A little unfocused...

Last semester, I got my first B in five years.  (Just to be clear, the rest of my grades had been As.)  It was excruciating work on deeply personal essays.  My beloved teacher + the subject matter (which I chose) =  anxiety attacks.  I thought I may even fail the course.  Her main concern for my writing was focus...

I had none.  But that was just according to her.  Others (including myself) believed my work was decently focused.  But when I tried to name my thesis, I could not pin it down.  The stories I was telling weren't ready; the lessons were incomplete.  But I was ready to confess.  Not like a good Catholic; that was too private.

Why should only one person get to hear what's in my head?  I feel like telling everyone who will listen.  Kinda like when I used to dabble in cocaine...

The same person who told me my teacher was an idiot last semester told me last night to start my blog.  I listened to him because, really, he's never steered me in the wrong direction.  That's an epiphany and I'm trying to disagree with it in my head, because it feels so wrong.  You understand if you know him.  He once told me in 10th grade not to date a guy because he was "dumb as Hell."  I've always appreciated his bluntness.

I called him crying only days later to tell him he was right and when I tried to break up with the guy he said he would wait for me.  I didn't want that.  He wasn't going to just get smarter, especially at Dupont High...but I digress.  "I don't want you to feel obligated to do that," I replied.  There was a pause.  "What's obligated mean?"

The tears were partially of sadness (though they were mostly from laughing so hard, bless that kid's poor soul).  Sadness (and hilarity) that my friend was right, that people really aren't that smart, that I was an asshole who couldn't date a guy who was dumb as hell even if he was really cute and sort of popular.

Maybe he was wrong about my teacher being an idiot though.  I had her again for a Poetry Workshop the following semester.  She taught me a lot and became a good friend, loyal instructor and fan.  She was still worried about my focus.  Not of the poetry, but of my life.  My art.

I said I wanted to write novels and stories and poetry.  And more personal non-fiction like those essays.  That I wanted to do stand-up comedy.  That I wanted to begin a video log.  Write scripts.  Perform.  Try improv.  Learn to play music so I can write silly songs.  Parody.

Guess what.  I'm going to do it all.  This is only the beginning.

I'm OK with being a little unfocused.  

And here, right now only my first poetry reading is there but still...
StephanieAnn1982 on YouTube