"The Last Blog"

I really wish that I could be creative and say that this isn't the last blog but merely a continuation of what we have already done, but I know that I won't be the first to do that. I wish that I could think of some clever and poetic way to cover all of the things that we've done without returning to the same redundant phrase over and over again. I wish I were smarter and could blow everyone away with some final thoughts on what I have learned in this class and how it has profoundly changed my life and that I will never be the same person that I was when I first stepped into class on January 15.

Sadly I feel as if I cannot escape the vicious circle that seems to be entrapping me every time that I try to blog for this class. I know that others have said what I wish to say far better than I could ever say them, that as I sit here struggling to type each and every word of these two small paragraphs, another student has, in the same span of time, written a blog longer than all of mine put together that incorporates everything that we have done throughout the entire year in class. Slowly I feel my inspiration for this blog slipping away as I come closer and closer to actually trying to explain what exactly I learned this year.

In the end I can only hope to touch the poetics of Joyce and Rushdie, Beckett and Nooteboom, Eliot and Shakespeare. I have struggled, often blindly, through class hoping for some moment of brilliant inspiration that seemed like it would never come. I have read blogs that put into words what I had been feeling but could never quite express. I had hoped that this being my fourth class with Dr. Sexson that I would have finally been able to break through with my blogs and dazzle others with my brilliant insights into the books that we had read in class. This being somewhere around my fourteenth blog and knowing that Sam probably has closer to fifty by now, I can, regrettably say that I have once again fallen short of my goal.

Now I catch myself staring at the paragraphs above. The writer reminds me so much of Samuel Beckett, who I truly hated for his brutal and wintry tone. I get the feeling that something of the man may have rubbed off on me while I wasn't paying attention.

In all honesty those first few paragraphs came in a spark of inspiration that I feel is slowly receding into the depths of my mind again. I can only add that I hope this Beckettesk writing that I scribbled above is somehow the winter of my own style and that through it I can gain the inspiration that I have sought all along.

Maybe that is what this class has taught me then, that each of us goes through our own cycles of death and rebirth, of knowledge and ecstasy, pain and disillusionment. As I type these words, I feel them coming more and more easily again, as if my mind has only been waiting for the right time, the proper catalyst, to awaken to its full potential, to spread its wings and soar into the clouds where dreams are reality and there exists an ocean of stories.

I must admit that I kind of like this new feeling of knowledge and understanding that has come over me, but with that comes the realization that perhaps there is more that needs to be discovered. In the end, my hope is that this class has given me the inspiration to reach higher, to excel where before mediocrity was enough, to begin again and know the place for the first time.