Don't Call Me Lazy

For a while now, I haven't had the same enthusiasm for school as I used to have. It's not that I'm not interested in the material or that I don't care, because I truly do, but I'm still not sure how I can exactly explain myself.

I do find it difficult to focus on the intensive reading and writing that grad school brings. Ironically, I lack the willpower to write a sentence. Papers that have been handed back to me are marked with critiques over the simplest things--punctuation, grammar (things I have always been exceptional with) and word choice is often confusing in my creative works. The simplest things are now the most problematic.

I wonder what has brought about this lack of motivation. While researching something to pinpoint my feelings, the search engines often pointed to depression or a depressive episode but that is far from it, at least at this present time. On the whole, I'm in a good place.

As a student, I'd always needed a little push to study because I relied too much on my natural instinct and existing intelligence. I was "lazy," but don't call me lazy. I skated by on this quite frequently. It didn't work too well in high school, when I actually had to study and put some real effort into my schoolwork and it was clear that my grades suffered because of it. It is only in recent years that I began working hard again, with diligence, with care, with attention. I remember there was a point in 2007-2008 when I was a full-time student and spent entire days at school, studying, reading, yet never felt drained.

Somewhere between Fall 2009 and now, that care and that willpower escaped me.

Should I point fingers and is it even beneficial to do so? At the corporate job that slashed at my soul and toyed with my spirit for three months? At the continuous plow of schoolwork that urged me on everyday (in a good way)? I'd like to pinpoint the source of this inner conflict...

In recent school-related news, CSUN has removed the master's program's thesis in the English department. This will eventually affect the entire campus and possibly the entire CSU system by next fall semester. All independent studies are gone as well. The reason for the removal of the master's thesis is simply this: a money issue and a lawsuit. An unwillingness to compensate the thesis committee for the hours they put in as advisors and readers. That's the long story short. I wasn't sure how to feel about this at first. I was obviously very eager to write a thesis when I first entered the program, but with my recent disillusionment with grad school, this put many things into perspective.

I know this probably happens to many [grad] students and that I have to simply plow on, no matter how mentally difficult. Yes, I realize I bitch a lot when things don't always 100% emotionally-mentally gel for me. But it sure does feel good to write about it. :D

Restrospection on the Year 2009

I haven't done much writing in a while; at least the type of writing that inspires me or makes me think. After the harrowing experience of my temp job from August-November, my brain needed a rest. It had turned to mush and it was tired of thinking. Even when I forced it to think, to read, to work on homework, it would not comply. Like a paralysis but one of only the mind. I didn't want to believe that I had lost my drive to write or that I had lost my motivation for everything. I am usually quite motivated despite my general laziness.

But it was burn out. I used to believe the term "burn out," used to describe the mental and physical breakdown of the body after a period of extreme stress, was a cop out for laziness. A mental roadblock to convince oneself that "I have been procrastinating because I am burned out," but this was a real and true condition. The temporary paralysis of my brain: I would force it to move for me. Listen to me, brain, you are going nowhere!

Since after leaving West Hollywood, I have indulged myself in brainlessness. I've lost passion for many of the things I strove for and believed in. I used to stare out at the fantasy and wonder of the world, conjecturing about people and their stories, hoping to collect the pieces of information for the next writing project. Not now, no. I find comfort in the recluse of my bedroom. It is only recently that I feel compelled to take control of myself again and remember who it is that I am and what I believe in.

Selling portions of your soul to corporate goons really messes up what's left of it.

I found myself emotionless for some time, unwilling to do much beyond indulging in self-detrimental behavior. I reacted this way because I thought I was violating my sense of self, but in reality, I still hadn't truly formed who I was as a person, who my character was, for lack of a better term. I suppose I'm still in the process of figuring all of that out, and sorting out all of my sordid complexities and contradictions.

Despite all of the self-grappling and external issues (concerning school, family, home life, finances, other personal matters) thrown at me, I had an amazing year 2009: co-head editor for The Northridge Review, graduation, getting published in Tayo Literary Magazine, being employed after college with a job pertaining to my degree, seeing my two closest friends move away (an act of separation, which, will only each of us as individuals to grow as a butterfly emerges from its cocoon), and oh...finding a nice boy to spend some time with (a story for elaboration later).

I welcome the highs of the year because they were wonderful...and I also welcome the lows because those are tests of my strength. I can take something away from each experience and that, my friends, builds character.