My dad had a few choice words for me last evening, and it took about forty minutes for him to deliver them as he repeated himself quite a bit. I haven’t said anything here on the blog about the reasons for the tell-off because I’ve been thinking about it, but my school has sent a message to my auntie about my sudden drop in engagement.
After two years of being the busy beaver and the model student, I’ve had to struggle with going forward with anything. My essays are lacklustre. My course-work uninspired. My class room participation low. That has been on my mind a lot, and I try, but…. all that made my Student Councillor contact Auntie. Auntie, being her, sent the message to mum, and mum sent the message to dad.
There we have it; the reason dad gave me a rare ring to tell me off. I had almost thought he’d stopped caring because we don’t actually talk that much any more. I have daily contact with mum; well every other day. But before yesterday evening, it was over a week since I heard from dad.
Anyway, I have a sudden serious lack of motivation going, and I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do to get my motivation back. I’ve been sort of hoping that this break would let me recharge my batteries a bit, but then again that is probably just an excuse because after the tests school hasn’t been so rough and demanding.
Living as I do, I keep forgetting that Auntie is still my guardian, and that I’m not out of the childhood woods yet. It’s still a month to go on that front, and I’m a bit worried what will happen in a month when the school will stop giving Auntie a ring about me.
I really don’t make any flipping sense, do I? I’ve made all this effort for two years, and now it feels like I’m starting to piss it all away just because some posh gits at a school I was never likely to get into anyway said ‘no’. Am I that spoiled, actually? Am I that privileged that I think I have some sort of right to go there?
I think it’s deeper than that… and I think I’m lying to myself. Or… not lying, but fooling myself. I have tried to write fiction, and I don’t really have the engagement for that either now. And if I don’t write fiction, then what the hell am I doing here? Was all that just a stupid kid dream? Was it all just a childish fancy, like wanting a toy that I just thought I wanted?
If that was a silly notion, then I don’t have anything left because I’ve spent the last two years trying to get into a position to fulfil that dream. And now… I have no flipping clue about anything. Mark says that I’ll find something. He has such a wonderful assurance about me. I wish I knew myself as well as he apparently knows me. He’s been wonderfully patient with me, and says he believes in me, and I want to believe that. No, I do believe that. But I think maybe his faith in me is misplaced.
We’ve talked about this a lot, but we’re going in circles. I’m going in circles in my own head.
There, I’ve said it publicly. I’ve uttered the dread words. I’ve clothed my nightmare in words.
What if I don’t have it in me to become a writer at all? Ability to string words together is not enough.
And if I’m not a writer, then what on earth am I of any use for?