turns out it's not enough to cut all your hair off or learn your own secret poetry word. or use the you so much. i've been doing things like riding my bike in the desert, in the middle of the night, jumping on the bed singing carly simon or staying up until the sun comes up, until it gets too hot to sleep. it's almost unbearable. alright, these things really are just standing in for a feeling here, i admit it. maureen symbols for: i'm happy or i'm delirious or it could always be worse. i keep telling myself these are the ways to save yourself: over and over again, usually in the middle of the night or when i get drunk enough to talk to myself, seriously, to talk to myself. it makes sense to me now why las vegas could be the mecca for so many vices and all the vices in tucson are making my writing incomprehensible, or maybe it's the other way around. consider this the point of a creative degree. consider this a freewrite. it's the same as you think that you'll never meet people that make you laugh til your guts want to fall out and then you do and then you think, well gee, next place i go i REALLY won't meet people like that and then you do and you do and you do forever, always moving and by moving always doing. and then i wonder why i feel like everything i write all the time sounds so unhinged and so self-destructive when i feel so calm, and normal, and decent, when i get good grades and get into good schools and get money, but all that might not even matter anyway, in the end. maybe the key to being perfectly unhinged is to be unaware of that fact. that could also be the point of a creative degree.
