Sunday, 11 March 2018, 9:32PM
I sit at the large, handcrafted wood table in my parent’s kitchen. They’re bustling about, clinking the glasses and plates as they clean up after dinner and loudly discuss my plans for school and the future. You would think they were fighting, but it’s not the case. They’re just loud Europeans brought up in large families of eight siblings talking over the other. I run my hands over the smooth grooves in the table. The topic has soured my mood.
Something has to give: school, work, or writing.
“You can’t spend your twenties not enjoying life.”
I want to tell them that I wish to go home so I can write my journal entry, but I haven’t seen my parents in a week. The last time I went a month without visiting, resulted in my mother pinching my ears and scolding me in her native tongue. Apparently, I didn’t miss my mother.
“I refuse to give up writing. It’s what makes me human.”
My dad grins and shakes his head at my choice of words. I would too, if it were coming out of the mouth of an angry teenage girl, because that’s exactly what I sounded like. There’s far too much gravity placed on my humanity depending on writing. If only he understood how much I actually did depend on it.
“Too much studying is not good for your brain,” he tells me. “You’re always doing homework and your job requires you to sit down and use your brain.” And I choose to spend my free time reading and writing, I want to add. “One day your brain will give up on you.”
I know. “I already have migraines.”
The migraines and exhaustion have more to do with spreading myself thin trying to please everyone. He doesn’t know that, though. He’s recently watched Brain on Fire and worries I might end up like Susannah Cahalan. I’d like to tell him that’s not how it works and I’m more likely to suffer from burnout than a rare disease. But, it’ll still prove his point.
Creativity sits far off in a corner, where the boisterous noise in the kitchen won’t get to her. She’s been great company the past two weeks, and thrilled I’ve been working on Winnifred. I can see the sad understanding in her eyes, she knows tonight I might need time with my emotions, rather than work on an adventure.
I fear losing you.
(originally written for ENGL 224, winter 2018)
Note from the author:
The above text was originally written for a lecture on the Creative Process taught at Concordia University. I took the course during the winter semester of 2018, and was required to fill out a weekly journal about my creative process. At the end of the semester, I transferred the texts over from my university student portal to a handwritten journal, before I could lose my work. They will now live on The Finn Press as a means of giving them a new life beyond the physical binding of a notebook. The texts are by no means perfect and predominantly written hours before the midnight deadline in a tired blur. Do enjoy!
