Sunday, October 25, 2015

Fighting the tide

So I missed the deadline.

And suddenly I was able to think again.  The moral of that story; I don't respond well to deadlines, or pressure.

I am currently unable to be the writer I'd like to be.  The writer I'd like to be reads books all day, writes for 4 hours a day, travels, goes to the cinema and theatre regularly and absorbs the arts, as plots and characters develop in my mind.

Instead, I am an undergraduate + postgraduate student, who is determined to build some kind of empire by the age of 30.  Some things have changed though.  I quit my evening job, and still work part time at the decent paying job.  I've negotiated my working days to 4 days a week, and 1 day of uni.  It's not particularly ideal, but will have to do until early next year. Also I moved out of temporary accommodation, and have now moved into my own flat. This flat is three times better than the last, and I'm happy with it.


If my life only consisted of working full time and keeping a roof over my head, then I could tell you now that I've finally arrived, I finally have the components of "adult life" in place.



Unfortunately, my life is not that simple.  I deferred several deadlines for the masters course in creative writing due to stress and have been given two extensions for my work.  The first is the 30th October for five assignments to be handed in.  The manuscript submission has been moved to the middle of January 2016.



And that's all we have folks. 



All my dreams, and master plans and schemes, and hopes, and belief-



It all has to come to something in six months time.  



Because, if all goes according to plan, Real Uni ends in six months time too.



To be perfectly honest, I've got nothing.  Have no dissertation for Real Uni, have no manuscript for the Masters course, have no more magic to pull out of anywhere.  I haven't written in months.  My job is boring holes into my mind and I can tell you, that I am losing myself in it.  I'm losing the ability to think and dream and turning into a drone, and drones can't write.     



I'm frightened to dream, it all seems laughable, that I wanted to be a writer, and a screenwriter, and develop animations and plays and, and, and... I work a 9-5 and that's what I am doing now, and it's pulling apart every single component that allows me to be creative.  I'm not Kamillah anymore, I'm KamBot.



And something even more frightening is emerging on the horizon...



If I do finish uni in six months, then what?  I've never gone after a 'graduate' job before, and I'm not sure if I am here for endless competition.  Not just that I'm tired, like literally the past six years has robbed me of strength, but also, I don't know if that's what I want to do with my life.  I don't want to live, like that.  Or how I've been living.  I want to be independent, of an "employer".  I want to be my own boss.  At best, as a compromise, I can see myself working corporate part time.  And in my spare time, I can be a writer.  Or working full time, but something to do with storytelling.  Television.  Screenwriting.  Something else.


It's happening again.  I want to sit here and dream, and think of possibilities...

If I don't get my head out the clouds there will be no possibilities.  Well, there it is, an update.  I've got a mountain of coursework to clear if I want to make it through October, so I'd better get on with it.  Until next time.  



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