A journal entry was assigned to me not too long ago in Native American lit. The journal should be that of one of Thomas King's "Truth & Bright Water" characters. The book is highly reccomended if you're a prose nut like myself. So any way, I chose "Cassie" as my perspective who's a 30 year old native woman (aunt of the protag).

Hello Diary,

It's been quite some time since I've written in these pages. I'm not one for order and repetition, I suppose. I know I know, not much of an excuse. I wish now I would've written in you while I was on the road, documenting my adventures. Then maybe one day I could look back and remember. So much has happened in my life. I get so afraid I will forget. But writing for the sake of writing feels cheap and when I would attempt to "relive" my experiences it would feel like lying. Like reading a text-book version of myself, my descriptions would fall flat in comparison to complexity of existence. Suppose it would be better than nothing. Sometimes I think whoever said less is more was a bit of a liar. Or really presumptious, or something about my mental health was fundamentally wrong-- either one. How can something stated so simply expect to transfer over to every single instance effortlessly. I find myself wishing life was black and white, sometimes, with smooth clean lines. But its not, its grey. And its brown and yellow and beige and white and red and everywhere inbetween and I'm not sure I'd have it any other way. A lot of things have happened in these past months. Not in comparison to my hectic, hunter gatherer life. In fact, you'd think from the lack of excitement that the days would crawl by like Canadian nightcrawers. But that's the beauty of our own realities, isn't it. They run their course, slowing and speeding up as they please. So really, not a lot has happened but it feels like so much more. Profound maybe? I know I'm getting all philosophical (or whatever that word is) but I guess I'm starting to understand that maybe less is more. I chalk all this sentamental thinking **** up to hormones. A pregnant thing. I don't know any more. I don't know anything. Even from all the events and people and experiences I've surrounded my stupid ******* life with, I'm still here inside my skin feeling like I walked away with nothing at all-- well aside from a tiny creature curled with in my womb. If only it comfitted me, the knowlege of a child (a link to another human being). Some women get really excited about that sort of thing. Creating another life. Maybe its because those women aren't Indian. Maybe its because those women have something more to show for than a bastard child. Green stuff. Money makes the world go round. When did I become the type to give two shits about cash? Hell, when did I become the type that could take care of myself let alone another human being. Look at me. I wake up in the morning and don't even recognize my face any more. I look in the mirror and think, ****, when did I get so old? Did I just wake up like this one day, or has this been going on since I popped out of the womb: my gradual demise nothing but one big cosmic prank that gets played on the lot of us. Goes to show that regardless of what happens, life will run its course. Not saying its fate or anything. Nothing as precise as that. But all my life I've felt like a message in bottle floating in a vast body of water and only now, thirty something years later, am I starting to wonder if its even possibe to become a ship. Or a row boat. Something. A ship that will eventually rot or crash and change speeds, but a vessel none-the-less with. A vessel with some sort of navigation.

Wish me luck, universe.

Cassie 

Keyword: untitled assignment

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Posted by cookingWine 2008-05-23 13:01:14 .... A pregnant Indian hunter-gatherer who philosophizes, swears, questions, who doesn't know anything but continues on writing a note to herself. Native Americans didn't have cash, no. But they bartered, which is essentially the same thing without a representative standard value so I don't know about the bit where she's addressing how trivial money is. I've always thought it's kind of funny that we die eventually. It's not really fair, to be honest. I think this had a little of comedy, a little of interesting perspective, a little conflicting knowledge given to us about the character; and overall, I think it was worth reading. And I think I got in too deep for an "untitled assignment". Have a good one. + Report this comment
Posted by dockyard 2008-05-28 12:54:18 .... the reason she found money trivial didn't have anything to do with her nationality. just a personal opinion i always thought she would hold. in cassie's younger days she was quite the vagabond. where ever the wind carried her was where she'd end up. it seems natural that she wouldn't give two shits about cash. + Report this comment

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