I know, I know.
It's been forever and a day since I posted. I know. However, I've been sorting my life out, and, quite honestly, it wasn't that pretty of a process, so I didn't think it wise, kind, or even healthy to expose those I love to my ramblings. Now, on the other hand, I'm quite willing to bombard you with my news.Item one: I'm not moving to Boston anytime soon. I'm broke, I've been broke, and unless I do something, I'll continue to be broke. Oh, and if I went to Boston, I'd be beyond broke and more into a .... oh, let's see... a suicide-inducing debt, shall we say? As anyone who knows me can tell you, I'm spoiled. I'm not just going to go get a job and go to work for the sake of making money. (Ask a few of the departments at the college, they'll tell you.) I'm very easily bored, and I'd rather spend my time painting props in the theater than sorting papers in an office, regardless of the pay paper-sorting may promise.
What I'm trying to say is this: I have to do something I LIKE doing, or I'm a petty, whiny wreck. (The exception to this would be something that needs to be done, or something I'm doing for someone I like/love. That's entirely different. However, doing something to procure a paycheck? Just to make money? Ai. I don't have the patience or the foresight.) Interpreting is my second love. Writing is my first, we all know, but really now, who makes a living at it anymore except John Grisham, and look what he's had to stoop to. So. Interpreting will pay the bills and keep me entertained and entranced while I write for some piddling poetry magazine or other murky enterprise.
To interpret and make money at it (and feel good about it, for that matter), one must be educated. I am not. I have a considerable amount of raw talent, sure. I've taken two semesters of ASL, though no one believes it. It's TRUE, that's all the formal education I had. After that I was taught by Deaf. That was wonderful for my expressive and receptive skills, but it didn't teach me how to translate from English to ASL, how to work with a team, how to..... Oh, look, if you want to know everything I don't know, go to the American River College site and search for American Sign Language. Hah. Don't want to know too badly, do you? *grins*
Anyway, that's where it stands. I'm going to get my degree in interpreting, start having enough money to call myself an individual, and then decide how much schooling I need, what direction it will take, and where I need to get it.
I truly love interpreting. I love ASL. I love English. I love it when I nail a phrase EXACTLY and there's that current that runs through me that says, "Yes! That's it. That's where the languages find their common space." Language.... To be able to express complex language with one's body as opposed to just one's mouth is an experience I cannot explain.
I believe that may be it as far as formal news. I hope you all have a marvelous Thanksgiving, if I don't talk to you before then. Bethany and family, my dear family, have a safe trip up to the far reaches of the desolate and deserted technology-deficient land of Oregon. *sighs*
Here. Want to know why I go crazy when I have writer's block? Try reading this, and if it grabs you, get yourself a copy. (Or, um, ask me for one. Something.)
"Poetic Tragedy," The Used
The cup is not half empty as pessimists say
As far as he's sees nothing's left in the cup
A whole cup full of nothing for him to indulge
Since the voice of ambition has long since been shut up
A singer
A writer
He's not dreaming now of going nowhere
He gave heed to nothing
And all that he was
Is just a tragedy
So he voyages in circles
Succeeds getting nowhere
And submits to the substance
That first got him there
Then in violent frustration he cries out to God or just no one
Is there a point to this madness and all that he was
Is just a tragedy
He feels alone
His heart in his hand
He's alone
He feels like
I feel
Then on that last day he breaks
And he stood tall
And he yelled and he yelled
And he takes his life
Then in violent frustration he cries out to God or just no one
Is there a point to this madness and all that he was
Is just a tragedy
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