The act of writing as labour.

It has been quite some time since I have posted in this place. I almost forgot I had this blog, but it seems the idea of the blog, the everpermeating social space where one can record an idea and allow it to transcend the barriers normally experienced with the channels of creative production can exist in a somewhat manifest gallery of expectations, seems to be equally ever-present in the media. On the radio, on television, online, on blogs even, it seems one must blog his or her thoughts, notions, crises, empathies, destructive capabilities, and social-remorse if one is to be taken serisouly as an artist, a writer, a citizen, a thinker, or a slave. I am still tinkering with the whole "unmastery" concept, though my work in the social sciences has slowed down quite a bit this year, to a literal halt if I were to be honest - until that is, now, at this moment when I seem compelled to log onto this page and start writing. All thoughts are social as everything is a social construct.

Why am I writing today? The act of writing as labour has been predominantly the tone for most of my creative obligations in recent months. Yes I finally completed my BA. Yay for me. I have been exhausted. Literally. Emotionally and intellectually. Graduate school currently seems to be the place one with ADD should not be in. There isn't a Dexedrine pill large enough to help one cope with the masochistic (meant in the not so good way) experiences of post-undergraduate university life. I had coffee with a professor-friend of mine a couple of months ago and she also stated that graduate education is a torturous event. I think we should be studied for being the studier, because it can be wrought with incredible stress. I used to enjoy it, now I put up with it.

When did this happen? When did something so fun, like scholarship become so terribly boring and uncreative? What is wrong with me?

Quite a lot really.

So now I am looking for ideas, new ones, thoughts on how to charge up the "fun" in doing a masters thesis and in finishing course material that seems incredibly heavy. It should be known that I am a productive student when I want to be. I can turn it on. But it I have this condition. I am the daunted, the jaded, of the sort whose previous life-dreams have been torn away, yet my life-dreams do not go away, they fester, puss, itch, and continuously become apparent as unfinished and ignored as I age into being one of the disappeared.

Maybe someday I will feel compelled or courageous enough to state officially what my life-dreams are on this blog. Dreams, aspirations of creative work, are as blogs, ever permeating and arguably on the tongue of the rather cliche Zeitgeist.

This wasn't so bad. Maybe i'll do this again.