A goodbye?

As trendy and endearing as she might be (endearing in the “dear god, that poor woman” way), Ke$ha got at least one thing profoundly right, when she proclaimed that we r who we r [sic]. It’s good to know that someone, somewhere, is adhering to Aristotle’s principles, though maybe her means of conveying them are… different. I’ve been listening to We the Living a lot, again. Even slightly before I found out that they had disbanded. I think I find a new layer, and a new perspective of each line of lyrics with each listen; and if I listen carefully, I can discern minute changes in patterns of each instrument, or a rising string of notes (forgive me, my musical vocabulary is very limited; I’m sure there’s a technical term).  It’s cathartic.

What’s the point of a blog for your personal thoughts, if you’re too concerned about those reading being those described to spill the beans on things you’re thinking about? It’s probably just a receptacle for memes and context-less emotions. If what I say has to be self-censored out of courtesy, then the point of managing and arranging my thoughts in tangible (well, semi-tangible. this is the internet.) form is thrown out the window. So, I’m only half-heartedly spilling myself into text boxes, leaving out interesting tidbits and anecdotes so that someone, somewhere, won’t know too much about my personal life, or the personal lives of those nearest to me. To summarize: I’m sharing my personal thoughts, and filtering out anything that might be too personal. Maybe that’s the done thing these days, but I dislike the layer of editing that goes into it. That being said, I may end up closing this blog sometime soon, and just keep a diary, or a bunch of Word documents, or something. Blogging is meant to be read, and some of my thoughts just… are too private, thanks. No really, it’s me, not you. I get that now, and I realize it’s probably not what I wanted to begin with.

Thanks for being here with me, though. It’s been… interesting.

Vogue

Secretly, I really want someone to gift me a subscription to Vogue magazine. Not because I’m into cross-dressing, make-up, or heels, I just really like the style it puts out there (most of the time; there are a couple of designers I can’t stand). Wanna make my Christmas? This’ll do perfectly.

What the fuck does “You’re respectable” even mean?

Title Here

I’ve done it again.

It feels strangely invasive. A better word is probably compromising.

No, it’s not about that. Jeez.

I’m talking about what I call Implants. It’s where I take a person who’s very near and dear to me, and insert them into my memories of certain events, without being aware of it. My most notable case being that of Ian. He’s told me numerous times that “No, I wasn’t at that movie with you…,” and “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” In my mind, he’s quite clearly there. I might even be able to rattle off something he said. But because he’s denied it (and other people have agreed that he was not, in fact, present) there’s just this huge question mark hanging above the entire memory. It doesn’t instantly dissolve and correct itself to not include him, it just kind of… branches, if that makes sense. I can see the night clearly both with and without him. It kind of made me wonder whether I’ve done that with other people.

Turns out, I have. Congratulations, Dani! You’re officially one of my Implants. I would have sworn I knew you while I was still in high school, as far back as late junior, early senior year. I thought you’d helped me out once or twice in my Classic Literature I & II courses, and distinctly recall vivid WTL discussions. According to facebook, though, we’ve only really been friends since August of last year. So… oops.

I realize that these are most likely unrelated (though unsettling) coincidences, but I still don’t like them. Imagine thinking you had an amazing childhood, full of fun and adventure. Then you realize that what you thought was your childhood was just a mental escape from the abuse and fear you experienced in your tumultuous early years. Now turn down the intensity by at least sixty percent. That’s about what I’m going through.

Jon and I have been together for two months.

The semester’s almost over?

It’s really, really, disgustingly late.

Sergei Rachmaninoff

I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit on this much longer. I’m going to pick these ideas whether or not they’re ripe, comma dammit exclamation point!

As the time nears for me to register, I’ve had to make some adjustments to my predicted schedule. As it was, I was going to be taking Arabic, German Lit., Scandinavian Mythology, and Early Modern Political Thought, but the last class seems to be full, so I’ve swapped it out for Middle High German. Which means… I’m going to have three language classes next semester. Holy shit. But that’s what I want. I’m just glad that I’m finally getting it. Colon Capital-Dee!

It also means that every Monday, Wednesday and Friday I’ll be up and kickin’ at nine. I’m sure I’ll curse myself every day because of this, but whatevs. It means I’ll probably be able to get that much more done, since it’s my only MWF class.

I’ve talked to Lacey about my recurring dream, and I feel like I’ve got a pretty good handle on the situation. I need to make a mental note to talk to people I like more often, this was a welcome respite. Neither Saturday nor Sunday did I leave my building. And when I left my floor, it was to get the mail, and to eat… but this isn’t even that uncommon.

I failed my Statistics quiz today. That’s not even a hyperbole. I didn’t provide an answer for eight points out of twenty. I showed some work, the first steps to solving it, but that’s the best I could do. In preparing for it, I had had three areas I wasn’t particularly keen on, but thought I knew fairly well. That was literally all the quiz was about. Those three things. The difference of sample means, the gamma distribution, and the sample mean and variance proofs.

I’m going to show them, next quiz. Not only will I fully understand the relevant problem sets, I’m also going to entirely redo these ones. This shit will not beat me.

For some reason, I’ve been having issues sleeping. It used to take two, three minutes for me to drift off, but last night and the night before took over an hour. I wish there was some kind of technique to falling asleep quickly, I’m not entirely sure how I’ve done it these last few years.

Potential job opportunity? I’m (hopefully) going to get an application for Rainforest Cafe soon, as a host, from a friend. And… with my work-friendly schedule next semester (MWF available from ten AM to whenever, plus weekends) I’m getting my hopes up that this is actually going to work. I could really use the money…

Sergei Rachmaninoff is pretty damn rad, let me tell you. Excellent music to get stuff done by.

Not Yet Ripe

I haven’t been giving this the attention it needs. Things are happening, thoughts are being thought, and developments are occurring, I promise. They just might not all make it here. Like, for instance, this recurring dream I have. I’m most definitely not going to tell you what it’s about, but I will tell you I’m slightly bothered by it. It’s telling me things I already knew, and I guess it’s bringing them to my conscious attention, but that doesn’t make them any more pleasant. Plus, it’s not like I can do anything about it. Anyway, enough dancing around the bush.

Next semester is going to be a bit of a bitch. Mondays and Wednesdays I’m going to have a political science course about early modern political thought (think Enlightenment) in the afternoon, and I have Fridays free. Tuesdays and Thursdays I’ll have three two-hour classes, which may… end up being a pain, but it’s not too bad. Intermediate Arabic II, German Literature, and Scandinavian Mythology. I’m really, really looking forward to Mythology, I’ve always preferred the Norse tales to the Greek ones, and I hope it turns out to be as awesome as it should be.

Well, fancy that. I come here thinking I’d spill a whole bunch of thoughts and things, and every thought I want to drop doesn’t feel ripe. Ah, well. I’ll try again, soon.

New Summer

Let it be known that this is the true Summer. This is where I lounge, miniscule numbers/intensity of academic obligations, gallons of tea, books, Dido, Regina Spektor, and alone time. I got a glimpse of this in the early stages of gardening over the summer, but after awhile I slipped back into bad habits – sleeping late, irritability, preoccupation with work while at home, and with preoccupation with being at home while at work. I have desires, once again. I want to learn, I want to master Arabic, I want to know more about Linguistics. I want to spend time with my boyfriend. I want to know what the hell my roommate does when he isn’t in the room five nights out of the week. But mostly I just want to not be so ridiculously poor. Did I even work over the summer? Christ, you wouldn’t think so. Whatever. I’ve cut the coffee out of my budget. I’ll continue applying places. I’ll submit to that short story contest Dani told me about. Dammit, if I have to work at Jimmy John’s, I will.

I would like to note that this isn’t entirely necessary – I probably actually do have the means to survive the year very well indeed, financially, I just don’t want to resort to that. Call it the Conservative Guilt hanging behind me, but I can’t handle spending money without making any at all.

What an inconvenient time for a recession. I mean, I had to give up my fucking lattes.

Teeny Tiny Post

I’ve been meaning to write a post for the last couple weeks, but I haven’t had just the right mood, or enough time to sit down and pound one out. I think I’ll be able to, tonight.

I’ve thought a lot about my Statistics course, and about my potential minor in the subject, and how it will affect my future. Considering my aspirations lie in the direction of lawyery, I don’t see mathematics as an integral part of my future job description. And if my current course is anything to go by, it would be an extremely rigorous, and impractical choice of a minor. For these reasons, I began to wonder what else could fill up the time I had allotted statistics. It came to me then, that many of my future colleagues will have Political Science as their undergraduate major or minor, because of the relevance to our field. This led to considering a minor in Poli Sci, which I’m actually going to discuss with my academic advisor soon-ish about. A wise decision, I think this will be. I’m kind of giddy about the possibilities, to tell the truth.

I have a boyfriend, finally. It feels so incredibly relieving to be able to say that. I’ve been single, or semi-single for longer than a year. Too long, in my opinion.

Life is good.

Espresso and and and Packing!

Today I purchased an espresso machine. I have spent the evening practicing with it. I have perfected hot espresso/cold milk, but haven’t quite got the knack of steamed milk. Working on it. Seedless to nay (as I spoonerism-ly quote Yahtzee Croshaw) I’ve had more caffeine in the last four hours than in the entirety of the last two weeks. And I feel it. Good lord, do I ever feel it. I’ve never been all that seriously affected by caffeine. I’d enjoy the taste, but jitters or pep I ne’er received. Both I now have. English grammar do not my sentences unfortunately hold. Ahh! I’ll probably crash tonight while working. I’ll be zooming through an order, and fall head first into the cabbage, asleep before you could blink in alarm. And I have to say goodbye to the marvelous woman who gets my coffee at Fireside Cafe once I’m done, seeing as I leave early Sunday, so I’ll have even more coffee after work. Ahh! Once I get to my dorm, though, I still won’t have any time to rest. I must apply for jobs, meet people, visit friends, go on a date, meet Sam (roommate), go to the Lady Gaga concert, have Al’s Breakfast, and go to the state fair! All in the course of a couple days. Ahh! Why didn’t I start packing sooner?! Why am I so excited to be done with work? Does the espresso have anything to do with it? Do you say it “Eh-spress-oh,” or “Express-oh?” Does it matter? When do I get a chance to watch Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead again, in order to laugh at the game of questions they play on a tennis court? Will I get the desk by the window in my new room? Will we have an agreement not to put a desk by the window, and instead put a chair, or a television? Will Sam be identical to Ian? Will that be a good thing? Do you like hearing my thoughts in question form? When will I start a new paragraph?

Right about now. Right now. As I finally take a mental breath. I don’t know if Zero Punctuation and espresso go well together, my mind runs about as fast as his voice goes. In particular, I’ve got his review of Heavy Rain in my head. I bought Indigo Prophecy because of that review, actually. I only wish I had a system HR would be playable upon. Ahh! I have to pee again!

Back. And ready to link that sucker up to you. Assuming I can find it on Youtube.

Your kids come home. You play with your kids. THEN YOU STAB YOUR KIDS WITH A KNIFE.

Time to get ready for work. I’ll probably post something in another couple of days, I feel like I’ll have a lot to say.

Gail Wynand

Today I met a man who will forever be my mental image of the man Gail Wynand. He is a media mogul in the world of The Fountainhead, and has the face and air of a roman patriarch. Royalty, firmness, strength, dignity. He was slight and slightly tan, with hard lines, few wrinkles, curly hair the color of salt and pepper, with well-kept stubble to match, and fierce eyes. He would have looked more at ease in the purple robes of roman nobility than in the t-shirt and jeans he wore, but what he did wear, he wore well. I failed to catch his name, but I don’t think I’ll ever forget that face.