Sometimes I think that just the act of writing might be helpful to creative process.  I haven’t been writing lately because I haven’t felt like I have anything to say.  I’ve been doing a lot of processing of information internally but maybe it would help to write out loud.

In exciting other news, we’re (and by “we” I mean a few other members of my postcolonial critical theory class) starting a radical book club, of which I am (apparently) the de facto leader.  If anybody’s interested, we’re going to start meeting on the first Tuesday of every month beginning in March at 8 pm at Cafe Ambrosia.  (That makes our first meeting March 3, for those of you playing along at home.)  This month’s book is The Wretched of the Earth by Frantz Fanon.  Radical books, radical readers.  At the very least the company should be good and the book is great.

It’s this kind of thing that I think has been keeping me from writing — I do a lot more talking out loud about what I think lately.  Not to mention the fact that waiting for graduate schools to get back to me just makes everything I do feel like I’m spinning my wheels in a muddy ditch.  Which is to say that all that I get is covered in mud and an overheated engine.

What does matter, though, is I’m getting things done, working on projects, and figuring out what to do with my life.  In lieu of going completely crazy about my grad school applications I’ve been trying to figure out what I’d do if I didn’t get in anywhere (or decide not to go anywhere I get in, for a number of reasons).  Plan #1 is move to San Francisco, get a job bartending, and start an experimental publishing house on my own — meaning figure out a way to harness the internet to publish poetry and experimental fiction, rather than just publish poetry and experimental fiction on the internet.

I suppose that another reason I feel like I’m spinning my wheels is that it looks like my chest reconstruction might have to be pushed back, and I’m not sure how I feel about that.  Funding might be hard to come by, and I’m waiting to find out what I’m doing next year to pursue finding a loan to finance it — something that seems like a better and better idea.  Because I’ve applied to a pile of two-year programs  (most of which involve moving) I don’t think it’s conceivable that, if I don’t do it this summer, I’ll do it for another two years at least.  Depending on what kind of loans I’m going to have to take out for my master’s, I can and will take the money out as a loan to get the surgery done.  I’m sure my mom will co-sign and I’m sure I can get the couple thousand I’ll need.  If I don’t get it done this summer I’ll explode.

Of course, if I don’t, that means I’ll have more time to enjoy my last summer here.  I’ve started playing music with a couple guys and we’re thinking about trying to get together a tour over the summer — which is something else that would be fun and interesting to pursue in lieu of going to graduate school.  And nobody said I had to move to start an experimental publishing house.

I suppose I just don’t like not knowing this much about the future.  Luckily, I don’t think I’m alone — plenty of others who are graduating with me this year feel the same way, stuck in one place, and that place is neither here nor there.  And it’s not like I’d be completely unproductive if I took some time off.  (Maybe I’d finally get this goddamn ARG off the ground…)