Fear of a Thing Inspires

Fear is an excellent driving force. When I first began college in 2010, I was afraid of failing classes. I studied my ass off to ensure that didn't happen. So it didn't. When I was given the opportunity to interview for the Video Production position at Armstrong, I was terrified that I would get the job, and that I wouldn't. I'd never gone out for a job I really wanted before. If I did get the job, what if I couldn't do it? So I researched, I practiced interviewing...and I got the job. And I'm doing pretty damn well for never touching a video camera before, and with minimal experience with editing film.

But when I got the hang of classes at Armstrong, I stopped caring if I didn't get all A's. Honestly, I just stopped caring about school. There is not one class right now in which I participate, in which I put forth all the effort necessary to do more than average work. I've never gone a full semester of not speaking in a class before...but that's what's happening. I've become that person in the back of the class taping pictures of eyes on my eyelids to appear interested. I still worry about assignments, tests, but only enough to make sure I don't scar my record with D's or F's. I'm worried about my 7-10 page paper for my Intro to Literary Theory class, because I don't really know what I'm doing. I don't have a solid grasp of my own thesis, or how I'm going to incorporate two different 'isms' (psychoanalysis is one so far). I've been in the class so long, it's hard for me to argue against the way of critiquing via the 'isms' of theory, so I'm doing what I've been programmed to do (and I wasn't programmed all that well). In the effort to balance views, I asked my husband to ask his SCAD teachers if I could do an interview with them on my topic--H.P. Lovecraft's "The Outsider." None of them believe in the worth of literary theory, and that's what I need. But now, I'm terrified. One of his professors actually said yes (probably because he's in such a good mood. He's just been given the option of turning one of his books into a movie--can you say PAYDAY?). I haven't felt this short of breath, this anxious and hand-wringingly stupefied since high school. I said I'd get him the interview questions and a summery of what I'm doing by Monday. That's one weekend to get my head on straight. Suddenly, this assignment means more to me than anything I've done since starting college. If I can prove to him that I can write, even a little bit, I might gain some kind of inside track that could help me if I get accepted to SCAD. Even if it doesn't, I just don't want to be a disappointment--my husband has awed them with his talent, I don't want his professors to think badly of me. Suddenly, my writing has meaning again. Call me shallow for caring what this prestigious author thinks, but it's kick-started a fear that will make me take this paper seriously. Fear has energized this lethargic writer, and I want to take advantage of it.

D.A.D

http://www.change.org/petitions/the-state-of-georgia-create-a-domestic-abuse-database-for-violent-offenders

Last night my husband received a text from her sister: she was in the hospital.

Her boyfriend of about 8 months beat her up pretty badly. I watched my husband's fingers flash across the mini keypad, his breathing labored.

My sister-in-law was sent for an emergency MRI because they thought blood might be flooding to her brain. This is not the first woman in my life to become a victim of abuse. My husband's anger and worry has morphed into something we can all take part in: finding a way to reduce the risk of this happening to other women. My husband is starting an organization called "DAD or Domestic Abuse Database. Similar to that of sex offender registries because the crime is eerily similar in how it repeats. The objective is to create pressure on our leaders to enact laws requiring those who commit acts of domestic violence to register themselves with the state government and to require those state officials to maintain these databases."

This woman's story is a prime example of why a database like this is needed. Connie Nelson knows her life will change again once her husband is released--it has been 12 years since anyone has seen him. If he comes after her again, the chances are small that someone would be able to recognize him and to help prevent access to her.

Please, help begin the change that society desperately needs to reduce the risk of abuse.

Rather...uninspiring.

I've done something amazing. I left the small town of Thief River Falls to follow... what I thought was my dream. I love Savannah. I love the people I meet, I love my new job as a Video Production Assistant, I love AASU's campus. I love the weather, I love how different each part of Savannah is (just the other day I drove through what looked like Mexico, then straight through Hatton, ND, and then back into what I identify as Savannah). I'm surrounded by magical trees. I feel like if I climbed into them, I'd find my head surrounded by fairies and trolls beneath my feet. My campus is literally a plethora of flora from all over the world. I've seen seeds from plants that make me feel like understanding where shapes came from. I love sitting next to the water fountain watching butterflies float by my head, spanish moss dangling from branches shading me from the hot sun.

Yet, here I sit, frustrated, and uninspired. My teachers are definitely of a higher quality than what I've experienced (mostly) in higher education so far. But I've been spoiled. One high school English teacher and his influence nags in the corner of my mind. The word that floats around my head as I'm doing homework is: mediocre. I've never felt so inspired, so excited to learn and happy to be in a classroom than when I was studying under this teacher. I've had good professors in college, of course, but none that gave me the feeling that what I was doing with my education was so right.

So my baby comes home and tells me about his day, the characters he meets (I say characters instead of people, because they have literally transcended the idea of being a single human being and are now unique individuals with personality), and I'm sad. I'm angry with myself. Everything that I've done in the last three years of college feel almost worthless. I want to start over, but at SCAD. I hate how the buildings are in the center of historic Savannah (mostly because driving and parking is a god-awful nightmare and I feel like I'm about to have a panic attack from lack of space). I hate the idea of transferring all of my credits AGAIN, getting FAFSA to transfer...AGAIN. I hate the cost. I haven't written anything creative outside this blog in years. I've forced myself to learn how to write what a teacher wants, because that's the kind of English teaching I've been getting. It's lazy, and I despise it. Yet, here I am.

Now, there truly is nothing wrong with AASU. It's my first semester, so I haven't had time to find the amazing professors. But I don't want to have to search. I'm probably jumping to conclusions, but my husband has been encouraging me to stop selling myself short, to apply to SCAD, just to see what happens. My husband came home today and told me that he finally had professors that he knew would challenge him. Professors who have worked for the New York Times, taught at Columbia University, ect. I love the opportunities SCAD can present. I love how much help SCAD has given my husband over his PTSD disability. I love that the money he is paying is giving him an actual hand up over what I've experienced between my Financial Aid office and Registration Office.

Honestly, I'm tired of the education I'm getting. I'm tired of being in school. I don't want to transfer to another school again, but I want a better education. I want to be almost ensured a job outside of school. I want to make the connections necessary to advancing my career. It's not enough to work hard in America. You need to work smart. I don't know if I have that ability at AASU. I guess I'll find out by the end of this year. I'm just sick of hating something I used to love. I haven't picked up a pencil for anything other than to take notes because it's tedious. It's a chore, and all I want to do is watch Alphas  or Babylon 5 or talk to my husband. I've felt uninspired for so long that I've forgotten how to dream. This favorite high school teacher of mine used to tease me for being an idealist. I don't even know if I can be that way any more. John gets upset, telling me to stop being so negative, start dreaming, because I can do it. I can achieve these dreams. We've already achieved one of them: to leave Minnesota. That's a start. And yet, I can't stop being negative Nelly. I don't know what it's like to stop punching my dreams in the face any more. I encourage John to follow his dreams, because I KNOW he can do it. But because they are MY dreams, they feel unreachable. I don't know what happened, between 2010 and 2012. But dreaming isn't my thing any more. Idealism is a thing of the past. All I really want is to read Harry Potter without analyzing it. I just want to enjoy my favorite books. I haven't even been able to read a good book for hours on end like I used to. I get jittery, need to stand up and walk around, and continue feeling frustrated. I know I deserve to follow my dreams. Hell, I'm a decent enough writer that I know I could get into SCAD. The amount of scholarships is debatable. But I know I can do this. Or at least, I used to. I'm not sure what happened, but I want to be that senior in high school again. I've got the amazing and loving husband to get me there. Now I just need the will and the confidence to throw myself out there, despite every reason why I SHOULDN'T. I think the education system is trying to ruin me.