suspenseful novel. by the time the class ends in december i will have made a decision. i will either a: give up the idea of doing two thesi* (one in poetry & one in fiction) & come to terms with the fact that i am not superwoman & settle for an mfa with just a poetry book or b: i'll have enough progress done on my novel to finish it up & go ahead with the insane plan on writing & defending two thesi. i've been told by plenty of people, miss sinead the loudest (with lots of love of course) to quit messing around & finish the damn degree already. & i really want to. finally. i'm ready to be done with school.
but, this isn't about school. it isn't even about being in a holding pattern. it's about me. beckah. beckah the good little worker in her cube. beckah the writer. beckah the sister. beckah the daughter. beckah the friend. beckah the lover. & how do i combine all of these into a person that i love completely every day? someone that i'm proud to be? not that i'm ashamed of who i am now, because i am not in anyway. i've done things that i would rather not have flashed across the front pages of the strib or the pioneer press, but everyone has those things in their past. anyone who doesn't is either very boring or a filthy liar.
what this is about is the fact that last night during class while listening to one of my classmates talk about working just part time & being mainly a full time student i wanted to cry. not just cry, but sob. that deep down cry that settles so deep in your chest it feels like it will never be gone. the kind of cry that leaves a wound in the center of your chest on your sternum. the kind of cry that lingers because even when the tears are gone, the hurt is far from being gone & you're left with an ache & a longing & a pain so deep it defies definition. that's how i felt.
i miss it so so bad. at that moment, listening too my classmate talk about waking up at noon and still getting to write for four or more hours before class i was so envious for a moment. not the deep seated dangerous green jealousy that come from money, power, or lust. but the envy of the freedom of that life style. the passion & the dedication. the drive & desire. the fact that somehow i've lost that in my life. i'm trying to remember when the last time was that i really made my writing a priority. & there's moments when i wonder, have i traded all that in for someone else's dream? i never strove to be white collar, that was my sister. how have i found myself at this point?
yes. yes. yes. yes. i know. same self centered self-pitying line of the past. except. maybe not. because, i was so happy to feel that ache. it meant that i still really care. & that is priceless. because if i didn't hurt it would mean that i don't care that i'm not writing. that it doesn't matter if i have writing as a priority in my life. that really would have been the worst part of it all. if i had listened to my classmates talk about their several hours of writing that they do each day & it was no more than mild interest to me. then i would have had a problem. but, since i got so upset it's actually a very good sign for me.
i met with deborah, my advisor today. & we're putting in a plan of action. i'm going to graduate in 2008. planning on defending my thesis in december of 2008. & then i'll walk in may of 2009. & so i'm trying to get myself back to that obsessive girl that didn't go anywhere without her notebook & pen. the one who sneaked in writing time where ever she went. the girl that lived, breathed, & died by the written word, at all times. that's the beckah that i miss so much. & that's the one who can be everything else: sister, daughter, friend, lover.
*i do realize thesi is not a word, but i like it better than thesises which is a real word