I encountered a plethora of pleasant surprises today: due to a kind heart and honest character- two characteristics I've never really understood- the man that came to fix a small crack in my car's windshield didn't charge me the fifty dollars I was expecting to pay, and I received my first check which was much larger than expected. Also, I walked with thirty-two dollars today, which isn't bad. I've decided against mowing down every employee and guest at lonestar with an assault riffle at any rate, so in a way decent tippers have preserved my humanity. Hopefully the preservation will hold strong through the night and bless the second half of my double shift with success via beautiful, beautiful money. Huzzah, I say: bills shall be paid.
That is where the elation ends, however, because my eating habits today have been as licentious as ever, marked by random steak fries I skillfully embezzled and devoured during lunch as well as three too many tortillas I ate afterward. I am not hungrier than usual, I simply haven't felt satiated as of late. I have constructed a conspiracy theory to explain this, though it's somewhat of a stupid one. To wit: on Saturday Bryan and I went out for Mexican food and my stomach subsequently stretched thrice its normal size- god, I ate so much food, SO MUCH food; him and I both passed out the moment we came home in a desperate attempt to recover- and the days following have left me feeling hungrier than usual. Therefore, it is all Bryan's fault. Curses on his head!
*shakes a coiled fist at the sky*
Hopefully this period of gluttonous excess will pass soon and I can continue looking tiny. It doesn't help that I work in a restaurant where a fry bin the size of a small house is continually at the ready. I must summon the deep inner strength I've never managed to locate. Surely it is within me somewhere.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
I leave for work in half an hour- I think I do; I forgot to double check my schedule before I left work yesterday, so I'm not too sure- and I'm not too thrilled by the prospects today's lunch holds for me. Yesterday I worked for two and a half hours and, well, the shift didn't exactly make me rich; I walked with two dollars and forty-three cents. I kid you not, two dollars and forty-three cents.
I begin orientation at mimi's on Thursday and can only pray that they have forty hours a week for me so that I can escape the astronomically depressing grasps of Lonestar. We shall see come Thursday, I suppose.
Yesterday I had a lovely evening with Bryan; we started watching the incredibles, which, as I had expected, he adored, and we also rebelliously climbed onto his building's rooftop to watch the sunset cast its red glow on the slums of over-the-rhine. His building manager is finally installing a window fan in his apartment today to ease the annoyance of the unbearable heat and lack of circulation. Bryan has been suffering through sinus infection after sinus infection, poor boy, and hopefully this will help that as well.
Though I have remained quite diligent in my exercise, this past week has been marked by an insatiable craving for sweets and the like, and the scale is just beginning to show it. I've lost weight and am currently sitting pretty at 130. I'd like to stay that way, so I must discipline myself and stop eating when I'm not hungry.
Work beckons me, most unfortunately, so I will go and hope that the spoils render themselves more generously than those of yesterday. Honestly; two dollars and forty-three cents. That won't even buy me a bloody tank of gas.
I begin orientation at mimi's on Thursday and can only pray that they have forty hours a week for me so that I can escape the astronomically depressing grasps of Lonestar. We shall see come Thursday, I suppose.
Yesterday I had a lovely evening with Bryan; we started watching the incredibles, which, as I had expected, he adored, and we also rebelliously climbed onto his building's rooftop to watch the sunset cast its red glow on the slums of over-the-rhine. His building manager is finally installing a window fan in his apartment today to ease the annoyance of the unbearable heat and lack of circulation. Bryan has been suffering through sinus infection after sinus infection, poor boy, and hopefully this will help that as well.
Though I have remained quite diligent in my exercise, this past week has been marked by an insatiable craving for sweets and the like, and the scale is just beginning to show it. I've lost weight and am currently sitting pretty at 130. I'd like to stay that way, so I must discipline myself and stop eating when I'm not hungry.
Work beckons me, most unfortunately, so I will go and hope that the spoils render themselves more generously than those of yesterday. Honestly; two dollars and forty-three cents. That won't even buy me a bloody tank of gas.
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
My employment at Lonestar has brought a couple interesting characteristics of my personality to light:
-I don't like old people.
-I don't like young people.
-I don't like frugal people.
-I don't, generally, like poor people.
-I don't like people who for some inexplicable reason believe in mental math.
Basically, only hungry, middle-aged business men who also happen to be alcoholics and have a preference for lobster should be allowed to leave their houses.
-I don't like old people.
-I don't like young people.
-I don't like frugal people.
-I don't, generally, like poor people.
-I don't like people who for some inexplicable reason believe in mental math.
Basically, only hungry, middle-aged business men who also happen to be alcoholics and have a preference for lobster should be allowed to leave their houses.
For all of you darlings who are bold enough to admit that you, like me, are still confused, I give you clarity.
Today I gave the morning the freedom I usually blockade with chores and errands and time restraints. I lounged in my sleep wear for a bit as I waited for motivation to swell within me; when it never came I contented myself with a leisurely cup of black coffee and a hour or Hesse's Stepenwolf, that, though enjoyed, only received half of my attention due to the occupation aimless thoughts held over my mind. Every twenty minutes or so I found myself pondering last night's dream, tossing the disconnected memories here and there as if I were mulling about in a mysterious pond that failed to spark my interest or concern. I remember leaving for the airport after visiting the house I currently live in, and my father trying to package a bicycle I wished to take with me. I often dream of the airport and the rush of catching a plane, and more than once I've missed it and found myself stranded in the most bizarre lounges and coffee shops, with no task to distract me but the observation of the random, unearthly shapes and colors of my surroundings.
I didn't wish insult the book with a distracted mind, so I set it down on the table next to the chair I was sitting in. I smiled faintly at the sight of it; the cup that had once contained my coffee was now empty and sported dry streaks of the drink that had spilled over the cup during its use, and had tainted the clean facade of the white mug as it ran carelessly down and settled in the saucer beneath. A crumpled granola bar wrapper sat next to it, opposite the corner that had been ripped off and placed on the saucer, and the open, face down book lay close by. The objects completely filled the small end table with that comfortable chaos that so often in life we try to eradicate, yet in the description of our lives we preposterously try to replicate. I was amused to think of the steppenwolf's remarks on bourgeois cleanliness, the admitted admiration yet disdain he felt for the common person's obsession with the small things. My amusement rekindled when I found a basket beneath my bathroom sink that Cindy had placed there to further encourage organization, though she seldom used that particular bathroom, and though the bottles of lotion and scent and product were hidden in such obscure, dusty bowels of the house that only by accident or error could a visitor every discover the objects and the organization their numbers lacked. I obliged her and set my things neatly in a basket and cleaned the rest of the cabinet, dutifully erasing signs of life and movement and disorder that might give evidence that people live in the house. Why is it, I wonder, that our sterile ideals lay so opposite any sort of reality? We are human beings, with interests and occupations, and the spaces that house us should only logically reflect our movements. The virtue of picking up dirty dishes is axiomatic, as is the disposal of trash and wrappers and the such. The determination of some to leave no trace behind, however, leaves me utterly confounded.
The morning has been pleasant but now must unfortunately yield to the necessary distraction of responsibility. I have an interview at 2:30 at mimi's that I hope will bring an end in sight to my employment at Lonestar Steakhouse and Saloon. I accepted a job at Lonestar because they offered to let me serve, and though the experience is valuable it is miserable. Mimi's holds the potential for more money and a better atmosphere, so I am excited and hopeful. I must return to my Texan purgatory at 5:00, however, when my shift begins. Until then I'll be quite busy filling my afternoon with the little things, because I, like every other human being around me, have an obsession with the inane.
I didn't wish insult the book with a distracted mind, so I set it down on the table next to the chair I was sitting in. I smiled faintly at the sight of it; the cup that had once contained my coffee was now empty and sported dry streaks of the drink that had spilled over the cup during its use, and had tainted the clean facade of the white mug as it ran carelessly down and settled in the saucer beneath. A crumpled granola bar wrapper sat next to it, opposite the corner that had been ripped off and placed on the saucer, and the open, face down book lay close by. The objects completely filled the small end table with that comfortable chaos that so often in life we try to eradicate, yet in the description of our lives we preposterously try to replicate. I was amused to think of the steppenwolf's remarks on bourgeois cleanliness, the admitted admiration yet disdain he felt for the common person's obsession with the small things. My amusement rekindled when I found a basket beneath my bathroom sink that Cindy had placed there to further encourage organization, though she seldom used that particular bathroom, and though the bottles of lotion and scent and product were hidden in such obscure, dusty bowels of the house that only by accident or error could a visitor every discover the objects and the organization their numbers lacked. I obliged her and set my things neatly in a basket and cleaned the rest of the cabinet, dutifully erasing signs of life and movement and disorder that might give evidence that people live in the house. Why is it, I wonder, that our sterile ideals lay so opposite any sort of reality? We are human beings, with interests and occupations, and the spaces that house us should only logically reflect our movements. The virtue of picking up dirty dishes is axiomatic, as is the disposal of trash and wrappers and the such. The determination of some to leave no trace behind, however, leaves me utterly confounded.
The morning has been pleasant but now must unfortunately yield to the necessary distraction of responsibility. I have an interview at 2:30 at mimi's that I hope will bring an end in sight to my employment at Lonestar Steakhouse and Saloon. I accepted a job at Lonestar because they offered to let me serve, and though the experience is valuable it is miserable. Mimi's holds the potential for more money and a better atmosphere, so I am excited and hopeful. I must return to my Texan purgatory at 5:00, however, when my shift begins. Until then I'll be quite busy filling my afternoon with the little things, because I, like every other human being around me, have an obsession with the inane.
Friday, June 16, 2006
A long, pleasant conversation with Elisse yesterday brought to light, yet once again, a despondent inadequacy that quietly berates me as I slip into the busy rhythm of the summer, a rhythm defined by the joy and responsibility of work, relationships, and the general upkeep needs that play metronome to my life. Her and I share the frustrations that are concocted when two writers, both dependent on the painfully gained yet seductive edification of their muse, can't find time to write.
We're different, her and I, as is our writing; she understandably takes her work seriously and ferociously toils towards perfection, whereas I, though proud of my talent and the subsequent writing, find joy in the deluge I spill onto the pages on my screen, however incoherent or sloppy, and am a proud addict of raw expression. It is my therapy and the overseer that tames my madness; it slowly organizes a very hyperactive and overwhelmed mind. The final result is at times impressive, and at other times lazy in the most banal of ways, but calming and pleasing all the same. It is sad to look upon my blog and be met only by last month's dates, and even sadder when the lurking realization finally pounces: the thousands of moments that have touched me in the past two fortnights, whether comical or profound in nature, have slipped past me. Inspiration is there; it always is, as is the material and anecdotes that makes the writing process easier- especially when one spends fifty hours a week in the most extreme of all sociological studies: the service industry- yet the unpredictable amount of uninterrupted time is hard to come by. When I am not working, associating with associates, or maintaining the technical details of my life, I am exhausted. After work I creep to the couch, slathered in guilt, and wait to unwind as I sit through mindless programming, anxious to feel creative again and energized. I am always a bit annoyed to find that responsibility always presents itself the moment that energy comes jogging round the corner.
Writing is a hobby and an activity and must be scheduled as such. It is difficult in this world; bills must come before leisure, however necessary and productive the leisure might be, unless you want an angry landlord to come later. Only the master planner gets everything done, and a master planner I am not. A master planner, however, is what I will become. I must. I yearn too desperately for the familiar affection of the keys of my keyboard, as well as the satisfaction I am filled with every time I read the words I have written, be those witty, silly, stupid, misspelled, brilliant or naïve.
We're different, her and I, as is our writing; she understandably takes her work seriously and ferociously toils towards perfection, whereas I, though proud of my talent and the subsequent writing, find joy in the deluge I spill onto the pages on my screen, however incoherent or sloppy, and am a proud addict of raw expression. It is my therapy and the overseer that tames my madness; it slowly organizes a very hyperactive and overwhelmed mind. The final result is at times impressive, and at other times lazy in the most banal of ways, but calming and pleasing all the same. It is sad to look upon my blog and be met only by last month's dates, and even sadder when the lurking realization finally pounces: the thousands of moments that have touched me in the past two fortnights, whether comical or profound in nature, have slipped past me. Inspiration is there; it always is, as is the material and anecdotes that makes the writing process easier- especially when one spends fifty hours a week in the most extreme of all sociological studies: the service industry- yet the unpredictable amount of uninterrupted time is hard to come by. When I am not working, associating with associates, or maintaining the technical details of my life, I am exhausted. After work I creep to the couch, slathered in guilt, and wait to unwind as I sit through mindless programming, anxious to feel creative again and energized. I am always a bit annoyed to find that responsibility always presents itself the moment that energy comes jogging round the corner.
Writing is a hobby and an activity and must be scheduled as such. It is difficult in this world; bills must come before leisure, however necessary and productive the leisure might be, unless you want an angry landlord to come later. Only the master planner gets everything done, and a master planner I am not. A master planner, however, is what I will become. I must. I yearn too desperately for the familiar affection of the keys of my keyboard, as well as the satisfaction I am filled with every time I read the words I have written, be those witty, silly, stupid, misspelled, brilliant or naïve.
Monday, June 05, 2006
Through this space steel beams extend,
racing towards so quickly,
things that lie beyond the end
of these walls that sit around me,
high they soar, sick, thick and bitter,
by night their sight shows faintly,
but come the day they aptly litter
The walls that sit around me
with limpid shadows now observed
that quickly fade to nothing,
nothing but the walls that curve
and thickly sit around me.
The windows cased above this place
frame gray skies discreetly,
through the panes morn is displaced
and softly comes to meet me.
I am in your bed, once again,
indifferently thinking,
of perfection that has found mend,
of the walls that sit around me.
formless, unpoetic joy,
my skin between your bed sheets,
I am here, I won't destroy
the walls that sit around me.
racing towards so quickly,
things that lie beyond the end
of these walls that sit around me,
high they soar, sick, thick and bitter,
by night their sight shows faintly,
but come the day they aptly litter
The walls that sit around me
with limpid shadows now observed
that quickly fade to nothing,
nothing but the walls that curve
and thickly sit around me.
The windows cased above this place
frame gray skies discreetly,
through the panes morn is displaced
and softly comes to meet me.
I am in your bed, once again,
indifferently thinking,
of perfection that has found mend,
of the walls that sit around me.
formless, unpoetic joy,
my skin between your bed sheets,
I am here, I won't destroy
the walls that sit around me.
Sunday, May 21, 2006
The calm that has fled my life these past two weeks is slowly creeping back; moments ago I finished putting my new room together after hours of cleaning, organizing, folding and disposing, and soon, hopefully tomorrow I will have a new job and thus abate my monetary worriments. Today I spent a lazy Sunday afternoon with Bryan and facilely helped him brainstorm the décor of his his apartment, and the ease of the day symbolically finalized the leave of the past fortnight's discord. I have slipped back into my preferred norm as if I were a pond, ready to once again settle after the wind has sent ripples of discomfort and past remembrances up and around my existence. Here things are: simple, minimal, clean and easy, just as I left them, ready to be picked up and put back in place.
Elisse made a rather clever observation while I was back in Zion, one that has occupied my thoughts for a while and has yet to leave me. During my return to salt lake and the discomfort of my life there- a discomfort built by confrontations with my mother, the church, and the inactivity of Salt Lake in general- I was distressed by my incommodious surroundings but survived regardless until the last couple of days; these days were marked by what once could call an emotional breakdown. This emotional breakdown occurred on a public bus, canceled my involvement in a family portrait and lasted for two and a half days. As fervently as I attempted to reassure myself that the instability stemmed from external factors- those being the different atmosphere, sleep deprivation, and a drastic change in eating habits- Elisse brought a simple fact to light: if the tranquility I had found in Cincinnati was truly a byproduct of peace of self as opposed to peace of surrounding, why did it flee the moment I left the city? Why was I still unable to handle the stress of my family and friends in Salt Lake? Has my maturity genuinely grown or have I simply eliminated the aspects of life that challenge my capabilities?
At first this terrified me; for some reason I felt as if all I have acquired this past year had been invalidated, and the peace that I have battled for so desperately is nothing more than self deceit. As I nestle back into my home, however, I realize the contrary; I have removed what I know to be especially bad for me and I've let the rest of my talents flourish. Simply because I have taught myself how to manage necessary stresses does not mean that my life is without stress. As I look back over the past year I realize that my accomplishments are not few; two full semesters completed with a 3.8 and 4.0, work to which I have devoted myself and earned boasting recommendations from two managers at a prestigious restaurant, a relationship that I steadily and healthily nourish, a car that has never, for a single moment, been anything but spotless, and a lifestyle that is consistently orderly. I recognize that though my emotional maturity has grown boundlessly, it is still dwarfed by my youth and my stubbornness. I am growing in many ways, and despite the areas of my personality that still wait for evolution, my life is developing, not stagnating, however comfortable it may appear. Elisse was certainly a strength for me while I was there. It is good to have her, as it always is, and I suppose she helped remind me to take the steps that I need to take to feel fulfilled. We all hold ourselves back in one way or another, and though this will never make us happy we must remember that internal change can only come gradually.
Elisse made a rather clever observation while I was back in Zion, one that has occupied my thoughts for a while and has yet to leave me. During my return to salt lake and the discomfort of my life there- a discomfort built by confrontations with my mother, the church, and the inactivity of Salt Lake in general- I was distressed by my incommodious surroundings but survived regardless until the last couple of days; these days were marked by what once could call an emotional breakdown. This emotional breakdown occurred on a public bus, canceled my involvement in a family portrait and lasted for two and a half days. As fervently as I attempted to reassure myself that the instability stemmed from external factors- those being the different atmosphere, sleep deprivation, and a drastic change in eating habits- Elisse brought a simple fact to light: if the tranquility I had found in Cincinnati was truly a byproduct of peace of self as opposed to peace of surrounding, why did it flee the moment I left the city? Why was I still unable to handle the stress of my family and friends in Salt Lake? Has my maturity genuinely grown or have I simply eliminated the aspects of life that challenge my capabilities?
At first this terrified me; for some reason I felt as if all I have acquired this past year had been invalidated, and the peace that I have battled for so desperately is nothing more than self deceit. As I nestle back into my home, however, I realize the contrary; I have removed what I know to be especially bad for me and I've let the rest of my talents flourish. Simply because I have taught myself how to manage necessary stresses does not mean that my life is without stress. As I look back over the past year I realize that my accomplishments are not few; two full semesters completed with a 3.8 and 4.0, work to which I have devoted myself and earned boasting recommendations from two managers at a prestigious restaurant, a relationship that I steadily and healthily nourish, a car that has never, for a single moment, been anything but spotless, and a lifestyle that is consistently orderly. I recognize that though my emotional maturity has grown boundlessly, it is still dwarfed by my youth and my stubbornness. I am growing in many ways, and despite the areas of my personality that still wait for evolution, my life is developing, not stagnating, however comfortable it may appear. Elisse was certainly a strength for me while I was there. It is good to have her, as it always is, and I suppose she helped remind me to take the steps that I need to take to feel fulfilled. We all hold ourselves back in one way or another, and though this will never make us happy we must remember that internal change can only come gradually.
Saturday, May 20, 2006
Contrary to popular opinion, I am alive and well. I went to Salt Lake and returned three days ago with many, many stories yet little to say. Perhaps I'll write about it sometime, perhaps not. We shall see, dear readers.
This evening I accompanied dad and Cindy to yet another fabulous Over The Rhine concert. With the exception of the alarmingly low temperature in the auditorium, everything was perfect, as expected.
Today I also went job hunting. I'll be the first to admit it: I've been careless lately. I figured it was safe to quit the Chart House without another job lined up because I didn't feel like getting shifts covered for my trip to salt lake. I now have a grand thirty-four dollars to my name. Granted, I don't have any bills coming up soon, but it takes more than thirty-four dollars to fill up my car, which currently has an empty tank. Even if I find a job immediately, I probably won't see any money for a week or so. I'll be fine, I suppose- I wouldn't say otherwise, regardless, because what will benefit me now more than anything is blind optimism, so thus is my choice- but I hate cutting things so close. The following indulgences with have to be forsaken for the next fortnight: spontaneous outings for coffee, food, parking meters, and gas. My frugality shall prevail!
This evening I accompanied dad and Cindy to yet another fabulous Over The Rhine concert. With the exception of the alarmingly low temperature in the auditorium, everything was perfect, as expected.
Today I also went job hunting. I'll be the first to admit it: I've been careless lately. I figured it was safe to quit the Chart House without another job lined up because I didn't feel like getting shifts covered for my trip to salt lake. I now have a grand thirty-four dollars to my name. Granted, I don't have any bills coming up soon, but it takes more than thirty-four dollars to fill up my car, which currently has an empty tank. Even if I find a job immediately, I probably won't see any money for a week or so. I'll be fine, I suppose- I wouldn't say otherwise, regardless, because what will benefit me now more than anything is blind optimism, so thus is my choice- but I hate cutting things so close. The following indulgences with have to be forsaken for the next fortnight: spontaneous outings for coffee, food, parking meters, and gas. My frugality shall prevail!
Friday, May 05, 2006
I suppose the declaration that I shot myself in the foot numerous times this week is not exactly a true one, but only because it might misguidedly suggest that I still have feet left, which, unfortunately, is not the case. As I look down at the smoldering, twisted and alarmingly small stumps of burnt flesh that sit ungainly where my feet once were I realize that they unmistakably no longer qualify as normal human appendages. Toes are a concept of the past now unbeknownst to me, and the revolting agglomeration of exposed bone and blue, budging veins that perch on the end of my legs have forever whisked away the delight of fun, strappy heels. To wit:
-I thought I had exempted myself from the final exam in my race and gender class. But alas! To my horror and explosive fury I was informed that an 89.7% is not an A in the lurid, illogical mind of a certain professor Binney. Thus I was forced to write a seven-page discourse on the three branches of government and explain which is most beneficial to the civil rights of African Americans. I haven't attended class in two weeks and no longer have the book we were supposed to use as our main resource. I finished the paper fifteen minutes ago, but I want you to know that if I believed in such a place and had the necessary power, I would send our dear professor Binney straight to hell. And make him wear plaid high waters and a wicker sports bra while rubbing Donald Rumsfeld's disgusting feet. FOREVER.
-On Wednesday I unloaded four pages of sociological bullshit on my history of aviation essay. I could have skillfully answered the question with material that was actually relevant. I am a dumb ass, however, so I ranted about biological determinism instead. Regrettably, Only upon recollection did I realize my state of eternal dumbassness.
-I was given a $134 speeding ticket for driving 24 mph over the speed limit on what is notoriously known as the most harshly patrolled stretch of highway in Ohio. God, I know I'm a dumb ass, okay? Just leave me alone. Leave me and my sad little pulverized feet alone.
While reading this please keep in mind that it is 2:30 in the morning, and that any spelling error and/or complete incoherence should be attributed to the ungodly hour of the morn. Or the fact that I'm a complete dumb ass. Either one, really, should be able to explain my inability to function normally.
-I thought I had exempted myself from the final exam in my race and gender class. But alas! To my horror and explosive fury I was informed that an 89.7% is not an A in the lurid, illogical mind of a certain professor Binney. Thus I was forced to write a seven-page discourse on the three branches of government and explain which is most beneficial to the civil rights of African Americans. I haven't attended class in two weeks and no longer have the book we were supposed to use as our main resource. I finished the paper fifteen minutes ago, but I want you to know that if I believed in such a place and had the necessary power, I would send our dear professor Binney straight to hell. And make him wear plaid high waters and a wicker sports bra while rubbing Donald Rumsfeld's disgusting feet. FOREVER.
-On Wednesday I unloaded four pages of sociological bullshit on my history of aviation essay. I could have skillfully answered the question with material that was actually relevant. I am a dumb ass, however, so I ranted about biological determinism instead. Regrettably, Only upon recollection did I realize my state of eternal dumbassness.
-I was given a $134 speeding ticket for driving 24 mph over the speed limit on what is notoriously known as the most harshly patrolled stretch of highway in Ohio. God, I know I'm a dumb ass, okay? Just leave me alone. Leave me and my sad little pulverized feet alone.
While reading this please keep in mind that it is 2:30 in the morning, and that any spelling error and/or complete incoherence should be attributed to the ungodly hour of the morn. Or the fact that I'm a complete dumb ass. Either one, really, should be able to explain my inability to function normally.
Friday, April 28, 2006
Thursday, April 27, 2006
This just in:
- This fabulous wine and coffee shop has tango dancing every Thursdays, and I think Bryan and I might attend tonight. We're becoming very involved in the dance, and have been dancing for... 14 weeks? Already? Huh. So we have. Feels as if we started yesterday, but we're learning ocho and ocho milongero and are easily the best in the class. The class of a whole wopping three couples.
- Today I travel up to my father's house to practice piano and bask in the sunlight. Huzzah.
- I think I am developing an eye infection.
That is all.
- This fabulous wine and coffee shop has tango dancing every Thursdays, and I think Bryan and I might attend tonight. We're becoming very involved in the dance, and have been dancing for... 14 weeks? Already? Huh. So we have. Feels as if we started yesterday, but we're learning ocho and ocho milongero and are easily the best in the class. The class of a whole wopping three couples.
- Today I travel up to my father's house to practice piano and bask in the sunlight. Huzzah.
- I think I am developing an eye infection.
That is all.
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
My classes are coming to conclusion rather abruptly; it seems as if my eyelashes had barely brushed my cheek but once to blink, and suddenly I’m completely finished with all classes but two. I have exempted myself from my race and gender final as well as my art history final by averaging over a ninety-six on my previous exams, and my honors composition class hasn’t a final or concluding activity, thank god. The two finals that I do have to take are in my History of Aviation class and my American History class, unfortunately, so I will have to commit myself to refraining from mixing up dates and facts. I’m not too worried about either final, however, and I have the beginning of next week to prepare for both, so the pressure one would normally expect from finals week is completely nonexistent.
I don’t mourn the absence of absolute bedlam in my last week at this university, but this chapter of my life is coming to a close so silently and composedly that I don’t quite know what to think. Even though this period of my life is characterized by several adjustments and changes- changing universities and beginning anew at the DAAP program, moving thirty minutes northward into my father’s new house and finding a new job accordingly- the lack of disruption in my life is unsettling. Though I have not yet left northern Kentucky, the comfort provided by the knowledge of the visual features of the town has already begun to subside as if high tide has come and now must go, and the snug complacency that once washed over me is creeping back to its mother ocean and the individuals chosen to enjoy it. My father’s house is empty and therefore different, and the thrill of having my own space is overwhelmed by the calloused touch of a couch that is never sat on and the absence of the noises of my father’s tinkering in the basement. I am a creature of comfort, but my emotional ties are proving more flexible that I thought them to be. I can always visit past places and therefore must not mourn transition; Schneider’s Ice cream parlor will still be in Bellevue even though I am not. It will not be the same, of course, as it once was, but that is the nature of change and progression. We would be foolish to cling forever to certain periods of our lives, for all moments in time were born simply to change and define us and to then end.
I don’t mourn the absence of absolute bedlam in my last week at this university, but this chapter of my life is coming to a close so silently and composedly that I don’t quite know what to think. Even though this period of my life is characterized by several adjustments and changes- changing universities and beginning anew at the DAAP program, moving thirty minutes northward into my father’s new house and finding a new job accordingly- the lack of disruption in my life is unsettling. Though I have not yet left northern Kentucky, the comfort provided by the knowledge of the visual features of the town has already begun to subside as if high tide has come and now must go, and the snug complacency that once washed over me is creeping back to its mother ocean and the individuals chosen to enjoy it. My father’s house is empty and therefore different, and the thrill of having my own space is overwhelmed by the calloused touch of a couch that is never sat on and the absence of the noises of my father’s tinkering in the basement. I am a creature of comfort, but my emotional ties are proving more flexible that I thought them to be. I can always visit past places and therefore must not mourn transition; Schneider’s Ice cream parlor will still be in Bellevue even though I am not. It will not be the same, of course, as it once was, but that is the nature of change and progression. We would be foolish to cling forever to certain periods of our lives, for all moments in time were born simply to change and define us and to then end.
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