Angst

We’re having a quiet day today. I finally got a fire going and I’ve dried out a liberal supply of wood. It’s warm in here and I am happy knowing it’s not going to cost me a fortune at the end of the month.

Meanwhile, on the New Year’s Eve front...I’ll hang home tonight, making my end of the year lists while enjoying the fire’s warmth and candle light. My To Do Lists for the coming year seem to be a way of informing my subconscious of the expected program. Quite often the lists get tacked to the bulletin board with little more than a couple of cursory glances during the year, but it’s rather amazing to me how most everything on the lists manage to get done. My brain does pay attention.

The lad will probably go over to a friend’s house tonight. Although that’s still up in the air. He is parked at his computer desperately trying to hammer out the last essay for his last college application. The most important one—his first choice college.

He is a very good writer and I’ve seen ample evidence of that. Writing is what he loves to do most and he has a substantial portfolio of writing to his credit. Some of it just astonishes me. But this essay. It’s a killer because it is so important. He’s scared of it. The harder he works, the worse it gets. And then he starts over. And starts over again.

He asked me to read a couple of his efforts and that was hard. I had to tell him that the essay was not up to his usual standards. And, finally, I simply said, “It’s choppy, it sounds young, and it doesn’t sound like you. You’re trying too hard. Write from your heart, not your head. And show, don’t tell.”

The essay question is: Think about your history. How have your past experiences influenced who you are today and how will this shape your future?

In one page, if you please.

That question would give me a panic attack. I imagine it must give the people who have to read the essays a headache, too. Institutionalized torture all the way around.

He’s working his way down to the bottom of the pit of despair. Once he’s there, he’ll be fine. He’ll have a clearer head and all the crap will have already been spent. Then he can write clearly from his center.

Oh wait...he just came charging into the room and announced he’s on a roll and he’s excited. Breakthrough! Oh, I hope so. The angst in this house has been thick enough to cut with chain saws. Suddenly there is lightness of being skittering all over the place. Stay tuned.