Fighting the writing. That’s what I’m doing. I’ve become horrendously overcome with apathy regarding each and every class. I don’t know why I don’t care, except that nothing in college seems to stir my interest. I’d much rather be writing “Sunday Knights VII: The Phantom Ultimatum.” Yup, I finally decided on a subtitle. Yay!
The food here is also starting to bore me. It’s still good, but my photos are beginning to run together. Speaking of running, I need to do that. Maybe my lack of exercise is contributing to my condition. Oh, yesterday I had oatmeal for breakfast—the thing is, I used chocolate milk instead of 2% or non-fat milk. Big mistake. It went down the hatch just fine, but I paid for it later. Avoid that combination at all costs!
So as of last week, I was sort of working on a short story for ENG 464. I picked the class because I knew it wouldn’t be too hard; all you have to do is write two short stories, do some reading, attend the workshops, and maybe take a few quizzes. Unfortunately, I’m feeling brain dead where my short story is concerned. I wrote almost two pages of a story I’ve since decided to scrap. My heart just wasn’t in it.
That seems to be the problem with everything lately. I had a surprisingly therapeutic shower earlier this week that opened my eyes to yet another glaring character flaw: I don’t think I’m capable of romantic love. What does this have to do with anything? I think God designed us (men in particular) to find our self-worth and value in Christ, but on a much simpler, three-dimensional plane, we’re supposed to find fulfillment in sharing our life and love with a woman. Dare I say it? Marriage.
Yes, God created marriage, or more specifically, God created woman for man. And both of them were created for God’s glory. The problem is, I’ve never wanted to be married. It only appeals to me as a romantic concept witnessed in films or read about in books. But in reality? It holds no appeal for me.
Logically speaking, this strikes me as odd. Shouldn’t I want to be married? Why do I desire nothing more than friendship? Have I cauterized my ability to love beyond a familial sense? Have I compartmentalized to such an extent that my heart’s locked away in a filing cabinet missing its label? Maybe I need counseling.
In other news, I do have a new idea for my short story. The trouble is, I don’t know if I can pull it off. I’m not skilled at writing dramatic fiction, much less the kind of compressed dramatic fiction required by short stories. I’m going to give it a go anyway, but if it doesn’t pan out, I don’t have a backup story. It’s kind of risky. Also, the story may not feature any humor. Without humor, I feel lost. Humor’s the only thing I’m confident about in my work.
On a more upbeat note, last night’s Fuel meeting was great. The message picked up where the previous one left off: Luke 15:25 to the end of the chapter. It concerned the older son in Christ’s parable of the prodigal son, and it held special relevance to me. I’ve identified with the younger son plenty of times, but overall I’d say I fall into the older son’s role. I don’t know if I can really sum up what it meant to me, but I’m grateful for it nonetheless.
Well, I’m off to get a coffee. Then, hopefully, I can get some real writing done.