So. I mentioned a couple of days ago that my Hot Creative Writer teacher (McDreamy/Sleepy/Sucky) was coming to New York this week to visit an exhibit. Let explain how I came to figure this out.
My relationship with him in school was not good. Despite my attraction to his face, we never clicked on the whole teacher/student relationship. Part of it had to do with him sucking hard core. He could not teach worth a damn. He bored the snot out of me, I fell asleep several times in his class, and for the first month I don't even think he remembered my name. I, in response to this, was extremely rude to him on several occasions because I wanted him to be the teacher I needed, and he wasn't.
However, I still had this immense attraction to him. I understand now, that I don't work well in the role of the muse. I like creating and molding thing, I like having that 'model' to inspire me, and my role is more of the artist. I latch on to faces, objects, colors, sounds, and feelings, and am inspired by them. And in a way, he was like my weird muse. The awkward college professor whose writing I thought sucked but who I couldn't stop writing variations of on paper.
He published a book right after I graduated college. And as soon as I moved to New York, I ordered a copy into my store and read it for the hell of it. I wasn't a huge fan, despite the praises, but I attempted to read it anyway. From time to time I am privy to updates from him via a blog that he has, and when I found out he was going to be in the Tri-State, my interest peaked.
The most depressing thing about post-college life is how lonely it is. I mean I was lonely in school, but in that I'm only 20 and a student way. It's a little different now. With your classic New York sentiment abound, I am surrounded by a million and one people and yet I am lost in the crowd. I don't know if I have a real connection with anyone I have met here. I go to work. I come home. I stay home. And then I wake up and go to work.
And even though I only graduated school a year and a half ago, I feel so distant from that time and that place. And I miss it. I miss that my only real concern for the days were "to get a burrito from Moe's or not to get a burrito from Moe's". I had a sense of direction in school (even if it were to just graduate) but in the real world, I can't grasp what I am suppose to be doing. I don't feel like I know who I am some days. The face in the mirror is mine, I know, but sometimes I don't recognize her.
And when I found out the McDreamy was going to be in New York, at a museum that I frequent, visiting and exhibit I have meaning to see, I wanted to catch the first train into the city, run into him, and see an old face from the past. And maybe in seeing his face, I would see my old self. It doesn't make sense I know. Maybe I've been watching too many Ethan Hawke movies. But the last couple of days have been "what would happen if I went" nights.
Seeing him had more to do with me than of course him. I miss school. I miss it a lot. And though I have no idea how I would pay for grad school, or who I would get to recommend me for any programs, there are days when I want to be back in school. Where I want to be in the throes of a really good sentence of a paper I am writing. I want to feel like I am reaching for something I can grasp, instead of how I feel now. Like I am reaching for the stars from the sill of my window.
And when I was McDreamys student, I was getting support from a very awesome therapist, I was 21 and learning to deal with it. I wasn't here in New York on a cloudy day when nothing seems to be going right, pondering my next step and hoping that I won't fall on my face in my pursuits
So sue me, that the impulsive aspects of my personality was NYC bound today. I was prepared to get on the Metro North, take the C,or the E train to the museum and maybe run into his face. I didn't plan much after that ( I have written down what would have transpired about that, and it turned into a Before Sunset Remake. See he makes me write, even when I don't want to), I'm not even too sure he would be there when I was there. But I'm a hopeless, passionate person and god, how good it would have been to see someone from small town USA. How good it would have been to see someone who knew me then, and whose face I could find my own in.
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