Accidental Therapy

I'm a little too excited these days about various projects I'm working on, both personally and academically and I haven't been getting much sleep lately. I've been up past 1:00 every other night for a few days. Plus this weird weather is kind of doing a number on me as well Basically I feel a bit worn down but spiritually I feel pretty giddy.

I had a kind of a revelatory talk with my Urban Voices writing professor last night that really threw me for a loop because I told her things I haven't told anyone about things in my life which I haven't thought about out loud for years. There's something about writing professors. If you're a writer, no matter how much you try to blend in, they will spot you with laser beam precision and single you out. I was singled out. The class has a group blog that we post to weekly as part of the class assignment and then discuss in class. I guess it didn't take long for her recognize who the crazy people were; me and three others. What I mean is that she's a writer and she could tell who the serious writers in the class are so she split the class in two groups, one that needed basic grammatical instruction and us, the group who needs some style usage instruction. It was a bit awkward. And then afterward she wanted to conference individually with a few of us, me included.

She wanted to know why I was here. Which was very self affirming because I often wonder the same thing myself. She recommended some alternatives. She recognizes my potential. It was flattering and yet a bit nerve wrecking. Like I said, our conference spiraled quickly into a therapy session. I unloaded like she was my shrink and she never cut me off or even looked bothered. I'm certain she's no stranger to the psychosis of creative types. I never do this, ever! I'm very good at letting most people I know see only what I want them to. This is very easy as most people are not sensitive enough to perceive any deeper than you will let them or to even assume that there is anything more than what you project to the world on a daily basis, that the face you present is little more than one of a hundred masks. But I think that she could see through that and it's very rare that I feel comfortable telling anyone the things I told her.

Because we are being asked to write about our lives in the class, it is inevitable that we come up against some of the more painful incidents which have shaped and continue to shape us and it's always a delicate situation figuring out how best to expose yourself to strangers. Francis is one of the only people who I can never wear a mask with. He tends only to perceive what's really there, what's going on underneath. That speaks to a very deep trust I have in him. I can't deceive him even in subtle ways. But it's only because of his own innate loving/kindness that he sees beyond my behavioral smoke screens. There's no effort. He just cares. It's an anomaly to me but I just thank my lucky stars because I am not an easy person to figure. I am typically Gemini and at times find that I am almost literally two people.

Journal Wierdness

Ever read your old journals? I mean written journals. I have about three boxes worth of journals I kept in high school and college. Lemme tell you, reading that shit is tripped out! I mean there are some details that I don't even remember. I realize that like many teenagers I thought I knew more than I did. I was some kind of scatterbrain man. I was just all over the place. Not too much different than I am now, but now I'm a bit more practical and not such a brat. Not only did I journal write like a maniac. I had friends who would write in my journals, like it was like a special guest appearance or something. We would write all these quotes in the margins that only we knew the relevance of. I think I took over one my friends journals to write my own stuff in and to this day when I open it I think it's his because he still has a bunch of entries in there, poems and stuff. Then there's my entries, lists and observations and math work! I was always getting over someone, messing with somebody else, trying to figure myself out. I was craaazy! I hardly ever wrote about schoolwork or teachers. It was all about relationships. I even wrote down some conversations that I recalled verbatim. That always cracks me up.