about that time...

It's 6:00 am. (It should be noted that these timestamps LIE - usually I am grateful that they don't betray my unhealthy nocturnal nature, but what the hell; it's finals week and I am definitely not the only one on this whack schedule.)

I need a break from my paper, even though it's just finally starting to go well. I have the attention span of a goldfish on crack, apparently. And I needed to do something else.

Anyway, I realized that I just finally started to get excited about this paper I'm writing. (Actually, for my other English class - Black Bards.)

Then, of course, I was thinking about other people's papers. (And, because MZ was telling me snippets about hers before and as she was writing it, I also started thinking about how much I wanted to read it, once finals were over and I had the time. I think we talked about it, but sometimes I also make things up accidentally, so who knows?)

And then (like how this disjointed train of thought is still going?) I remembered something really weird that happened once, last semester.

I was walking to English House with a girl in my class that I knew pretty well, and we were talking about our final papers. I had written mine about The Handmaid's Tale (or, "My Favorite Book Ever to Exist") and she had written about Ender's Game, another book that I really love. I hadn't even considered that book as a possible paper topic, so I was really curious and interested when she started talking to me about it. She was describing her paper and I was nodding along and all was going well.

"Hey," I casually remarked, "I'd love to read that, actually. It sounds really interesting. Would you mind maybe sending it to me?"

She hesitated and looked wary. "Um, no, I'd rather not," she replied. "I mean, I'm just really proud of it and I don't want it... out there." [This is a paraphrase, since it happened a little while ago, but I think it is accurately along the lines of what she said.]

I was taken aback. My first instinct was to think that I had done something rude by asking to read it. Was I wrong in expressing interest? Do people not usually do that? (In the past, friends and acquaintances and I have shared papers, so I guess I just thought this was a common thing to do?)

"Oh--" I started, unsure. "Yeah, no, I mean, I totally get it." (I didn't.) "Of course." Luckily, we were only a few feet to the door of EH when this occurred, or the rest of the walk would have continued in very awkward silence, for I was out of things to say, and still pondering where I had gone wrong.

Actually, as I recount this, I'm still wondering where I went wrong. Of course it is her right to choose not to share her work, and I get that part, at least. But I'm still sort of puzzled. She seemed really interested in talking about the paper, so it wasn't as if she were shy about its quality. I guess that when I'm proud of something, I really want to share it. With everyone. And anyone. So if someone - even a total stranger - showed interest and asked to read something I had read, I would fork it over without hesitation and peer over his or her shoulder anxiously, awaiting feedback. (Or, let's just be honest - praise.) It's so bad that often I resort to sending my papers to my English major parents, who, luckily, probably because I'm an only child and they are bored without my presence sometimes (at least, that is just what I keep telling myself), are only too happy to read and comment.

(Actually, they're quite useful as editors, too - they don't hesitate to point out where I go wrong. Once, I when I was 11 or 12, I vividly remember leaving a paper on the kitchen table by accident. I came back, and the poor thing was mutilated by red marks. They looked sheepish when I railed at them, my righteous, middle school self enraged at the violation. "But honey, you left it out. We're sorry - we thought you wanted us to look. We were only trying to help. Don't worry about all of the red, there really isn't that much wrong with it...")

At any rate, maybe I was just overly presumptuous in thinking that everyone has the same narcissistic (ha, see - I told you all that I was a closet narcissist...) need for feedback and praise on their work that I do. Maybe normal people are content to just write things, talk about them a little and turn them in. They don't need others prying around or validating their work...

Huh. Sometimes I wish I could just be "a normal person" like that.