paper bag

i'm in a fake therapy class.
fake because therapy isn't a class.
fake because i'm with strangers.
fake because it's a writing class.

my english class this semester is "personal and exploratory writing." i've only been to one class so far. after we went through the syllabus and the rules, we sat in a circle and talked about the class touchstones. and the importance of not judging others. and trust. and not being offended.

and no, i'm not kidding. that whole part of it is going to take some getting used to. but i'm really excited for this class, and i can tell it will be my favorite this semester, without a doubt.
because i get to start writing. no research. no grammar worksheets. its almost a free for all. i'll get little prompts, but i can turn it into anything i want.

this is what i've been waiting for.

"peter used to say, 'the only thing an artist can do is describe his own face.'
you're doomed to being you.
this, he says, leaves us free to draw anything, since we're only drawing ourselves.
your handwriting. the way you walk. which china pattern you choose. it's all giving you away. everything you do shows your hand.
everything is a self-portrait.
everything is a diary.
...
because everything is important. every detail. we just don't know why yet."
-excerpt taken from chuck palahniuk's diary