The Perks of Being a Cuban.

I have no words. Which apparently I don't need a blog to prove-- just an essay. I got my first essay back today, and it totally crushed my spirit and my confidence. Writing was the only thing I had, I thought, over some people. I could turn a phrase, and write a killer sentence. I had my own style, my own cadence. I knew how to flow. I I I I I . Repetetive. It's like all the praise I've reciweved about my writing could possibly be false. It's? It what? Vague Pronouns. I'm feeling an overwhelming sense of uselessness, overthinking things. But I'm so goal oriented and so many of my goals have to do with my (in)ability to write. And if I'm not as good as I feel I am, or as others have told me I am, then where now? Maybe I am Stockton material. Maybe I think too much of myself. I may be no better than the changelings. I'm mediocre. I'm an averge writing with an average capacity towards knowledge. When you are constantly being reminded of your talent, or your gift as Walter put it, and meet someone who thinks you're giftless, talentless, "stupid", it's shocking, and shattering. When he gave me back my essay he said "youre not stupid" which hints that he thhought I was. My essays showed glimmrs of promise. My essays for Walter showe d "glimmers of brilliance" fucking brilliance. Where did that all go? Where am I supposed to go? I'm so confused.