Crisis - AGAIN

The verdict is in: I am not an RA. Ah well. The frantic search for roommates begins.

Another verdict is in: I'm having a poetic identity crisis.... Why does hearing good poetry always make me feel so ... inadequate, if not downright inferior? I went to a poetry reading tonight by one of the faculty. Matthew Roth, to be exact. Professor Perrin introduced him, and she was positive enough to make me very biased in his favor, and then I heard the poetry.... And I was captivated. I remember little of the actual sense of his words - it was probably all very modern - but I can still hear his voice and those music-smooth words echoing in my head. And now I feel inferior. How did I even dare to dream of writing poetry?

I had a rant planned - actually I wrote it out and everything - about how art is not a below-par way of glorifying God (and, coincedentally making a living), but I'm too tired right now to make it coherent.... So you'll just have to wait, or else you might never hear it. You could try provoking me into ranting, but I might just burst into tears at this point. I want it to be spring break so I can be at home with my family without all these frighteningly brilliant people making me feel all uncomfortable and motivated. I no sooner feel slightly at home with my abilities and my calling and then suddenly there comes a storm, other people's brilliance and my own inferiority complexes combining to make me extremely uncomfortable with myself, my talents, and.... well.... everything in general.

So.... I think that means it must be time for bed. Just as soon as I finish my anthropology reading....