So I'm ignoring my roommate right now because I've never been more annoyed with her than I am now. She spent three hours talking about shit that doesn't matter with her boyfriend last night, and I had stuff to do and was really just wishing she would shut up about all of it. I can handle background conversation, but of course I'm not deaf and can't block everything out, so I usually employ my curse of being able to keep my thoughts to myself and just let it go in one ear and out the other. But there comes a point where I can't listen to her garble anymore, because what she says just makes me want to jump off of a cliff. She talks to her boyfriend about how they're going to last forever, because they can fight and get through it and they're still in love or whatever, and I can't help but cringe hearing it. It's just plain ridiculous, their relationship, and here she is, convinced she knows everything about love and that everyone should look up to her for having the most amazing boyfriend ever.
I promise this isn't another senseless rant about her, because last night I finally actually got mad at the appropriate moment. I tend to not be able to do that - usually I get frustrated, forget it, and then let it overflow days later when I finally realize that I can't rationalize my frustration without getting mad. I was mad last night, while she was talking for three hours in our room, ignoring the fact that I was there and trying to get work done. Eventually I wound up out in the hallway, staring at my notes while not really absorbing anything, when my friend Gina walks by and makes the point that usually the person on the phone is the one in the hallway. And I had to stop and ask myself, why do I try so hard to give her respect when she gives me absolutely none? She doesn't listen when I talk, she doesn't try and make accomodations to the fact that I live in this room too, she doesn't say thanks for anything and doesn't show any sign of appreciation that I'm not a complete bitch and that I'm unable to say all of this to her face. She expects me to listen to what she says when she addresses me, but then expects me to be deaf when she isn't talking to me?
I haven't gone to sleep that mad in a long time. I stopped trying to be considerate when I was getting ready for sleep and she was already in bed - letting the door fall closed loudly when I left, purposely dropping stuff, leaving the light on longer than necessary... It wasn't satisfying really, at all, but I'm bad at being mad like that verbally. I either can do not mad at all or really mad, and can't seem to find the happy medium. It was just the culmination of the whole day that hit me all at once, and she was the one to finally drive me over the edge.
But I hate being mad, but don't seem to have a choice, if I'm going to be honest with myself. So, in resolution, I'm going to show her as much as she's shown me lately. I think she'll really enjoy it.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Covered In Rain
I've never been afraid of getting older, but maybe I never really thought about it enough before. At some point, we'll have to stop being so free - we'll put limits on ourselves, finding sacrifices we need to make. I never thought about those sacrifices before, but I suppose at some point I might eventually have to stop living the way I am, acting out of my heart instead of out of my hands. For now, I still define years from September to June, in terms of school years, but eventually the years will blend together and I won't be able to remember what year exactly I met someone or learned something or got hired or fired or did something fantastic. And maybe even all those occurences will become less and less, because I'll devote myself to only a few things instead of getting high off of all the possibilities. I'll do what I want, but what happens after that? I'll find something I think is worth committing to, and then I'll stop searching so hard. I don't know what that would be like, to stop searching so hard. I've worried before that maybe the only reason I want to transfer is because I'm scared to stop searching, to stop wishing for more. I'm afraid that the moment I do that, a part of me will fade away and I won't be able to get it back again. I'm afraid I'll lie to myself if I stop searching, because I'll take something instead of asking for something better.
It has to happen at some time, though - at some point I'll become completely reliable, with a job and a family and a house and a commute and a refridgerator that I'll actually have to keep stocked with fresh food, and not let food sit until it grows God knows what, like what's in the fridge right now. I'll stop being scared about global warming because I'll have "better things" to worry about. I'll stop having so much time to do stuff like write, when I'm already using time I should be studying to do this. For the past week or so I've fantasized about having a pencil in my hand to draw, and yet still haven't picked one up, because whenever I've had free time it wasn't enough to get lost. I realize that I love drawing but don't do it for months and months at a time, because whenever I have time to do it, I do something else. I want to draw most when I know I can't, and when I actually can, I forget to. Maybe that's the way it is with a lot of life, and maybe that's the way it is with age - we can do anything we want now, but once we've locked into something, we look back and wonder why we didn't draw more when we had the time.
I guess this is where I've been at for the past few days - I finally feel like this is accurate. It's suddenly getting harder to write anything I actually want to hear, and I'm not really sure how to fix that. It's like at certain points of the day, I get so tired, even though I was just laughing or start laughing only a few minutes later. It's times like these, when I listen to the same 8-minute song on repeat because it's the only thing that will keep me here, the place I've been violently falling into and frantically jumping out of. It's not necessarily a cheerful place, but it's a true place, and I miss truth a lot at times. It's not like I'm depressed, but it's just like I'm realizing how much I hold myself back. I do it because I don't know what comes out of my head - I sit down to write and come up with paragraphs and paragraphs - and I don't know how to live like this, the way I write. I guess where I started with all of this was when I realized I'm afraid I'll never figure out how to live like this.
I know this is another depressing one, but this one feels like me at long last, so it's really not depressing at all. It feels so much better.
It has to happen at some time, though - at some point I'll become completely reliable, with a job and a family and a house and a commute and a refridgerator that I'll actually have to keep stocked with fresh food, and not let food sit until it grows God knows what, like what's in the fridge right now. I'll stop being scared about global warming because I'll have "better things" to worry about. I'll stop having so much time to do stuff like write, when I'm already using time I should be studying to do this. For the past week or so I've fantasized about having a pencil in my hand to draw, and yet still haven't picked one up, because whenever I've had free time it wasn't enough to get lost. I realize that I love drawing but don't do it for months and months at a time, because whenever I have time to do it, I do something else. I want to draw most when I know I can't, and when I actually can, I forget to. Maybe that's the way it is with a lot of life, and maybe that's the way it is with age - we can do anything we want now, but once we've locked into something, we look back and wonder why we didn't draw more when we had the time.
I guess this is where I've been at for the past few days - I finally feel like this is accurate. It's suddenly getting harder to write anything I actually want to hear, and I'm not really sure how to fix that. It's like at certain points of the day, I get so tired, even though I was just laughing or start laughing only a few minutes later. It's times like these, when I listen to the same 8-minute song on repeat because it's the only thing that will keep me here, the place I've been violently falling into and frantically jumping out of. It's not necessarily a cheerful place, but it's a true place, and I miss truth a lot at times. It's not like I'm depressed, but it's just like I'm realizing how much I hold myself back. I do it because I don't know what comes out of my head - I sit down to write and come up with paragraphs and paragraphs - and I don't know how to live like this, the way I write. I guess where I started with all of this was when I realized I'm afraid I'll never figure out how to live like this.
I know this is another depressing one, but this one feels like me at long last, so it's really not depressing at all. It feels so much better.
Plan, Perhaps?
Now my mind's clicking and I can't do anything to stop it. I should be trying to get to sleep, since this might be the one time all week that I might get something close to 8 hours straight, but I have no chance of doing that when my mind is running like this. Somewhere in between the gym and the shower today my mood bounced about 400 points upwards (dont ask me what units those are) and now I can't stop thinking and getting excited.
I'm excited for the summer, because I totally forgot about this internship I'm so lucky to have in a hospital. I can spend the entire day working and observing, doing small jobs and maybe research - whatever compels me. Whatever compels me. That phrase itself just makes me smile. I'll be under the eye of one of our neighbors, who's a really cool guy and even though he has two kids and is the head of the burn center at the hospital, you can totally tell that he's the same as he was in college. It will be my first hands-on real experience with a career that I've put so much thoughts and hopes and dreams into - finally, a true beginning.
So the only flaw with this job is that it doesn't pay, which is an issue only whenever I look at my bank account and have to wince. Then I need a night job... nothing that requires too much thought, nothing that I won't be able to handle after a long day at the hospital. Ice cream :-). It's close to home, I could see my friends if they felt like visiting me, I get to smell ice cream all night (granted, I might get sick of it, but I'll suffer), and I'd be done by 11 or 12 every night, giving me enough time to get home and go to sleep before getting up for work the next morning. I'd be working non-stop, but aside from the usual issues I'd have with the work (crabby people, being tired, whatever) I like the way it sounds. Maybe this is me being an idealist and forming a too-perfect image in my head, but it sounds like the plan would allow me to do what I love and learn a TON during the day while getting to do something easier, more mindless and hopefully also fun at night.
I'm working on it... might change a lot by the time summer rolls around, and I might regret ever putting this on record, but I'll take the chance...
I'm excited for the summer, because I totally forgot about this internship I'm so lucky to have in a hospital. I can spend the entire day working and observing, doing small jobs and maybe research - whatever compels me. Whatever compels me. That phrase itself just makes me smile. I'll be under the eye of one of our neighbors, who's a really cool guy and even though he has two kids and is the head of the burn center at the hospital, you can totally tell that he's the same as he was in college. It will be my first hands-on real experience with a career that I've put so much thoughts and hopes and dreams into - finally, a true beginning.
So the only flaw with this job is that it doesn't pay, which is an issue only whenever I look at my bank account and have to wince. Then I need a night job... nothing that requires too much thought, nothing that I won't be able to handle after a long day at the hospital. Ice cream :-). It's close to home, I could see my friends if they felt like visiting me, I get to smell ice cream all night (granted, I might get sick of it, but I'll suffer), and I'd be done by 11 or 12 every night, giving me enough time to get home and go to sleep before getting up for work the next morning. I'd be working non-stop, but aside from the usual issues I'd have with the work (crabby people, being tired, whatever) I like the way it sounds. Maybe this is me being an idealist and forming a too-perfect image in my head, but it sounds like the plan would allow me to do what I love and learn a TON during the day while getting to do something easier, more mindless and hopefully also fun at night.
I'm working on it... might change a lot by the time summer rolls around, and I might regret ever putting this on record, but I'll take the chance...
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Procrastination, At Long Last
Apparently it can be cold and humid at the same time, did you know that? I didn't, until today. I guess it's what my mom would call "damp."
I took a personality test yesterday for our hall program, and my personality turned out to be "green." I think it's funny that there were only four options of colors to be, yet everyone seems to identify pretty strongly with one of them. Of the billions of people, are we all just variations of these four categories? I'm a pretty strong green, based off of the description, but I also have some orange and blue in me too. Not so much gold. This actually doesn't make any sense if you don't know what each color is, and since the descriptions are pretty complicated, I won't sum up all four of them here. The green was pretty dead on for me: it included some phrases that struck me, like, "I live life by my own standards," "I am a natural non-conformist, a visionary, a problem-solver," "For me, work is play," and "As a child, I found it necessary to respect teachers before I could learn from them." (that last one is particularly accurate - my parents probably know that better than anyone. I'm trying to respect teachers more than I did in the past, I swear.) One that especially struck me was, "I am uneasy when my emotions control me." Does that sound like me? Hm, I'm not sure. (ha)
It's funny that we're all convince we're compeletely unique and individual, but all it takes is a simple test to lay out the main points of your personality for you. I think I like it, because it makes it seem like you actually have a reason to your madness. At the same time, though, it's impossible for one piece of paper to describe us completely, because these are all more positive traits than negative ones. A piece of paper can't tell what you've been through, and even if you act one way, it doesn't necessarily mean that you're a certain way on the inside. There are also variations of each color - my roommate is competely 100% "gold," because she likes following rules and doing things the way she was taught. At the same time, another one of my friends turned out to be "gold" too, but even though she likes tradition she is in no way as rigid as my roommate is.
Of course, though, once you have the descriptions of each type of personality in your hands, you're tempted to put everyone you know into a color. My brother and mom are definitely orange - witty, charming, impulsive, generous, immediate, fraternal. My sister is probably pretty gold - loyal, dependable, prepared, thorough, sensible, faithful, stable, caring, concerned. My dad is very green - analytical, global, conceptual, calm, collected, inventive, abstract, hypothetical.
I guess we'll never know what makes our personalities, really, because no one is exactly alike. My sociology professor would say that we are purely products of our environments, while my evolution teacher would say we are products of nature and each personality trait is an evolutionary advantage (or disadvantage). I think it has to be both. Our experiences shape us, for sure, but if nature isn't involved, how is it that animals have personalities? They do, too - my mom was really surprised when I was talking about a horse's personality once, and asked me if they actually had personalities. Of course they do.
I have so much work I should be doing, but I'm not feeling too motivated this week. I'm sad because one of my favorite classes, botany, is ending, and not only do I not want to switch to invertebrate bio in two weeks, I do not want to learn the last of the material for this class. I think I have less motivation to learn it because it's not all that hard, and I'm not in danger of falling behind and condemning myself to a semester-long game of catch-up. I know I'll like it once I open the book, but I just... have... to... open... it...
maybe gummi bears will help. lovely. I already have cranberry juice, gummi bears would be indeed be just lovely.
I think I really miss Iris lately.
I took a personality test yesterday for our hall program, and my personality turned out to be "green." I think it's funny that there were only four options of colors to be, yet everyone seems to identify pretty strongly with one of them. Of the billions of people, are we all just variations of these four categories? I'm a pretty strong green, based off of the description, but I also have some orange and blue in me too. Not so much gold. This actually doesn't make any sense if you don't know what each color is, and since the descriptions are pretty complicated, I won't sum up all four of them here. The green was pretty dead on for me: it included some phrases that struck me, like, "I live life by my own standards," "I am a natural non-conformist, a visionary, a problem-solver," "For me, work is play," and "As a child, I found it necessary to respect teachers before I could learn from them." (that last one is particularly accurate - my parents probably know that better than anyone. I'm trying to respect teachers more than I did in the past, I swear.) One that especially struck me was, "I am uneasy when my emotions control me." Does that sound like me? Hm, I'm not sure. (ha)
It's funny that we're all convince we're compeletely unique and individual, but all it takes is a simple test to lay out the main points of your personality for you. I think I like it, because it makes it seem like you actually have a reason to your madness. At the same time, though, it's impossible for one piece of paper to describe us completely, because these are all more positive traits than negative ones. A piece of paper can't tell what you've been through, and even if you act one way, it doesn't necessarily mean that you're a certain way on the inside. There are also variations of each color - my roommate is competely 100% "gold," because she likes following rules and doing things the way she was taught. At the same time, another one of my friends turned out to be "gold" too, but even though she likes tradition she is in no way as rigid as my roommate is.
Of course, though, once you have the descriptions of each type of personality in your hands, you're tempted to put everyone you know into a color. My brother and mom are definitely orange - witty, charming, impulsive, generous, immediate, fraternal. My sister is probably pretty gold - loyal, dependable, prepared, thorough, sensible, faithful, stable, caring, concerned. My dad is very green - analytical, global, conceptual, calm, collected, inventive, abstract, hypothetical.
I guess we'll never know what makes our personalities, really, because no one is exactly alike. My sociology professor would say that we are purely products of our environments, while my evolution teacher would say we are products of nature and each personality trait is an evolutionary advantage (or disadvantage). I think it has to be both. Our experiences shape us, for sure, but if nature isn't involved, how is it that animals have personalities? They do, too - my mom was really surprised when I was talking about a horse's personality once, and asked me if they actually had personalities. Of course they do.
I have so much work I should be doing, but I'm not feeling too motivated this week. I'm sad because one of my favorite classes, botany, is ending, and not only do I not want to switch to invertebrate bio in two weeks, I do not want to learn the last of the material for this class. I think I have less motivation to learn it because it's not all that hard, and I'm not in danger of falling behind and condemning myself to a semester-long game of catch-up. I know I'll like it once I open the book, but I just... have... to... open... it...
maybe gummi bears will help. lovely. I already have cranberry juice, gummi bears would be indeed be just lovely.
I think I really miss Iris lately.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Life of iPod
Did your iPod ever have a sense of humor? Mine just played "Build Me Up Buttercup," the timeless tale from the point of view of a man who loves someone who keeps raising his hopes only to get shot down. It then played, "You Blew Me Off," by Bare Jr., who's lyrics include the lines, "If you ignore me/ you get my respect/ when you turn to hug me/ I like you less/ You blew me off..." So virtually they're the same song, one's just much sweeter and eloquent. Then came George Michael's "Faith," which is about having, well, faith, that someone will come around eventually. I think my iPod is in a mood. Maybe it misses its long lost lover, which I can only imagine would be the nano I got for free and use for working out, since I had it with me all day. Oh, poor iPod. Haha oh and now it's playing, "Put Your Head On My Shoulder," by Michael Buble. It's obviously glad to see that it's soulmate has returned to its usual place on the shelf above the iPod's Soundock.
Hmm, now it's playing Narcolepsy, by Third Eye Blind - maybe it's mad that I've been turning it on at such odd hours lately, including at 5 AM this morning when I got up to go to a horse show. I don't blame it, I'm tired too. I'll try to let it sleep tonight, because I really need more sleep too (I try to keep awake/ but I can feel this narcolepsy slide/ into another nightmare). Maybe I'me making it narcoleptic by throwing off its sleeping schedules - it sleeps during the day now but is awake at random intervals 24/7. I guess that would make it the opposite of narcoleptic - sleeping most of the time but falling awake at random moments.
Wow, it's really mad at me! Now it's playing "Good For You," by TEB, which is kind of like a shove it in your face kind of song. I'm sorry to have made it so spiteful!
Flashing Lights, Kanye West - has it been going to raves without me? Or perhaps driving around Fairfield after 10 pm?
Hide Your Love, Jonny Lang? Are we really back to this complicated technology love affair going on across my desk right now? Dear iPod, you need to loosen up, man.
OK this could go on forever and is mildly entertaining, but I'll put it to rest for now. Sorry iPod, you're staying on, even though we're both exhausted...
Hmm, now it's playing Narcolepsy, by Third Eye Blind - maybe it's mad that I've been turning it on at such odd hours lately, including at 5 AM this morning when I got up to go to a horse show. I don't blame it, I'm tired too. I'll try to let it sleep tonight, because I really need more sleep too (I try to keep awake/ but I can feel this narcolepsy slide/ into another nightmare). Maybe I'me making it narcoleptic by throwing off its sleeping schedules - it sleeps during the day now but is awake at random intervals 24/7. I guess that would make it the opposite of narcoleptic - sleeping most of the time but falling awake at random moments.
Wow, it's really mad at me! Now it's playing "Good For You," by TEB, which is kind of like a shove it in your face kind of song. I'm sorry to have made it so spiteful!
Flashing Lights, Kanye West - has it been going to raves without me? Or perhaps driving around Fairfield after 10 pm?
Hide Your Love, Jonny Lang? Are we really back to this complicated technology love affair going on across my desk right now? Dear iPod, you need to loosen up, man.
OK this could go on forever and is mildly entertaining, but I'll put it to rest for now. Sorry iPod, you're staying on, even though we're both exhausted...
Friday, February 22, 2008
Weathered
OK time to let go and unwind all the stuff that I wrapped up this weekend in a big ball tied up with chemistry. I guess that probably doesn't make sense unless you actually had the week I did, which is probably impossible. Anyway I've been so worried about global warming, since that's what we've been talking about in one of my classes extensively. I've also been worried about Wal-Mart - we're talking about it in sociology and I'm having a hard time finding a way to justify the place. It's so huge, impersonal, uncreative and most of all inhumane in the sense that they don't respect their employees. I don't really ever want to go into one again. Then after all that this week, I had my first organic chem test, which is just as scary as it might sound. The thing is, it doesn't matter that I think I did well on the test - there are certainly things that I didn't think to write down and don't know I missed them. It's the kind of test where you're guaranteed to get it back and kick yourself for not seeing what you should have. All in all, I really miss my art class, where what mattered was what you thought and what you did about it - not what you couldn't do, or what everyone else was doing that you couldn't stop, or what how guilty you already were doing that you didn't know you were doing.
I guess that doesn't make any sense - it's been a long week. I miss getting to sit down and write quickly about something random. Well, I'm looking out the window now and seeing lots and lots of snow - it's coming down fast, although I'm used to seeing it and it holds a lot less magic than it used to. It's still beautiful, though, and I love to walk through the snow and drag my feet to kick it just a little bit. I don't know why, but since I came here, snow just seems so much less special. It's frustrating when you have errands to run and have to constantly get a huge coat on and a hat and gloves and all that. And we spend no time looking at it and liking it - instead we walk outside and say "ugh, still snowing" because that means we're going to get wet and get salt all over our shoes. But I really like snow, and I wish it was easier to remember why. It looks so nice all over the ground, and I love when it covers the roads and sidewalks and makes it hard to walk. It's kind of fun to watch snow plows try to clear off a road that only has a quarter inch of snow on it - they just scrape and scrape and don't really do anything. I like that the trucks can't stop the snow, that it comes anyway and there's only so much they can do. And while I like the sidewalk salt because it makes it easier to walk, it takes away from the fact that nature is laughing in our faces. I think we owe it to nature to let it make fun of us once in a while, since we're so awful to it all the time.
So I'm glad it's snowing, because temporarily, nature has the last laugh. All the buses and vans can't really drive in this, so we have to stop what we're doing to let nature do whatever the hell it wants. I like it. I mean, that's the way it should be - we should always be aware that we're second to nature. And nature really knows how to do it - not only does it mess us up, it looks pretty at the same time. Now that's some expert level intereference, right there.
Imogen Heap and the snow seem to be a good combination. I wish I could write so much more, just write for days and days and days. But then, it seems that my mind is bland lately - not a good feeling at all. I want to write but have little to write about... maybe I need a strong dose of art to wake my mind up from this state, otherwise I'm in danger of sliding back to my nothingness state that I so strongly dislike. I've been thinking about spring a lot lately, because I can't wait for it to come - I feel that every year, but I feel it differently this year. I don't want it to be spring just so that it's not winter - I don't seem to mind winter much anymore, ironically, since it's so long and harsh here. I just love the way the world feels in spring, and I could use a new feeling from the world lately. Maybe I'm not as immune to the weather as I thought I was, although I think I'm affected differently than a lot of people. I like it when nature has its emotions, because it clearly does - it pours raining one day, and then is warm and sunny the next. This is the effect of global warming - nature's getting exceptionally moody because of how rude and intrusive we are. We deserve to experience its mood swings. I like that nature gets mood swings, too - makes me feel a little less crazy. Right now its tired and cold, and maybe it's crying a little in the form of snow. Then what are we doing but walking around in its tears, clearing them off the roads (to some extent), kicking its tears around with our boots, maybe even balling them up and throwing them at one another. There is such a thing as a happy snow, but this one isn't so happy, for some reason. It has a constant flow - nature hasn't stopped snowing on us all day, and it's going to last for a while longer, I can tell. So I think instead of getting mad at it, we should all just sympathize and understand it - sometimes we all just feel like shit and want to snow on everything all day. Sorry, nature, to whatever made you feel this way. I'll sympathize and stay quiet like you today.
I guess that doesn't make any sense - it's been a long week. I miss getting to sit down and write quickly about something random. Well, I'm looking out the window now and seeing lots and lots of snow - it's coming down fast, although I'm used to seeing it and it holds a lot less magic than it used to. It's still beautiful, though, and I love to walk through the snow and drag my feet to kick it just a little bit. I don't know why, but since I came here, snow just seems so much less special. It's frustrating when you have errands to run and have to constantly get a huge coat on and a hat and gloves and all that. And we spend no time looking at it and liking it - instead we walk outside and say "ugh, still snowing" because that means we're going to get wet and get salt all over our shoes. But I really like snow, and I wish it was easier to remember why. It looks so nice all over the ground, and I love when it covers the roads and sidewalks and makes it hard to walk. It's kind of fun to watch snow plows try to clear off a road that only has a quarter inch of snow on it - they just scrape and scrape and don't really do anything. I like that the trucks can't stop the snow, that it comes anyway and there's only so much they can do. And while I like the sidewalk salt because it makes it easier to walk, it takes away from the fact that nature is laughing in our faces. I think we owe it to nature to let it make fun of us once in a while, since we're so awful to it all the time.
So I'm glad it's snowing, because temporarily, nature has the last laugh. All the buses and vans can't really drive in this, so we have to stop what we're doing to let nature do whatever the hell it wants. I like it. I mean, that's the way it should be - we should always be aware that we're second to nature. And nature really knows how to do it - not only does it mess us up, it looks pretty at the same time. Now that's some expert level intereference, right there.
Imogen Heap and the snow seem to be a good combination. I wish I could write so much more, just write for days and days and days. But then, it seems that my mind is bland lately - not a good feeling at all. I want to write but have little to write about... maybe I need a strong dose of art to wake my mind up from this state, otherwise I'm in danger of sliding back to my nothingness state that I so strongly dislike. I've been thinking about spring a lot lately, because I can't wait for it to come - I feel that every year, but I feel it differently this year. I don't want it to be spring just so that it's not winter - I don't seem to mind winter much anymore, ironically, since it's so long and harsh here. I just love the way the world feels in spring, and I could use a new feeling from the world lately. Maybe I'm not as immune to the weather as I thought I was, although I think I'm affected differently than a lot of people. I like it when nature has its emotions, because it clearly does - it pours raining one day, and then is warm and sunny the next. This is the effect of global warming - nature's getting exceptionally moody because of how rude and intrusive we are. We deserve to experience its mood swings. I like that nature gets mood swings, too - makes me feel a little less crazy. Right now its tired and cold, and maybe it's crying a little in the form of snow. Then what are we doing but walking around in its tears, clearing them off the roads (to some extent), kicking its tears around with our boots, maybe even balling them up and throwing them at one another. There is such a thing as a happy snow, but this one isn't so happy, for some reason. It has a constant flow - nature hasn't stopped snowing on us all day, and it's going to last for a while longer, I can tell. So I think instead of getting mad at it, we should all just sympathize and understand it - sometimes we all just feel like shit and want to snow on everything all day. Sorry, nature, to whatever made you feel this way. I'll sympathize and stay quiet like you today.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Take A Breather
I seem to be caught at this last essay, the one that should be easiest, "why do you want to transfer?" I've written more drafts of this essay than I've probably written for any essay before, which is pretty good proof that I can't seem to find the words I want. I've been thinking for weeks - every small lesson I learn provokes another essay, which is never quite right. Maybe I'll try it here, to see what I have to say for myself when colleges and my future aren't listening too closely.
I realized tonight that I'd be inclined to leave college entirely if not for the fact that I value my formal education at school just as much as I value my informal education outside of school. I couldn't deny myself the opportunity I have to study at college with the knowledge that it's an opportunity most people won't get. Also, I am aware of how much benefit I've already gotten from it, and I just plain like learning and would have no problem spending four years in school. In fact, with my career goals, it's going to be more like 10 years, and I'm OK with that.
But I wonder, what would I be doing if I wasn't here? I think I would leave the country, because I've lived here all my life and the world is so huge. Not to say that I know our country like the back of my hand, because I certainly don't, but I want to know what's beyond home. I think I would go someplace I was needed, maybe join Greenpeace or the Red Cross to see what I could do for the world. Yet somehow I know that I need to be at school too, because in the long run, I can do more for the world if I give myself to the education I'm capable of. I can go explore the world at any time, but it seems that I need to be at school now to learn about what it is that needs to be done for the world. It would also be a lie to say that this is my only reason for staying in school - frankly, though I love challenges and would enjoy facing the fear of heading out so boldly into the unknown, I worry about not being able to forgive myself if I gave up this opportunity.
Yet college is more than simple book studies - there's no reason why I can't learn just as much inside the classroom as outside. In fact, I already have - but what I've learned has pushed me to ask for change in my future, to be someone different than what I've always been. I don't know what I'd do if I wound up comitting to three more years here - I might be inclined to actually take up my proposal and leave school entirely. I don't know if I could do that to myself, though. What I'm searching for is a way to feel the whole world around me, instead of simply waking up in the morning looking out at a life that I've lived so repeatedly for so many years. I have certainly changed this past year, and it's driven me to need more change on the outside that will correspond with the change on the inside.
I'm over a year older than the last time I was writing college essays; I can legally vote and am excited to take on its responsibilities; I've developed a new obsession with writing, something I used to hate; and I've found clarity in my own confusion. It's time that I let myself be a part of the whole world, because that's all I want to be - I have worn out my own welcome in this isolated life, where test grades define people and extracurriculars are meant to look good for future employers. I fully respect the people I've come to know here, but I can no longer disrepect my own needs the way I have. I am ever grateful for the gifts I've been given, but I can't really understand them until I know how the rest of the world lives differently than I do, with dfferent gifts, desires and goals. I can't guarantee myself that I will find a new world if I am able to transfer, but the hope of learning of a new life is more than enough for me to have faith in the possibilies.
OK, so that's better. It's weird at parts and I should edit it, but no way am I touching it for a least a few hours. I've got to talk to Professor Z tomorrow to get her advice...
I realized tonight that I'd be inclined to leave college entirely if not for the fact that I value my formal education at school just as much as I value my informal education outside of school. I couldn't deny myself the opportunity I have to study at college with the knowledge that it's an opportunity most people won't get. Also, I am aware of how much benefit I've already gotten from it, and I just plain like learning and would have no problem spending four years in school. In fact, with my career goals, it's going to be more like 10 years, and I'm OK with that.
But I wonder, what would I be doing if I wasn't here? I think I would leave the country, because I've lived here all my life and the world is so huge. Not to say that I know our country like the back of my hand, because I certainly don't, but I want to know what's beyond home. I think I would go someplace I was needed, maybe join Greenpeace or the Red Cross to see what I could do for the world. Yet somehow I know that I need to be at school too, because in the long run, I can do more for the world if I give myself to the education I'm capable of. I can go explore the world at any time, but it seems that I need to be at school now to learn about what it is that needs to be done for the world. It would also be a lie to say that this is my only reason for staying in school - frankly, though I love challenges and would enjoy facing the fear of heading out so boldly into the unknown, I worry about not being able to forgive myself if I gave up this opportunity.
Yet college is more than simple book studies - there's no reason why I can't learn just as much inside the classroom as outside. In fact, I already have - but what I've learned has pushed me to ask for change in my future, to be someone different than what I've always been. I don't know what I'd do if I wound up comitting to three more years here - I might be inclined to actually take up my proposal and leave school entirely. I don't know if I could do that to myself, though. What I'm searching for is a way to feel the whole world around me, instead of simply waking up in the morning looking out at a life that I've lived so repeatedly for so many years. I have certainly changed this past year, and it's driven me to need more change on the outside that will correspond with the change on the inside.
I'm over a year older than the last time I was writing college essays; I can legally vote and am excited to take on its responsibilities; I've developed a new obsession with writing, something I used to hate; and I've found clarity in my own confusion. It's time that I let myself be a part of the whole world, because that's all I want to be - I have worn out my own welcome in this isolated life, where test grades define people and extracurriculars are meant to look good for future employers. I fully respect the people I've come to know here, but I can no longer disrepect my own needs the way I have. I am ever grateful for the gifts I've been given, but I can't really understand them until I know how the rest of the world lives differently than I do, with dfferent gifts, desires and goals. I can't guarantee myself that I will find a new world if I am able to transfer, but the hope of learning of a new life is more than enough for me to have faith in the possibilies.
OK, so that's better. It's weird at parts and I should edit it, but no way am I touching it for a least a few hours. I've got to talk to Professor Z tomorrow to get her advice...
Monday, February 18, 2008
To Write
I came across an amazing quote, by someone named Ranier Maria Rilke... seems to pertain to me...
"There is only one thing you should do. Go into yourself. Find out the reason that commands you to write; see whether it has spread its roots into the very depths of your heart; confess to yourself whether you would have to die if you were forbidden to write. This most of all: ask yourself in the most silent hour of your night: must I write? Dig into yourself for a deep answer. And if this answer rings out in assent, if you meet this solemn question with a strong, simple "I must," then build your life in accordance with this necessity; your life, even into its humblest and most indifferent hour, must become a sign and witness to this impulse."
"There is only one thing you should do. Go into yourself. Find out the reason that commands you to write; see whether it has spread its roots into the very depths of your heart; confess to yourself whether you would have to die if you were forbidden to write. This most of all: ask yourself in the most silent hour of your night: must I write? Dig into yourself for a deep answer. And if this answer rings out in assent, if you meet this solemn question with a strong, simple "I must," then build your life in accordance with this necessity; your life, even into its humblest and most indifferent hour, must become a sign and witness to this impulse."
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Some Other Emotion
I had no idea it was possible for my heart to break for something I'm not even a part of. It's someone else's pain, but I can't help but feel so much of it. I should comfort myself in thinking that it's not happening to me, but for some reason that doesn't make it any better. And I've done that thing where someone else's pain instigates something I was repressing, kind of like what happens to me when I watch certain movies, but this is different. I have no part of this and no control of it, but it hurts just as if it was happening to me. It's not like I can be sympathetic, because I've never experienced something quite like this person is, and it's not pity at all. Since when is it possible to shed tears for someone else's pain? Well, that's what I learned - it is. I have no motivation to do anything other than wait until I can figure this out, even though it's out of my hands and not my matter to take care of. It just hurts because our hearts are so close that they might as well be the same heart.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Wild Night Is Calling
Here's a funny anecdote that's been in my head in the past hour:
I remember that the first song I ever called my "favorite" song was Van Morrison's "Wild Night." It's an old song - it was over 20 years old by the time I was 5 or 6, when I decided that I loved it. What was I doing listening to Van Morrison at that age? It was my dad's fault of course, but I'm sure he got a kick out of his first-grader singing along to his old CD's from high school. I remember driving in his car listening to that CD - oh, now that I look it up, I realize that what I was listening to was John Mellencamp's cover of Wild Night on the album Dance Naked. That album was made in 1994, meaning it was probably brand new when I was listening to it. Oh well, details, details - the point is that any album whose artwork depicts a man wrapped in barbed wire was probably not age-appropriate at the time. Not that I ever thought the cover of the album was anything more than weird back then.
I wonder what my dad thought when I told him that was my favorite song. I know I told him that, but I don't remember exactly when, since it was so long ago. He used to listen to that CD all the time, and I'm pretty sure he left Wild Night on repeat whenever I wanted to hear it. I still remember the chorus:
and everything looks so complete
when you're walking out on the street
and the wind, it catches your feet
and sets you flying, crying
oooo weee the wild night is calling
although, to be fair, when I sang it, it probably sounded more like this:
and everything looks so comfy
awhen you're walking down the street
and the wind, it catches your feet
it sets you flying, flying
ooooo weee wild night is coming
It's funny that I haven't heard it in so many years, and still can hear the music like as if it's playing on my iPod right now. And I still remember the mental image I got in my head when I sang that song - I pictured walking down the street outside Stratfield school, especially being at the corner of Melville and whatever that road is that's a cut-through to Stratfield Road. I didn't associate the words with anything, just walking down the street, getting caught by the wind and flying... those were the days when analysis was overrated...
I remember that the first song I ever called my "favorite" song was Van Morrison's "Wild Night." It's an old song - it was over 20 years old by the time I was 5 or 6, when I decided that I loved it. What was I doing listening to Van Morrison at that age? It was my dad's fault of course, but I'm sure he got a kick out of his first-grader singing along to his old CD's from high school. I remember driving in his car listening to that CD - oh, now that I look it up, I realize that what I was listening to was John Mellencamp's cover of Wild Night on the album Dance Naked. That album was made in 1994, meaning it was probably brand new when I was listening to it. Oh well, details, details - the point is that any album whose artwork depicts a man wrapped in barbed wire was probably not age-appropriate at the time. Not that I ever thought the cover of the album was anything more than weird back then.
I wonder what my dad thought when I told him that was my favorite song. I know I told him that, but I don't remember exactly when, since it was so long ago. He used to listen to that CD all the time, and I'm pretty sure he left Wild Night on repeat whenever I wanted to hear it. I still remember the chorus:
and everything looks so complete
when you're walking out on the street
and the wind, it catches your feet
and sets you flying, crying
oooo weee the wild night is calling
although, to be fair, when I sang it, it probably sounded more like this:
and everything looks so comfy
awhen you're walking down the street
and the wind, it catches your feet
it sets you flying, flying
ooooo weee wild night is coming
It's funny that I haven't heard it in so many years, and still can hear the music like as if it's playing on my iPod right now. And I still remember the mental image I got in my head when I sang that song - I pictured walking down the street outside Stratfield school, especially being at the corner of Melville and whatever that road is that's a cut-through to Stratfield Road. I didn't associate the words with anything, just walking down the street, getting caught by the wind and flying... those were the days when analysis was overrated...
Monday, February 11, 2008
Penny Lane
In Penny Lane there is a barber showing photographs
Of every head he's had the pleasure to indulge
And all the people that come and go
Stop and say hello.
On the corner is a banker with a motorcar,
The little children laugh at him behind his back.
And the banker never wears a mac
In the pouring rain, very strange.
Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes.
There beneath the blue suburban skies
I sit, and meanwhile back
In Penny Lane there is a fireman with an hourglass
And in his pocket is a portrait of the Queen.
He likes to keep his fire engine clean,
It's a clean machine.
Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes.
A four of fish and finger pies
In summer, meanwhile back
Behind the shelter in the middle of the roundabout
A pretty nurse is selling poppies from a tray
And though she feels as if she's in a play
She is anyway.
In Penny Lane the barber shaves another customer,
We see the banker sitting waiting for a trim.
And then the fireman rushes in
From the pouring rain, very strange.
Penny lane is in my ears and in my eyes.
There beneath the blue suburban skies
I sit, and meanwhile back
Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes.
There beneath the blue suburban skies,
Penny Lane.
-The Beatles
Of every head he's had the pleasure to indulge
And all the people that come and go
Stop and say hello.
On the corner is a banker with a motorcar,
The little children laugh at him behind his back.
And the banker never wears a mac
In the pouring rain, very strange.
Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes.
There beneath the blue suburban skies
I sit, and meanwhile back
In Penny Lane there is a fireman with an hourglass
And in his pocket is a portrait of the Queen.
He likes to keep his fire engine clean,
It's a clean machine.
Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes.
A four of fish and finger pies
In summer, meanwhile back
Behind the shelter in the middle of the roundabout
A pretty nurse is selling poppies from a tray
And though she feels as if she's in a play
She is anyway.
In Penny Lane the barber shaves another customer,
We see the banker sitting waiting for a trim.
And then the fireman rushes in
From the pouring rain, very strange.
Penny lane is in my ears and in my eyes.
There beneath the blue suburban skies
I sit, and meanwhile back
Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes.
There beneath the blue suburban skies,
Penny Lane.
-The Beatles
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Forget It
Ahhh you can't get me thinking like that and then expect me to just let it go! Now I'm just frustrated, because I have to doubt everything. I have to doubt my decision, my actions, my feelings, my beliefs, and it's never helpful in the least. I'm a pretty non-violent person, but in a matter of minutes I'm just so fed up that I could throw something. Although I did that once or twice and always felt guilty about it, so I won't.
What if I'm completely wrong about everything? What if I don't know what the hell I'm doing, even though for once I feel like I'm making my own decision in life by choosing something different? What does it all matter if what it comes down to is people like my roommate, who whines about getting a B on an Orgo test and is apparently obligated by unwritten law to call her father and report the news? OK that sentence doesn't really make sense, but to me it does. I feel like I could scream at the top of my lungs and no one would hear me - I haven't felt that way in a while and I'm not too excited to have it back.
I don't know why I get set off like this, but suddenly I just feel like getting in the car and driving out to California and finally see the green flash at sunset that I missed last time I was there because I was stupid and was looking away at the wrong split second. I don't know if you're aware, but right before the sun drops below the horizon, there's supposed to be a flash of green light. Well, I didn't know that, and so when I was watching it set at Half Moon Bay with my parents, I missed it. I was taking a picture of a man in business clothes who seemed completely alone - he got out of his car and was just standing at the edge of the dunes, looking out at the water. I still wonder what he was thinking about - maybe I want to know about him just as much as I want to see that green flash.
Somehow that's impertinent - I know it is but I'm not sure how. It's just been so long since I felt like I belonged somewhere, since when I'm home I feel like I'm on vacation from life and when I'm here I feel like I need to be somewhere else. I guess that's why all I can do to find some peace is to travel, because then I don't have to be anywhere at all. I just need so badly to stop with being so unsettled, and I can't do it. I can't lie to myself, I can't tell myself the truth, I can't let myself go at all, and I don't even know how much of that has to do with where I am. Maybe I could be somewhere else entirely and still feel the same way. I barely know what causes all of this, and maybe I'm just taking a shot in the dark with location. It's stupid that I feel like the only people I can trust anymore are my parents, because I know it is entirely untrue. But they don't ask me to be more than what I am, and they don't have to know about all of these frustrating thoughts that I'm barely dealing with. I've always been the same person to them, regardless of what I think or how I act, and I don't have to try at all.
God, when did I become such an emotional psycho? I miss the days when I used to know what bothered me and why, and have legitimate reasons. Now I keep it all quiet, which only makes it worse when I can't help but to break down in my head. And it has to be in my head, because there's nothing anyone can do about it but me. And I couldn't even have a conversation about all this frustraton becaue it seems that there's no actual point to any of it. I feel like that stupid business man, who could play all the right roles and still wind up at the ocean, looking out at it like everyone else. It's what everyone does - we all line up at the edge of the water at some point or another and just look at all the colors, the things that we say don't matter but which probably matter far more than what we say matters. Half Moon Bay is famous - people from all over the world have come to its shore just to stand there and look at the sky. I'm great at looking - I wish I could do that for the rest of my life. Sometimes I think I need to be an artist just to be able to hold onto any ounce of sanity I might have left.
I just don't really recognize this person anymore. I am myself, but I'm tired of it. Being me has never been easy, and I wish it could be at some point. And I know that sounds all whiny, but it just feels that way. I know its never easy for anyone, because we all make our own troubles to make life worse. I wish I could just crawl inside myself, where I'm safe, instead of walking day after day into something that doesn't matter. Why can't my name be synonymous with happiness? Maybe it is, or was, or has been, but right now it just kind of sucks. Sorry for all the whining, I think I'm done for now. But wait a minute, why do I have to stop whining? Why can't I sit here and just feel sorry for myself? I guess that would just make everything suck more, huh.
OK, that's all. Time to go back to flashcards.
I just wish I didn't have to write a novel and then click "Publish Post" and then act like it never happened.
What if I'm completely wrong about everything? What if I don't know what the hell I'm doing, even though for once I feel like I'm making my own decision in life by choosing something different? What does it all matter if what it comes down to is people like my roommate, who whines about getting a B on an Orgo test and is apparently obligated by unwritten law to call her father and report the news? OK that sentence doesn't really make sense, but to me it does. I feel like I could scream at the top of my lungs and no one would hear me - I haven't felt that way in a while and I'm not too excited to have it back.
I don't know why I get set off like this, but suddenly I just feel like getting in the car and driving out to California and finally see the green flash at sunset that I missed last time I was there because I was stupid and was looking away at the wrong split second. I don't know if you're aware, but right before the sun drops below the horizon, there's supposed to be a flash of green light. Well, I didn't know that, and so when I was watching it set at Half Moon Bay with my parents, I missed it. I was taking a picture of a man in business clothes who seemed completely alone - he got out of his car and was just standing at the edge of the dunes, looking out at the water. I still wonder what he was thinking about - maybe I want to know about him just as much as I want to see that green flash.
Somehow that's impertinent - I know it is but I'm not sure how. It's just been so long since I felt like I belonged somewhere, since when I'm home I feel like I'm on vacation from life and when I'm here I feel like I need to be somewhere else. I guess that's why all I can do to find some peace is to travel, because then I don't have to be anywhere at all. I just need so badly to stop with being so unsettled, and I can't do it. I can't lie to myself, I can't tell myself the truth, I can't let myself go at all, and I don't even know how much of that has to do with where I am. Maybe I could be somewhere else entirely and still feel the same way. I barely know what causes all of this, and maybe I'm just taking a shot in the dark with location. It's stupid that I feel like the only people I can trust anymore are my parents, because I know it is entirely untrue. But they don't ask me to be more than what I am, and they don't have to know about all of these frustrating thoughts that I'm barely dealing with. I've always been the same person to them, regardless of what I think or how I act, and I don't have to try at all.
God, when did I become such an emotional psycho? I miss the days when I used to know what bothered me and why, and have legitimate reasons. Now I keep it all quiet, which only makes it worse when I can't help but to break down in my head. And it has to be in my head, because there's nothing anyone can do about it but me. And I couldn't even have a conversation about all this frustraton becaue it seems that there's no actual point to any of it. I feel like that stupid business man, who could play all the right roles and still wind up at the ocean, looking out at it like everyone else. It's what everyone does - we all line up at the edge of the water at some point or another and just look at all the colors, the things that we say don't matter but which probably matter far more than what we say matters. Half Moon Bay is famous - people from all over the world have come to its shore just to stand there and look at the sky. I'm great at looking - I wish I could do that for the rest of my life. Sometimes I think I need to be an artist just to be able to hold onto any ounce of sanity I might have left.
I just don't really recognize this person anymore. I am myself, but I'm tired of it. Being me has never been easy, and I wish it could be at some point. And I know that sounds all whiny, but it just feels that way. I know its never easy for anyone, because we all make our own troubles to make life worse. I wish I could just crawl inside myself, where I'm safe, instead of walking day after day into something that doesn't matter. Why can't my name be synonymous with happiness? Maybe it is, or was, or has been, but right now it just kind of sucks. Sorry for all the whining, I think I'm done for now. But wait a minute, why do I have to stop whining? Why can't I sit here and just feel sorry for myself? I guess that would just make everything suck more, huh.
OK, that's all. Time to go back to flashcards.
I just wish I didn't have to write a novel and then click "Publish Post" and then act like it never happened.
Just Passing Through
So everyone thinks that I went home to relax and take the weekend off from school. Well, I did take off from school, both literally and figuratively, but it wasn't exactly relaxing, since I feel like I've been writing for two days straight. This is why writing is not the profession for me - it seems the more I write, the less and less inspired I am to do it. I just figured I'd pop in here to prove that I'm not insane after all - it seems that the last entry gave me a pretty good essay that I'm finally going to keep instead of rip to shreds. I like not being aware of how ridiculously far behind I am in my homework, having not done any for the past three day with a big week coming up, because I feel better just knowing that I've made headway on my priorities. I also got some really good old music from my parents this morning, so that also puts me in a good mood.
Not much to report otherwise - I was once again reminded of how home is always here, but will never be a place for me to live anymore because it's most of my past. Just having it here lets me be somewhere else, because there's always something to come home to. I wonder how my parents can stay in this one place for so long, but maybe one day I'll understand it. I do hope that one day I'll be as content to sit still as they are, but can't see myself doing it any time soon. I've got a lot of learning to do until then - maybe I have to learn to move as fast as possible before I can appreciate slowing down and living a quiet life. One thing's for sure - just seeing them so content where they are gives me a lot to look forward to.
Off to drive (!!) back to school, maybe a little less schizophrenic for the time being now that I've remembered how it all ties together...
Not much to report otherwise - I was once again reminded of how home is always here, but will never be a place for me to live anymore because it's most of my past. Just having it here lets me be somewhere else, because there's always something to come home to. I wonder how my parents can stay in this one place for so long, but maybe one day I'll understand it. I do hope that one day I'll be as content to sit still as they are, but can't see myself doing it any time soon. I've got a lot of learning to do until then - maybe I have to learn to move as fast as possible before I can appreciate slowing down and living a quiet life. One thing's for sure - just seeing them so content where they are gives me a lot to look forward to.
Off to drive (!!) back to school, maybe a little less schizophrenic for the time being now that I've remembered how it all ties together...
Friday, February 8, 2008
Just Once
Hey Iris, I need your help. My problem is that I need to be you right now, and you're nowhere to be found. I know what I want to say, but I can't figure out how to say it. I'm not the writer, you are. And now, when I need your words the most, I find myself struggling to imitate whatever it is you do so well. I know how you write, but for some reason it's just not the same when I'm trying to prove something. I think that's it - you don't need to prove anything, because you write whatever you have to say and don't need to edit it. How, then, do I fit you into 500 words that take so much effort to write, only to be glanced over for two minutes at best? I wish words weren't so limiting. I need you to get inside my head and organize it the way you to, or at least to take the important stuff and push it through my fingertips into the keyboard. This is the challenge, Iris - you've spent all this time enjoying the words instead of manipulating them. Now I'm asking you to change tactics and show the proof, to validate that which needs no validation. It seems impossible.
It reminds me of the scene in Seabiscuit, where they let the horse just run and run and run so that he can remember what it's like to be a horse instead of just an animal that's ridden in a big circle at breakneck speed. How do you make that change? How do you go from doing it out of pure delight to doing it because it's what you need to do? It's not fair that I have to cut myself so short, to spend all this effort on something that isn't really what I want to write. I don't want to validate myself, because that's me. Take me or leave me, this is what you get. Sometimes you get soap bubbles, sometimes you get Thoreau. See, right now I want to write about water, but instead I HAVE to do this because you asked me to. You're telling me this is my one shot to make it big, to show everyone else what I've got, but I can't do it my way. I have to do it their way. Well, I'm trying here, but it's not so easy to go back to what I've been trying so hard to get away from. I used to be just like everyone, having to prove myself in three paragraphs because it was the only shot you had at getting someone to pay attention. And now I don't care who pays attention, and all of a sudden I have to go back to those three or four desperate paragraphs? I won't lie, I AM desperate, and I have to go through this if I want to make something more of this freedom. I have to go back to go forward? Apparently I do. Apparently I have to remember what it was like tto have to impress people who have different standards - I know how to do what I do, but I don't know how to explain what I do to other people. I think I somehow swore to myself that with no editing came no regrets and no pressure - say what I want to say, how I want to say it, and whoever reads it can think what they may.
So there you are, Iris, hiding in a distant movie memory. So change your tactics. If there's one thing you haven't done, it's this. It's being part of the real world - unfortunately, out here not everyone's going to latch onto your theology. Sure, you can believe what you want, but they're only going to understand it if you explain it to them in a way they can understand. Maybe a ramble would do the trick, but what you really need is proof that you really are there. It's one thing for me to say it, but it's something completely different for you to say it. I'm giving you a couple of days. And yes, in the real world, there are deadlines. Do it for me, just this once - come back to what you excused yourself from, just once, and hopefully you'll never have to do it again.
It reminds me of the scene in Seabiscuit, where they let the horse just run and run and run so that he can remember what it's like to be a horse instead of just an animal that's ridden in a big circle at breakneck speed. How do you make that change? How do you go from doing it out of pure delight to doing it because it's what you need to do? It's not fair that I have to cut myself so short, to spend all this effort on something that isn't really what I want to write. I don't want to validate myself, because that's me. Take me or leave me, this is what you get. Sometimes you get soap bubbles, sometimes you get Thoreau. See, right now I want to write about water, but instead I HAVE to do this because you asked me to. You're telling me this is my one shot to make it big, to show everyone else what I've got, but I can't do it my way. I have to do it their way. Well, I'm trying here, but it's not so easy to go back to what I've been trying so hard to get away from. I used to be just like everyone, having to prove myself in three paragraphs because it was the only shot you had at getting someone to pay attention. And now I don't care who pays attention, and all of a sudden I have to go back to those three or four desperate paragraphs? I won't lie, I AM desperate, and I have to go through this if I want to make something more of this freedom. I have to go back to go forward? Apparently I do. Apparently I have to remember what it was like tto have to impress people who have different standards - I know how to do what I do, but I don't know how to explain what I do to other people. I think I somehow swore to myself that with no editing came no regrets and no pressure - say what I want to say, how I want to say it, and whoever reads it can think what they may.
So there you are, Iris, hiding in a distant movie memory. So change your tactics. If there's one thing you haven't done, it's this. It's being part of the real world - unfortunately, out here not everyone's going to latch onto your theology. Sure, you can believe what you want, but they're only going to understand it if you explain it to them in a way they can understand. Maybe a ramble would do the trick, but what you really need is proof that you really are there. It's one thing for me to say it, but it's something completely different for you to say it. I'm giving you a couple of days. And yes, in the real world, there are deadlines. Do it for me, just this once - come back to what you excused yourself from, just once, and hopefully you'll never have to do it again.
Monday, February 4, 2008
Mental Hypersensitivity
I'm making up a disease. It's called Mental Hypersensitivity. It's what I've got right now. You know how you can have emotional hypersensitivity, when the smallest thing could throw you upside down? Well, this is the same thing, but it's all happening inside my head.
Like right now, I'm listening to some crazy song with all this unsynchronized ringing and it feels so much better than actual words. I'm pretty sure my attention span is shot after this long day - I just wrote an entire post and then deleted it because I didn't like it. I can't stand to listen to words any more, or read them, and I'm quickly getting sick of writing them. No more words!!! I need to excercise a new part of my brain, not the thinking part. The thinking part is turning to rot lately. It's all very repetitive, which is how it has to be, and it's understandable and necessary and it's fine. Except for when I get like this and can't take the words anymore. Just the pushing and pulling of a piano and its chords that sounds kind of off, but in the best way possible. It's nice that it doesn't all match up, because it reminds me of things that don't have one right answer, one right analysis, one right explanation. Answers are overrated, anyway, because all they really are is the end of a thinking process. They're satisfying and fulfilling, but I'm tired of ends. I just want stuff to go on and on and on and never stop because then you don't have to worry about what happens after the ending. That doesn't really make sense, because nothing really ever ends. Well, classes do, and homework problems do, and essays and books and chapters do. Then you have to go back and look at everything, beginning to end, and know all of it and then get asked to remember as much as possible so you can give the right answer on the test. And then after that you stop, because you forget everything you were tested on to make room for the next chapter. And then all of a sudden it's all over, and you have to go back and remember all the stuff you had no choice but to forget before, so you have to stick all those ends and beginnings together to get one mammoth beginning, middle and end. That one's killer.
I think this might be a fatal dose of Mental Hypersensitivity. Hopefully not, though, but I do want it to end, but I don't...
Like right now, I'm listening to some crazy song with all this unsynchronized ringing and it feels so much better than actual words. I'm pretty sure my attention span is shot after this long day - I just wrote an entire post and then deleted it because I didn't like it. I can't stand to listen to words any more, or read them, and I'm quickly getting sick of writing them. No more words!!! I need to excercise a new part of my brain, not the thinking part. The thinking part is turning to rot lately. It's all very repetitive, which is how it has to be, and it's understandable and necessary and it's fine. Except for when I get like this and can't take the words anymore. Just the pushing and pulling of a piano and its chords that sounds kind of off, but in the best way possible. It's nice that it doesn't all match up, because it reminds me of things that don't have one right answer, one right analysis, one right explanation. Answers are overrated, anyway, because all they really are is the end of a thinking process. They're satisfying and fulfilling, but I'm tired of ends. I just want stuff to go on and on and on and never stop because then you don't have to worry about what happens after the ending. That doesn't really make sense, because nothing really ever ends. Well, classes do, and homework problems do, and essays and books and chapters do. Then you have to go back and look at everything, beginning to end, and know all of it and then get asked to remember as much as possible so you can give the right answer on the test. And then after that you stop, because you forget everything you were tested on to make room for the next chapter. And then all of a sudden it's all over, and you have to go back and remember all the stuff you had no choice but to forget before, so you have to stick all those ends and beginnings together to get one mammoth beginning, middle and end. That one's killer.
I think this might be a fatal dose of Mental Hypersensitivity. Hopefully not, though, but I do want it to end, but I don't...
Sunday, February 3, 2008
So Make Something Up
I really need to write, but have nothing to write about. Isn't that an interesting predicament? Probably doesn't happen very much. Well, it doesn't happen ever, because there's always something to write about. You should know that by now.
I've never thought of myself as a writer, because I never liked following all the rules. Writers spend hours and days and years looking for the right words in the right combination to make history. I'd rather let it all just run out of my head, through my fingers and into the keyboard. What kind of writing is this, anyway? It's not like I'm writing to change anyone's life, to impress the critics or to make a profound statement about life as we don't know it. I just wonder what I can put into words sometimes, just out of curiousity. Maybe it's the kind of writing that works for song lyrics, but even then, history doesn't seem to take any of the music I listen to seriously. Well, maybe that's not true, but it seems like the more obscure artists are the better ones. Why is that?
Anyway, I just like to hear myself talk sometimes. Does that make me selfish? Why yes, it may, but I'll do it anyway. I bought a hat yesterday and I think I might glue it to my head because I like it so much. I overwore it today, and probably will from now on, and in fact I'm wearing it right now because it makes me feel a little more like myself. There's something about a hat like this that makes me feel like I can keep things to myself and it's OK. Kind of like the nail polish thing - don't know if I've mentioned that, I've lately gotten into a habit of wearing obscenely bright nail polish. It was yellow last week, and as much as I loved the yellow it got chipped so I had to clean it off to make way for a new color. Bright green's next - maybe tonight I'll go for it, since I've been waiting for two days to get some color back on the ends of my fingers.
I don't know what exactly my fascination is with these unusual things - first the nails, now the hat - but I like that they're something no one else has. It's a different side of materialism, I guess - not so much quantity as originality. Just stop me if I start doing crazy things like putting up halloween decorations in February... oh wait, I already did that...
Saw a great concert tonight, Matt Nathanson and Ingrid Michaelson. Have a few lyrics...
The Way I Am - Ingrid Michaelson
If you were falling, then I would catch you.
You need a light, I'd find a match.
Cause I love the way you say good morning.
And you take me the way I am.
If you are chilly, here take my sweater.
Your head is aching, I'll make it better.
Cause I love the way you call me baby.
And you take me the way I am.
I'd buy you Rogaine when you start losing all your hair.
Sew on patches to all you tear.
Cause I love you more than I could ever promise.
And you take me the way I am.
You take me the way I am.
You take me the way I am.
I've never thought of myself as a writer, because I never liked following all the rules. Writers spend hours and days and years looking for the right words in the right combination to make history. I'd rather let it all just run out of my head, through my fingers and into the keyboard. What kind of writing is this, anyway? It's not like I'm writing to change anyone's life, to impress the critics or to make a profound statement about life as we don't know it. I just wonder what I can put into words sometimes, just out of curiousity. Maybe it's the kind of writing that works for song lyrics, but even then, history doesn't seem to take any of the music I listen to seriously. Well, maybe that's not true, but it seems like the more obscure artists are the better ones. Why is that?
Anyway, I just like to hear myself talk sometimes. Does that make me selfish? Why yes, it may, but I'll do it anyway. I bought a hat yesterday and I think I might glue it to my head because I like it so much. I overwore it today, and probably will from now on, and in fact I'm wearing it right now because it makes me feel a little more like myself. There's something about a hat like this that makes me feel like I can keep things to myself and it's OK. Kind of like the nail polish thing - don't know if I've mentioned that, I've lately gotten into a habit of wearing obscenely bright nail polish. It was yellow last week, and as much as I loved the yellow it got chipped so I had to clean it off to make way for a new color. Bright green's next - maybe tonight I'll go for it, since I've been waiting for two days to get some color back on the ends of my fingers.
I don't know what exactly my fascination is with these unusual things - first the nails, now the hat - but I like that they're something no one else has. It's a different side of materialism, I guess - not so much quantity as originality. Just stop me if I start doing crazy things like putting up halloween decorations in February... oh wait, I already did that...
Saw a great concert tonight, Matt Nathanson and Ingrid Michaelson. Have a few lyrics...
The Way I Am - Ingrid Michaelson
If you were falling, then I would catch you.
You need a light, I'd find a match.
Cause I love the way you say good morning.
And you take me the way I am.
If you are chilly, here take my sweater.
Your head is aching, I'll make it better.
Cause I love the way you call me baby.
And you take me the way I am.
I'd buy you Rogaine when you start losing all your hair.
Sew on patches to all you tear.
Cause I love you more than I could ever promise.
And you take me the way I am.
You take me the way I am.
You take me the way I am.
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