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enfinblue's Bluey (credit to Fifi for the nickname!) Diaryland Diary

"I am seeking, I am striving, I am in it with all my heart." -Vinc3nt V@n Gogh

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I feel marvelously young and alive - a feeling I've been waiting for for eight years.

OK. They put something in that Argentinian wine last night as I have a HANGOVER.

I only had two small glasses of the wine, so it's not that I drank excessively.

But I have a HUGE headache.

No matter. I still feel so happy it's as though I'm treading through fields of violets. I know exactly why I feel so happy: I've been getting out and doing constructive things and so for the first time in eight years I feel as though I have my power back. I don't feel as though I am completely stuck anymore.

So I slept for nearly 11 hours last night. I do love sleeping. I would do that every day if I could, even though I am so excited about being up and out and about.

I've always been like this - intensely active and busy at times, but equally happy to lie in bed and listen to the radio or read a book, which I suppose isn't exactly sleeping. Actually, it is true. When I "sleep" for 11 hours I'm usually dozing and listening to the radio for the final two to three hours of those, unless I've done something particularly strenuous the day before.

It's interesting to think of wanting to spend both nearly a half of one's life in bed, and also thinking of changing one's job to something much less secure during very uncertain economic times.

I don't know. Maybe I just don't like to be controlled. This is certainly true with respect to appointments/engagements. I don't like to commit to things in advance, I've noted, since if I commit I'll feel as though I must follow through. Often, when the day comes, I don't feel passionate on that day about the thing in question. I prefer to go in the moment, with the feeling.

That was an aside. Lately, people have been telling me that I should become a writer. When I was in university as an undergraduate, my thesis advisor pulled me aside and said this: "I have two options for you. Number one is that if you want to do a Ph.D. right away I can get you into the University of Chicago. (A very good economics school, and not too far from my then university. I had an agile brain when I was younger, but no longer. :)). The second option would be for you to become an economic journalist. Your papers on economic topics were always so good that they could have been my lecture notes, and usually more interesting than my lecture notes. You could do that professionally. You'd still need more advanced training in economics, so you could think about the Ph.D."

Of course, at that time, I toddled off and did practically nothing, working on contract for the Department of Foreign Affairs and traveling quite a bit. Not very focused. I lost probably the best opportunity I have been given to actually do something WELL in economics and to go somewhere with it.

Obviously my nature, even then, was strong enough to put aside some of the messages I had been receiving.

But here's the thing. I'd much prefer to work in a visual medium, but friends lately have persisted in telling me that I should become a writer of some kind. This is quite odd, as I've never held "writer" up as one of the options. In truth, I do not know how to write. My friends think I should write because they think that I'm a good storyteller. They also call me the "generalist," because I typically surprise them by knowing something, however small, about a wide array of different topics.

The thing is that I don't see how I could become a writer. I don't have a clue how to write, as my meandering nonsense here attests. Also, I don't have a clue as to WHAT I would write. I've never been a person who thought that she would or could become a good writer. I used to get very good marks in English class, but that was only for my imaginative approaches to analysing works. I was always out on a limb. My teachers liked that. But the structure of writing, the mechanics of it, always completely wearied me. I turn off when structure is discussed; I've never liked nuts and bolts. That's not a good trait for someone who is going to write, I am sure. An imagination can only take one so far.

OH well. I doubt that I will become a writer. I've always wanted to be a painter, but I would have to put in a GREAT deal of work to become a painter. My past paintings and the reactions to them by artists and art teachers and just friends and family alike tell me that I at least have some talent. But that's not the point. Talent is such a small part of any equation, I think. It's all about work and commitment and self-belief. And obviously I could not make a living as a painter. It would be ridiculous to even think of this. I mean, that would be like me trying to build a cricket field in Ottawa and make it a year-round, succesful business operation (we can't even keep a baseball team in operation here).

Yeah. And I know how ridiculous it is to think of painting when one hasn't painted in...three years.

I just don't know. How do you go out and live a fantasy? I realize that there is no reason that I should not do this. I have nothing to hold me back, except for a fear of leaving my pension and leaving my future quite unsettled.

More rambling. I'm convinced that I'm about to do something completely crazy quite soon though. I'm not the sort of person who can live with regrets, and the biggest regret that I can imagine would involve never making this leap and always wondering. I'm going to have to take a leave in 2010 as I've suggested, or even a longer one in 2011. I need to figure out how much time I need, how much money, and how to position myself at work so that an unpaid leave would be approved. Taking a year to go off and try something else - painting, writing, whatever - sounds like a reasonable amount of time, non?

The outcome could be nothing more than to return to my job with a sigh of satisfaction that I did somthing else, however unsucessful. (Important note: By success in one year I don't mean literal success, but rather the shape of my feelings with respect to continuing to do the thing. In other words, success in discerning my emotional commitment to the forever of the thing.) Because success is rarely the point. The point is almost exclusively to try. I know this from my running experience. On paper, I was a failure. But in my heart there is nothing lost in what I did.

Another way to look at this would be a 3 month leave in 2010, which would be cheaper and more practical, with the most important commitment in all of this occurring in the time WHILST HERE AND IN MY JOB. (Incidentally, the best graduate journalism program in the country is actually here in Ottawa, too, if I wanted to consider applying to that.) If I were to start working now, every day, then the leave of whatever length would simply provide a bit more leeway in which to live like the idealistic fruitcake I am.

It feels great to be an idealistic fruitcake, I must say. I don't want to leave stones unturned, even if it leads to my (temporary) ruin.

OH well. I must stop here, much to your relief, I am sure, if you have even read this far. I have not yet done EITHER my shopping or my baking for the bake sale to which I must contribute tomorrow. I must off to prepare for this. How I love lemon loaf. I'm afraid that I am going to have to make one for me and one for the sale. Wish you were here to share a slice over a cup of tea.

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11:12 a.m. - 2008-11-30

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