and so little has changed. I’ve finished a bit of my summer class work, but not all of it. I spent the last hour or so searching for my passport, slowly accepting that I won’t be able to go to Oxford, it will be too late to take classes at Mercer, and I will just have to take another semester off.
Don’t worry though. I found it.
I’ve been thinking quite a bit about what my newly discovered “artistic ability” means for both the present and the future. Already I’ve decided to attempt to add an Art minor before I graduate. It adds 12 hours, but with so little time left it won’t be easy. I’m sure that I have managed to look quite conceited and arrogant about my drawings, and perhaps I am. I tried to be humble about it, but humility was accompanied by a crisis of confidence. I don’t think that drawing is all that different from writing. If I think that I can’t, I won’t be able to. When I write a paper I have to believe that what I’m putting on the paper has some value to it. I imagine that is probably the case for most creative processes: one has to commit to the idea that there is some good that will come out of the act. Maybe that is true for all action.
This time next week I will be preparing to land at Gatwick. Certainly there is a ton to do between now and then: another trip to Macon, maybe up to Athens, finalize classes, turn in philosophy papers, pack, and spend as much time as possible with my family. Guess I should start stressing out (my mom is!). I’d rather take this last week at a leisurely pace; there will be plenty of sprinting required once I start classes. Not relaxing exactly, but steady and purposeful. I think that I’m nearly ready.
