emo emo emo

I was about this close to selecting the "Georgia" font, because that's the font my boss asked us to consistently use at work. And then I thought, you know what? Fuck it. I'm not at work. And I'm fucking tired of Georgia.

I wrote a whole other post about 30 minutes ago, and decided it wasn't right. Not only was it bad writing, but it was the tritest shite I've probably ever written. In truth, it was mostly related to faith and how we know what is real or not. Honestly, who hasn't had those thoughts? So who would want to read a whole blog post about doubts? The funny thing is, it's related to one of my oldest posts.

For the majority of my childhood, my mantra (if you want to call it that) was honesty, open commentary, and direct communication. Going with your feelings. Believing what you feel. Using it. I got older, and like most people, I decided that feelings aren't everything, and that impulse shouldn't be the main reason behind every action one takes (don't get me wrong, a little impulse can be good for you).

Two years ago, I experienced the two most lucid days of my entire life. In the midst of this clarity of mind, I wrote about it and I'm so grateful that I did, because I don't think I would still really understand it if I hadn't. I had a revelation in which I determined that feelings "accompany a present logic, justifying it." Amusingly enough, the whole post that I just wrote tonight had something to do with how I wasn't sure I could trust any feelings to justify my faith, and that maybe everything is a big chemical reaction within my brain. Again, I hate writing things like this, because it seems so typical and I feel like a debbie downer.

I was feeling so emo for a while today, too. I was looking around at all these middle-aged people in a horribly bad mood, trying to figure out what they're doing, going behind each others' backs, gossiping, complaining about one another . . . and I just couldn't take it anymore. The mere instance of someone speaking aloud while I was trying to concentrate took me to the brink. (Of what, I don't know. Probably just leaving the room. Which is what I did.) So I went downstairs to get a can of Diet Vernor's (see 17 Sept 2009 for reference), and they were all sold out. W. . . T . . .F? I'm pretty sure I'm the only person who ever buys it. I once made fun of Diet Vernor's, but I have to say that the Diet version has a way better can than the regular Vernor's.  As always people, we report, you decide.

what to write, what to write?

I never really know. I want to write a book about the Hundred Years' War, but there isn't enough time for that right now.

I've been wondering why the house of Caesar Augustus had to be so darn confusing and full of people who were married three times and had several adopted children.

That's about it. I have to go to the store of liquid gold now. Bye!

my pumpkin!

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Spooktastic!

A sign from the haunted statehouse tour earlier this month
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year(s) in review, and thoughts on being "challenged"

So I just read through some of my older posts and am fairly impressed with my command of the English language.

And now for something completely different!

I'm very excited for Halloween and my costume is going to be fantastic. It involves a lot of gold and black, or at least I expect it to at the moment. I have a vision.

Tomorrow I will be a vision of crispness because I just used some pretty effective starch throughout the course of this evening's ironing party. Ironing is something that I always leave to do in the morning, because I always plan to be up and moving earlier than I am actually physically capable of. I have written extensively on this topic. So of course, my white shirts (of which I have probably gone through dozens in the past couple of years from the sheer amount of time I spend wearing white button-down shirts) are rarely pressed with any extreme amount of attention, my makeup consists of making sure I don't look like a zombie, and whatever time is left is spent on making sure that my hair isn't going in some wild direction.

I hate it. I hate having to get up so early, because when I don't have the time to polish, the day just doesn't go as well. Call me high maintenance. I mean . . . I am high maintenance. But at least I have come to a realization of how much maintenance I require. The amount of time I spend getting ready has to do with the fact that I am a detail-oriented and/or perfectionist-type person by nature, combined with laziness because I am always sleep-deprived. Something as simple as getting ready for work is a major task because I have a certain routine I like to follow, and I am completing the routine almost as if I were a zombie. Who are we kidding? I am a zombie.

I have become convinced that the world is against us. "Us" is a people who simply cannot go to bed before, say, 11:00pm on a regular basis, and who also require at least 10 hours of sleep to be truly happy in life. We live amongst you and are generally undetected, if not for the bloodshot eyes and the listless, dazed expressions we wear. We (the royal "we") are chrono-impaired. Challenged, if you will. If I could go to bed, say, right now (approximately 12:10am) every night and wake up around 9 or 10, I would be springing out of bed, bright eyed and exhilarated! Ready to go!

But it is actually not to be; not until I am an author who has sold millions of books and can self-regulate and/or help to raise awareness for our disability. Until then, working hours will begin at painful times and my productivity will peak when everyone is leaving for the day. The time I am ready for breakfast most people would refer to as brunch on a Sunday; lunch would be at 3 or 4pm, and dinner would fall in around 9. Shops will close when I'm ready to do my errands (with the exception of Kroger). And etc.

I could go on and on . . . but I won't. I'm sorry, you will have to be deprived of my witticisms on this topic henceforth.

After all, it is time for bed. And I must make up for my physical impairment with as much rest as possible.

blogging.. writing.. now..

This is a blog. I am eating the last bite of my ice cream. I am also ironing clothes for work tomorrow. My life is riveting.

I know you are dying. Dying for more information. Something... To sink your teeth into. Do not fear, my dear reader, for it shall be granted. I beg your patience. Prithee return within the hour hence and I shall write again.

Tralala.
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this is a post

It is a beautiful day today. I'm happy that it's brisk outside and that I can wear coats and scarves again, because they keep me warm, cozy, and happy. Kind of like when I'm in my bed.

Speaking of my bed . . . when I woke up today, I discovered that there were some little red bumps on my right hand. I pursued the matter further and found that there were more bumps all over both of my hands and wrists. It appears that in my sleep a spider bit me about thirty times. I'm not exaggerating . . . there are over thirty little bite marks on the backs of my hands. Fortunately, they look better now. Unfortunately, there was a spider in my bed while I was sleeping. That is incredibly disturbing. How large? How hairy? How menacing? Did it crawl into my mouth, or my hair? We will never know.

The weekend went much too quickly, as weekends are wont to do. I think I shall now select a film and enjoy some domestic activities whilst I watch, like cleaning and preparing dinner.

blue

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coffee

I want coffee, but not just a cup of coffee. I want to go somewhere in the middle of the day with my best friend and sit watching the rain outside, holding our warm cups in our hands, talking, reading, writing.

enough said

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inspiration

I'm logged into aim, I've got Beowulf lying open on my bed, and I want to stay up all night. How typical of me, four years ago. If only my co-author was around and I was sitting at McDonald's with a cup of French Vanilla. . .

We have heard of those heroic campaigns.

But alas, I'm about to sign off and go to sleep because I'm exhausted and no one else seems to be awake anyway (lame). I had a wonderful day today, but when I was driving home, I felt this anxiety like I had forgotten to do something. I think I'm accustomed to having constant homework or papers to write. This must be similar to phantom pain when one loses a limb. Speaking of pain, my toes hurt. I think I really messed up my big toe, or at least bruised it badly. I swung a heavy metal door open today and hit my foot so hard I actually doubled over in pain. I don't know what that was about. Then again, I am the girl who dislocated a knee getting into a van. It doesn't get much more uncoordinated than that.

Behaviour that's admired is the path to power among people everywhere.

Another of my friends is engaged to be married.

She was Onela's queen, a balm to the battle-scarred Swede.

I had a very gooey browney for desert this evening. It was sublime.

An attendant stood by

with a decorated pitcher, pouring bright

helpings of mead.

Hrrrrrrrothgar was not Purrrrrrrsian, but he definitely wanted to be.

Hrothgar spoke.

Selig sind, die da Leid tragen.

Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted. They that sow in tears shall reap in joy. They that go forth and weep, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing their sheaves with them. For all flesh is as grass, and all the glory of man as the flower of grass. The grass withers, and the flower thereof falleth away. Be patient, therefore, brethren, unto the coming of the Lord. Behold, the husbandman waiteth for the precious fruit of the earth, and has long patience for it, until he receive the morning and evening rain. But the word of the Lord endureth for ever. And the ransomed of the Lord shall return, and come to Zion with songs and everlasting joy upon their heads: they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away. Lord, make me to know mine end, and the measure of my days, what it is: that I may know how frail I am. Behold, thou hast made my days as an handbreath; and mine age is as nothing before thee. Surely every man walks in a vain show: surely they are disquieted in vain: he heaps up riches, and knows not who shall gather them. And now, Lord, what wait I for? My hope is in thee. The souls of the righteous are in the hand of God and there shall no torment touch them. How lovely are thy tabernacles, O Lord of hosts! My soul longs, yea, even faints for the courts of the Lord: my heart and my flesh cries out for the living God. Blessed are they that dwell in thy house: they will always be praising thee. And ye now therefore have sorrow: but I will see you again, and your heart shall rejoice, and your joy no man taketh from you. Behold with your eyes, how that I have but little labour, and have gotten unto me much rest. As one whom his mother comforts, so will I comfort you. For here have we no continuing city, but we seek one to come. Behold, I show you a mystery: we shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump: for the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed. Then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up in victory. O Death, where is thy sting? Oh grave, where is thy victory? Thou art worthy, O Lord, to receive glory and honour and power: for thou hast created all things, and for thy pleasure they are and were created. Blessed are the dead, which die in the Lord, from henceforth. Yea, says the Spirit, that they may rest from their labours; and their works do follow them. Selig sind, die da Leid tragen. Selig sind die Toten.

a haiku for you

The night sky indigo blue,
A corner window
Lit only by the moonlight.
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so late

I think I have developed an allergy. To sleep. I just can't do it. I'm tired enough, but when I lay down I can't stop thinking about everything I need to do. I'm worried about the future and I wish it were as simple as choosing my first classes for graduate school, but it just isn't right now. Everyone else I know is excited to graduate and has made marvelous plans and belongs somewhere, and I am stuck in limbo and I feel like a failure. Worse, I feel like this is something I might have prevented had I worked harder or done something different in the past year. Maybe I could have thought ahead more, but I suppose it just became somewhat difficult to care when I was worried about other things, like writing stupid essays that never seem to end, or who knows what else. Everything that keeps me up at night is probably my own fault. And I think that I could have done so much better as a student over the past four years. I'm hardly failing, it's just that I have put so much effort into things that turn out to be average, and others have this gift for putting minimal effort into projects that receive perfect grades. I used to be like that! I graduated from high school with a golden cord around my neck and now I'm just one person in a crowd of thousands. I am guilty of not really contributing as much as I should have, and I feel a lot of regret right now, and it kills me to think about it. I put so much effort and energy into high school that I just forgot to care about my resume or my "record" and now I'm average. I don't want to be like this. I want to be the kind of woman that surprises people and excels. I want to go back to school and learn and be a credit to everything I'm part of. I don't know what's wrong with me. Maybe it's just that I am only accountable to myself, and the only place where I learn anything anymore is at work.
I write over and over about the same frustrations and distractions. I just feel stuck and regretful when the sun goes down. And to be honest, I haven't felt this discumbulated in weeks. Hopefully I will hear good news about a second interview soon and things will look a bit less bleak.
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horrible nightmare

The past couple of mornings I have had that thing when you are deep in sleep and the alarm becomes part of the dream until your body finally realizes that it is annoying and it's time to wake up. There have been times when I look at the clock and see that it has been as long as ten minutes before I wake up, simply because I am still dreaming. This morning was the worst. I started dreaming that my alarm clock went off and I hit snooze a bunch, but then I was trying to actually turn it off. And it wouldn't. I even took it apart and started yanking pieces of it out, and I unplugged it and it still wouldn't die. BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP over and over and over! It was awful. I finally woke up, but hope this never happens again.
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striving for excellence?

I think my favorite part of the quarter has got to be the syllabus day.  What other day can you sit in a classroom listening to someone talk to you about how to get a good grade in his class.  I love it when this person suddenly floats into the clouds, pontificating on the merits of "striving for excellence" in his class, of "succeeding" in his class, of "giving it every ounce of effort."

Is this a joke?

Please.  Striving for excellence?  Didn't these words mean something once?  Didn't they apply to serving the community, or finishing a project that you love?  Or learning something new?  Now, "striving for excellence" has been reduced to earning points on quizes and papers.  I can hardly contain myself.  The classroom is not the whole world.  And I'm not even bitter about any of it.  Today, sitting in my ridiculous class, I realized that I outgrew the purpose of undergraduate education long ago, and I feel good about that.  I think almost everyone I know has outgrown it, and we're glad to be done wasting our time.

On a lighter note, my schedule changed about five times this morning.  Now I think it's set.

we end

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

T.S. Eliot
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for your soul

I think that everyone needs a little Rilke now and then.  I know I do.  So I post here, with apologies, a really fantastic poem.

Childhood

It would be good to give much thought, before

you try to find words for something so lost,

for those long childhood afternoons you knew

that vanished so completely - and why?

We're still reminded: sometimes by a rain,

but we can no longer say what it means;

life was never again so filled with meeting,

with reunion and with passing on

as back then, when nothing happened to us

except what happens to things and creatures:

we lived their world as something human,

and became filled to the brim with figures.

And became as lonely as a shepherd

and as overburdened by vast distances,

and summoned and stirred as from far away,

and slowly, like a long new thread,

introduced into that picture-sequence

where now having to go on bewilders us.

48 Hours

It's finals week, obviously.  And I wish I could say that it's an easy finals week and that I'm calm about it, but I think that my usual sense of security has actually freaked me out a bit.  So now I'm worrying that I haven't studied enough or learned enough this quarter to do well.  I'm worried I haven't paid enough attention in general.  I suppose I just mostly feel kind of lost.

I think that reading more Astronomy things on my own time haven't helped this feeling of listlessness.  All of the cosmology is just starting to freak out my brain and I can't take it all in.  Most people know how much I love science and learning about astrophysics, but it's honestly just starting to mess with my mind.  And I know this sounds stupid, like just put down the book already, but it happened before I saw it coming.  So now I'm just floating around trying to remember insane crap about Central Asia.

I was having a really amazing conversation with someone today who asked me what finals I have tomorrow.  We ended up talking about American history and culture for about an hour, and I honestly feel like I've learned a lot and I'm just ready to graduate.  I was shocked at the things coming out of my mouth, because usually I'm so afraid of sounding ridiculous when I talk about my supposed "specialty."  It unnerves me when people ask me really unbelieveably specific questions about History and I never seem to know the answer, which makes me feel just so unintelligent.  But I've seemed to reach that point where undergrad means basically nothing to me.  There are good profs here and there, and good lectures here and there, but mostly, it's just completely useless.  Papers papers papers.  Blah blah blah.  Let's write five pages about something people spend their lives writing about.  Please . . . right?  Let's just get on with our lives.

I complain about the same basic things over and over, I know.  It's just on my mind a lot and the fact that my brain is freaking out about the universe and time right now, it's not helping.  I'm serious about the universe stuff.  I've been reading more about time lately, and my whole perspective of what time actually is has shifted.

I just wrote three paragraphs of a story that I would like to post in the brothers but I'm not sure it's good.  I like the writing, but I think the story is probably silly.  I'm wondering when the creator might unleash his visionary power and post something himself, because I have been looking forward to it for quite some time.

i have so much to do...

As the subject implies, this will be the most hellish day of the quarter, as I must finish up two essays for tomorrow. One is a research paper, which sucks.

On Thursday after class I'm just going to stumble out of class and curl up on the nearest bench for a nap, because I probably won't be able to make it back to my apartment immediately.

In other news, if you haven't read anything by Augusten Burroughs, I highly recommend that you do. It's very similar to David Sedaris, in that the books are so good you can't leave them at home, but you inevitably laugh a lot in public when you are reading. Having something light to read (both in the cheerful sense and the academic sense) is usually a good idea for me when in the midst of writing for class, so I don't go insane.

Ok, here I go.
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