Ever since the monks came into our lives, things have been calm. I can only vouch for myself, though. I know that a lot of my friends are going through a tough time right now because grades arrived today. I didn’t do as well as I should have. It’s my fault. I handed in my paper late, not at all, and haven’t attended a class since January. Three separate classes and three really horrible grades (B, D, and F).
One of those is in English and it bothers me to no end. (80+93)/2= 86.5% is my grade for Intro. to Fiction Writing. I’ve already completed about half of my next assignment and have a vague idea for the next half. If I’m lucky, I can make this an A by the end of the semester.
The others…aren’t really going to happen. It doesn’t bother me, though. It feels nice to finally say that something isn’t bugging me. There are too many things that do. There’s a new initiative for me: find something enjoyable about everything I find myself disliking. Even if it’s the most god-awful piece of prose or lag. Everything should have at least one thing I can like.
I would like to go back to writing the way I originally intended. Every day should be a story, not a chore. I want to entertain, not bore. There are so many points I wish I could make, but to continue on in this way is too verbose for even my tastes.