Here's the scoop - for one of my classes I have to write 3 pages of stream of consciousness writing first thing in the morning. It's supposed to reveal what I'm thinking about subconsciously and show me what I should change to make myself more successful and more creative. As a result, these segments are very disconnected and confusing, but at the same time they present a very good image of what I was like during the first few weeks at school. Since the pages were handwritten, it'll take me some time to transcribe them all, but I'll try to put up a few at a time. Some of them will be edited or won't show up, for reasons you can probably guess for yourself. For a little background, I'm in the School of Foreign Service at Georgetown University, in Washington DC.
     
      9/10/02
      At first I was sold on the idea of morning pages. Now that it's 8 AM and I'm up and writing and I went to bed at 2 and I have class in an hour and I still have work to finish for today, it's not very appealing. Last night stress descended on me for the first time - not the emotional stress of being a stranger in a new place but full-on, can't cope overwhelmed by work and responsibilities stress. It really shouldn't be that bad, I haven't even started any clubs or service or sports but somehow my life already seems full, my days already seem booked and I'm falling behind. AIM is enemy #1, I have to purge that and reduce my email habit. Sometimes I just want to sit and read or write or just thing but I feel guilty when I do, or get distracted or start something else. On the other hand I'm glad that I have people here to talk to and distractions of that sort; on the other I feel like I'll never get anything done. Papers scare me, grades scare me - do I have what it takes for college, to be leader, to be an interesting engaging knowledgeable dynamic forceful inspiring etc. etc. person? What the hell am I going to do with my life? I know what I'm not going to do, the avenues that I've gone by or closed off. But I could write or teach or travel or do what I really want to do, serve my country and others - make the US less of a bully and mor of a benevolent power. But can I cut it? And sometimes all I want to do is learn forever - I've always been a student and it's hard to see myself in any other role. I should get a job - earn money, have responsibility, learn skills, meet people, make connections. I should join a new group, not be bound by what I did in high school or what I feel is expected of me. This is taking way too long, I need to write fast wash face brush teeth get dressed eat something run to class learn more read more write more do more with less time still have time for me. Why don't I learn shorthand and become a journalist, not that one's popped up a few times in the past days, writing seems to be calling me I need to look at writing for paper journal for myself for my own thoughts and dreams and memories. I distrust my own memory, seek to record incidents that amaze or impress or mystify me. Yesterday or maybe Sunday, walking down third floor New South, afternoon sunlight spilling through the western window, melting construction site and equipment, long hall stretching before me with doors on every side, leading who knows where and leading home. Harvard is my home but my dorm room is home, safe place where I retreat, where I'm in control, where I know where things are and I see people on my terms. I feel like a kid - how can I be living alone, on my own, responsible for myself, nobody watching or checking or supporting or guiding me - why did everyone tell me that I was special, now I believe the myth about me but there's no glory in GPA and standardized tests. Now it's a free for all and I don't think I'm special anymore. I haven't written a paper, most of my teachers don't know me, I haven't failed at anything yet but neither am I succeeding. I don't ask enough questions - should I? If they don't come to me, should I seek them out? Spiderman is on my wall, movies every weekend, weekends are a dilemma - I feel obligated to live out the college ideal, but there's so much time I could be reading studying investing in myself; at the same time I crave companions, friends, people that understand me and my moods. Am I wrong to assume that I won't be friends with some people? I had friends who partied at home - hopefully still do. I don't divide people by whether they drink or not, but here it seems like I don't talk to anybody who does. I'm probably avoiding future presidents, senators, diplomats etc. because of what they do on Friday night - I assume I'm too boring nerdy awkward inexperienced uninteresting to talk to, and I'm quiet. Jerry, Jerry, always on my mind, more often about sex than about himself - how did my love come to be driven by hormones? He's a great support but sometimes a distraction - am I not fully involved here because a piece of me is at home? It's more that I see him sign on and can't resist talking to him - I'm going to leave AIM off today. I say many things. I'm going to eat less, exercise, write, finish my work, study, look ahead, meet all the people on my floor, go dancing, learn new things, sign up for this or that, write to this person, call this person. I need "me" time and I need to learn that "me" time has to be separate from Jerry time. I want to talk to him but that's just making it worse, I can't accept the fact that he's not here and I won't see him for almost three months. I've been here just over 3 weeks - can't decide if that's long or not. Feels like I've always lived here, but classes feel new still, I'm not used to work or the city but I also have some routines, some banality already. Washing laundry - Julie's alarm is going off, so annoying should I say something to wake her up turn it off I wish she'd talk some, wish I could talk to her wish she wasn't on the phone all the time wish our door was open and I knew everyone on the floor and people came to visit but I also wish I could read and write in absolute peace. God, it's 8:42, it's taken me half an hour to write these pages. Goals for today: get reading and questions done, at least for tomorrow, hopefully for Thursday, hit the gym, avoid AIM, meet a new person and pay attention in class! I want to do well in French our presentation scares me, I want to do well, grades do matter Dr. Glavin said. I'm feeling the pressure and I haven't had the opportunity to practice, to see where I am - my record of few failures was due to unrisky behavior, now I'm risking everything. There's no way I could add partying to this.
     
      9/11/02
     
      September 11 - has a year really passed? Or has it been years since that day? In some ways it seems the world has always been like this - fearful, uncertain, insecure, us against them and insularly American. Then again it seems like just yesterday that Mrs. Keoseian came into our Spanish class with news of an attack, that we turned on the television to see the second plane hit, that we stared aghast to see the towers fall + listened fearfully to reports of other crashes and explosions - the capitol, the pentagon, Pennsylvania. I was quite literally immobilized by shock, and guilt - I recall rocking back and forth in my chair, one of those wide white plastic ones, hugging myself, remembering wishing that interesting things would happen in the world - I felt like Marilla from Anne of Green Gables, who wished for something interesting and got WWI. And for a few days afterwards I feared world war III. That day, classes ceased, nobody had any direction, we wandered from classroom to classroom, television screen to television screen, speaking fearfully and disbelievingly, anxiously grasping at each new shred of information, no matter how vague, unsure, or eventually false, watched the flight paths of the errant flights, and prayed. Oh I prayed. We memorized certain indelible scenes - the fireball that accompanied impact, the fear palpable as the second plane slowly but inexorably sank into the second tower like a star pulled over the event horizon of a black hole - we knew where that plane was going, could do nothing to stop it, could only watch in horror and numbly realize how many people were on that plane, how many in the buildings. 3,000 is a small number compared to what we feared that day. We saw the towers fall, saw the towering funeral pyres of smoke clouds billowing across what was no longer our sky, no longer pure or blue - not the wild blue yonder that we were masters of, but now a source of fear and the habitat of terror.
      That day, we didn't hug or cry much; we were numb. Only when I got home did I break down, upon seeing mom, who was supposed to be on one of those flights out of Logan just two days later - she was understandably upset. Dad had come home to help her out. I gave Steve a ride home, because our soccer game had been cancelled and I needed to get practice clothes. It was to have been our first game, against Lunenburg I think, a game that we later tied 0-0. A failure, a heartbreak, though I feel callous saying so when comparing it to September 11. the day of reckoning, of lost innocence, a day of trial and passage even for those of us removed from the tragedy - because it struck at that uncertain stage when we were leaving the security and familiarity of childhood and dealing with the world on our own terms - and suddenly our terms were ripped away from us and replaced with fear and uncertainty. Yes, we were united, but it took senseless loss to do so and even the most ardent among us couldn't deny the shortcoming of our foreign policy, our shortsightedness in our false sense of security, the warning signs and previous attacks on the world trade center, fomenting unhappiness. While I could never say that we deserved such a thing, we're certainly not perfect.
      For weeks afterwards I was haunted by images of mushroom clouds and global war. DJs and pundits advocated the use of force, ground invasions, lockdowns equivalent to police rule, and the employment - such a sanitary word, makes it sound wholesome - of nuclear weapons, insanity, but it all hit one fall day as I sat in the back yard staring up at a brilliant blue sky - unstained by smoke or blood so far east - and imagined all land around me laid waste. All of us forgotten, all records of us erased, annihilated from the face of the earth. It didn't occur to me then to fear the same fate for other people; I was obsessed with the idea of not being forgotten, of having some mark or record or trace of my existence - my journal, I thought romantically, was not just for me but for posterity.
      Here we are a year later - easier to talk about but still fresh, still surreal in a sense, how can it be part of reality, it seems too painful and bizarre to accept into my conception of the world. I'm not sure how today will feel, how I'll move through it, how I'll react to the reactions of others. I'll wear my pin, pray, be silent, and see what comes.
     
      9/12/02
      so tired, need to work on my study habits - how am I gonna do DC Schools, another 6 hours out of my week? I need to manage my time better, and maybe be smart about what work I just don't do. Suzie was feeling depressed again. I was afraid that this would happen, I want to be there for her and I can't be. She did talk to someone there so I hope that helps. I wish I had someone here that I knew as well as her, and that knew me as well as she does. I'm not lonely, but neither am I completely settled in yet. So many people on my floor that I don't know, so many faces that may never be familiar to me on campus.
      My eyes are drifting shut - who knows if I'll make it through my lecture, reading, French class, proseminar, dean's meeting, gaap meeting, and then whatever homework I have to do for tomorrow - and tomorrow my euro civ class is meeting as a group, so I can't sleep in before my discussion, and Saturday I'm helping out at the SAC fair, and then ushering at the author's discussion and naturally going to My Name Is Red groups, and I'll have homework to do Sunday and the 3rd floor luau - so much for free time and sleep. I don't know how people who are in clubs do it, or those who hang out in the halls all night - I know I waste some time on the computer and internet - yes, even after I said I wasn't going to use them - but, I don't know, why can't I keep up? It's hard not to have a reputation as one of the best students, and not even to be close to that distinction - that was so much of my identity in high school, sad as that sounds. Here I'm...Jen from Massachusetts. I don't do sports, have any cool talents, do any big projects, make lots of people laugh, or do anything else to distinguish myself. Maybe if I find and tap this elusive creative child within me, I'll have something a little different to offer...
      What am I going to do with my life? Everyone here - at least everyone in the SFS - has plans, dreams, ambitions, goals. If I could do absolutely anything, I'd be ambassador to Senegal or Morocco, speak fluent French, I'd probably have to learn Arabic as well, I'd be an expert on history, economy, culture, development. And I'd have to have a political ideology - conservative or liberal? How much government intervention? Trade policies? Stance on foreign involvement - something that probably wouldn't endear me to the state department today.
      I wish I knew more guys here - I'd really like to have a guy as a good, close friend, a confidant, somebody to rely on and talk to about anything. Rashad is fun, but he's the same towards everyone; Anders is funny, but likewise doesn't seem to be any closer to me than to anyone else, Dave is cool but I hardly ever see him and never seem to have anything to say to him, Dave from philosophy did talk to me that once but we never exactly sat down and conversed; John's cool and easy to talk to but I feel like he keeps everyone at the same distance; I thought Chris and I could chat but he forgot my name and where I'm from, other Chris I never really talked to, Alex has already forgotten my existence, Byron and I only talked about classes, Matt from proseminar hasn't talked to me since swing dancing, nor have I run into Kellen, and Kennji's talked to me but is just too, I don't know. I know it's me and not them that I have to worry about and that I can change, but I just don't know where to start. Hanging out with Mike is cool too, but I already feel distant from the other FOCI guys [a pre-orientation program that I was in]. We shouldn't invade Iraq. What if something happens today, after we let our guard down.
     
     
      9/13/02
      thank goodness it's Friday. Why does my history class have to meet at 9:15 today? One more hour of sleep is all that I need. Last night was interesting - dean Gallucci actually went with the first inspections team to Iraq. I want to be like that - a thinker, innovative, fearless - well, relatively. The question is, am I capable?
      Why can't I just let my thoughts stream out? I do have a stream of consciousness don't i? roar outside truck on the highway late night with Theresa. Sarah stopped by Pleiades meteors sneaking out at midnight cruising down Old Mill picking up Jerry lying in his arms under the stars, oh god I want him here right now. I think about him every moment dream about him every night he's the air I breathe the words I hear the happiness I seek I miss him so much. Is it all about sex well partly inside I think I'm expecting to lose my virginity to him. Am I the only one here who hasn't, I wonder. Often that's what I think about, either a specific memory or a new fantasy. But more often I think about him holding me, us laughing, me crying when I had to leave him and drive away - makes me want to listen to dexter freebish and saves the day and miss him in my own little cocoon. Look, the words are flowing now I've almost got it if only I could write faster if only there were more time if only my thoughts would slow down just a fraction so I could keep up. When I'm writing I'm always ahead of myself always starting the next word in the middle of the current one always a line or two ahead of where I am on the page. I should learn shorthand I want to be able to read this better and why am I so fixated on sex this early in the morning? According to the greeks I'm an animal, unable to distance myself from the flesh. By our standards I'm chaste, but maybe that's only in actions but not thoughts. If Jerry was here he'd hug me so hard...I'd taste him like something I'd given up for lost. Or maybe I'd just look at him, stare gape drool dream gaze into his eyes maybe I'd launch into a story, and he'd laugh. His eyes would crinkle and his face would glow and his smile would flash and I'd hear his laugh again and it'd be infectious and I'd laugh too, throw my head back and I'd reach for his hand and it'd be like our first date again, me laughing, both of us nervous, not sure exactly what to do. It's still more than 2 months until I see him again, that long away from his presence even if it doesn't separate our hearts will make me lose the comfort I had, the sense of knowing exactly what to do and how to act, a not even needing to know but just doing whatever comes naturally. Like prom, when we danced it was just the two of us even on a crowded floor, it all melted away to be just us in a moment outside of time, the place we've always longed to run away to without looking back. But that's fantasy and this is the real world and we're part of it. Could this be the love of a lifetime?
     
      So...there's the first week of morning pages (we started on Tuesday so there are only 4). I know you're not going to know who most of the people I'm referring to are, so part of my project along with transcribing the pages is going to be an overview of what my life is like here, especially designed for other people to understand, as opposed to these pages which are primarily for me to express my inner thoughts. If it's too much information sometimes, I'm sorry, but I tried to keep it very true to the original.