half-hour a day: begin!

So I'm supposed to write in here every day. I figure, I will. I thought it had to be specific things written in here, like poems, short stories, or memoirs and things but then I realized that I can actually just write anything as long as it is creative writing and all. I write usually in another journal, a paper one and a secret online one, but I shall write in here also. Eloquent, eh?

A half hour a day is how long we're supposed to write. I wasn't doing it really for a while, just writing sporadically like I usually do. And then I started worrying; I mean, a low grade in a Creative Writing class certainly wouldn't encourage the Emerson admissions people to let me into their college to major in writing! But then, also, I don't want to be one of those people who just worries about grades but never really learns anything. Truth be told, I would like to share my writings in class and to comment on others' writings too and be a part of my favorite class instead of just an observer, but I worry that my own writings will stink and be recieved with blank silence. And when I hear someone else read their writing, then I definitely have a feeling about it, but it takes me a really long time to get a clear thought-in-words together.

Sometimes, I feel like writing an essay-memoir-type-of-thing, but then I think of what to write about, and think, well, I've already written about many of the important things in my life, the great times, and such, and memoirs. And the not-so-great times, well, I'm not about to share those on a public blog... Unless they're disguised as happening to someone else in a short story, or as cryptic metaphors in a poem.

I've realized lately what a malcontent I've been at school lately; well, junior year, really. Unless something special and exciting is going on, like a holiday, or a new season, or snow, or something, then at school I'm pretty much just sitting there stewing, rather. Well, in certain classes, I have some fun, when there are friends around. But in many classes I don't have friends around, and just sit there quietly, musing and/or brooding.

In classes I don't like, I sit there in an angry state about how I want the class to be better. For example, I loved, loved, loved English last year, with Mr. StJean. It was so interesting and presented in a way that was interesting. This year's English is one of my least favorite classes. I even like Chemistry better than English this year, which says something because I don't even like science, or working with numbers! In English this year, every time I hear "you must follow the Prout Format", I feel rather like yelling. Among many other things, like how I haven't liked how the books were presented in an uninteresting way (for me), etc.

But this seriously wasn't meant to be a complain-session. For anyone who has read this far, I'm sorry. But that wasn't the point of that tangent about school. The point was how discontented I am there, how I feel lethargic most of the day, and tired and worn, when I know that if I were not at school but instead out doing something I liked like exploring a new place, then I would be absolutely wide-awake.

But now to the root of the problem. I think I am not quite myself at all at school. I mean, I am [myself] with friends, but take them away and I just sit silently and brood over things like I said. I'm really quite a happy and hyper and, um, insane person, and when with my best friends I go crazy and really do act like myself. But school is an environment that I have always found suffocating in a way, and I just choke up.

I think I'm a chicken a lot of the time. Maybe I inherited it from my ancestor, who lived in the South during the Civil War, and hid in his chimney so he wouldn't have to fight for the Confederacy. But then, that's no excuse, because I'm also related to Davy Crockett, and he most certainly was not a chicken. I can be brave occasionally; I guess I'll just have to drum up more "occasionalies".

I can scarcely believe I am posting all this on a public blog that people from my class might read. But hey. Writing it down is easier than saying things out loud for me. Actually, sometimes I worry that school-people think badly of me, for not talking much, or being friendly. Truth be told, I've probably wanted to talk to you. I probably think you're interesting. But I've probably been dreadful shy all my life and it's held me back for just that long.

Hey look, I got me that half hour of writing, and a personal essay-bit in there too, in spite of tangents, and long sentences, and maybe a wee bit of rambling. But, oh well.