Tonight I had to make an oral presentation on William Faulkner and it went exactly as planned. Now, when I say exactly as planned I mean I hit The Wall. It's sorta like Pink Floyd's The Wall, but not as catchy. My wall is the point where I make that first misstep, the point where I falter and then never recover. It came about eight minutes in in a 12 minute presentation. I stumbled over a note and the rest is history in the vein of Guernica. Granted, it's probably not as disastrous as I think it was (I did look over to see my professor nodding affirmatively and smiling on a few occasions) but...we'll see.
On a brighter note, talking about Faulkner renewed by interest in one of the short stories I've been kicking around in my head for a couple months I'm calling "Yours Truly, The Arsonist." Based on a dream I had that was at once extremely depressing and inspiring -- I mean, I should have leaped out of bed and wanted to shoot myself in the face -- I did my best to write down everything I could remember about the dream. I like that feeling. It's funny, usually my dreams are so insanely random (read: zombies turn into Incredible Hulk or aliens attack Earth with beach balls or fire falls from the sky and I steal a used brick from Target) but this one was very normal. It's about arson (naturally) and love and living in a small town and fixing your mistakes. Come to think of it, I guess it's about leaping over the wall.
Jesus Christ! I sound like such a pretentious fuck now so I'm gonna stop.
Time to go make my stuffed animals perform fellatio on each other while I eat macaroni and cheese. Well, I made up the stuffed animal part. But I'm sure as shit getting some mac and cheese in my belly.
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