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What I won't take

Today at lunch I opened up my tupperware container expecting to find a tuna fish sandwich on whole wheat bread. I grabbed the wrong container. I could tell you what I found, but I don't know what it was: only that it was old, moldy, and pretty fucking mad. I think it punched me before it slithered away. I can still see the pretty, pretty stars....

I've decided it's more to my advantage to compose a list of what not to take to Clarion. I'm not taking any DVD sets of TV shows. I'm not taking any computer games. I'm not taking any novels I've been wanting to read for forever. I have the attention span of a gnat, and I see myself holed up in the dorm room, watching DVD after DVD, shoveling Doritos and diet Cokes down my throat like a madman - all the while proclaiming I have "writers block". Uh, no. Also, I tend to let myself become anti-social, and I think it's to my advantage to use those six weeks getting to know the other Clarionites. There'll be plenty of time when summer's over to read and veg out in front of the boob tube. I don't want to waste this opportunity.

And I'm not taking any trunk stories. I'm not taking any ideas/sketches/notes written pre-Clarion - if I get the burning urge to write about something I thought of a few months back, I'll remember it enough to be able to use it. I'm not going to "work on that old novel in my spare time". I'm not going to "tinker with synopses on the weekends". Six weeks, six completely new stories, and no reruns of "Lost", marathon J-horror movie sessions, or should-have-been-trunked projects to distract me. I know myself pretty well - I might as well start the intervention right the fuck now. :)

I will, however, take tons of flashy jewelry, lots of frilly dresses, and some seriously pointy stilettos. Because I want to look damn good when I'm being eviscerated in class. :D

Marine Autumn

I owe you marine autumn
With dankness at its roots
and fog like a grape
and the graceful sun of the country;
and the silent space
in which sorrows lose themselves
and only the bright crown
of joy comes to the surface.

--Pablo Neruda.


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