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Aug. 13th, 2002 11:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
taratemimaYesterday, I was complaining that I haven't sung or thought of new songs since months ago, ever since my tape recorder konked on me when I was recording my last song on my voice demo tape. Now, I guess thinking of old acquaintances, people I knew on this social mailing I haven't been on since summer of 1999. I have this idea for some songs, of all the conflicted feelings, of the wish for intimacy and weird memories and things I shouldn't have done (or maybe have done more).
I thought of myself differently then, a Page of Pentacles finding herself a Page of Wands. A wild apprentice Decadent going to college. Now? I think I am still a Page of Pentacles inside, wanting something solid, wanting someplace to belong. I thought belonging meant giving people certain skills, fulfilling a role. In 1999, after breaking up, failing poorly with a crush, in debt and wondering whether to go to school or stay in my apartment, I was fulfilling that role poorly. So, I focused on schoolwork, on work, sometimes on social things. I'll find where I belong through work.
I wrote, working on that novel I procrastinate on more than I admit, wandering far from the people who inspired the characters, shading the narrative through my work experiences and trip to San Francisco. Now I wonder if I will finish.
Now, I am a college graduate, and I thought I'd find a steady job by now. Somewhere I belong. Maybe that is why I submitted my poetry to one journal (no word from them). I don't know where to start, or even if my writing belongs anywhere.
Maybe I shouldn't search for a place to belong. It feels mercenery (as one person opined when I talked about it) and shallow. But that is something I wanted all my life. I watched groups and groups fail these expectations I've had of them, and wondered if they even had a chance to fulfill them.
I think part of the belonging thing is self-intergration. I have to find a way that doesn't make me feel ashamed or trapped.
I still cannot think of any poetry ideas, though.
I thought of myself differently then, a Page of Pentacles finding herself a Page of Wands. A wild apprentice Decadent going to college. Now? I think I am still a Page of Pentacles inside, wanting something solid, wanting someplace to belong. I thought belonging meant giving people certain skills, fulfilling a role. In 1999, after breaking up, failing poorly with a crush, in debt and wondering whether to go to school or stay in my apartment, I was fulfilling that role poorly. So, I focused on schoolwork, on work, sometimes on social things. I'll find where I belong through work.
I wrote, working on that novel I procrastinate on more than I admit, wandering far from the people who inspired the characters, shading the narrative through my work experiences and trip to San Francisco. Now I wonder if I will finish.
Now, I am a college graduate, and I thought I'd find a steady job by now. Somewhere I belong. Maybe that is why I submitted my poetry to one journal (no word from them). I don't know where to start, or even if my writing belongs anywhere.
Maybe I shouldn't search for a place to belong. It feels mercenery (as one person opined when I talked about it) and shallow. But that is something I wanted all my life. I watched groups and groups fail these expectations I've had of them, and wondered if they even had a chance to fulfill them.
I think part of the belonging thing is self-intergration. I have to find a way that doesn't make me feel ashamed or trapped.
I still cannot think of any poetry ideas, though.
