Don't Bring Pajamas

Let me just pre-empt' this one by saying that I wrote it on Thursday in the computer lounge at coffman. When the computer spontaneously shut down, I didn't even think that this would be saved. I was frustrated to say the least.

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I haven't written anything in over a week.

I guess "anything" isn't true. I have written two papers and somewhere close to one hundred wall posts. I am not able to indulge in that exhibitionist poetic fetish I have, though. There is no ink pouring from my ears or spouting from my fingertips. Instead, I'll just paint you a picture of my current life. It, as usual will be black and white with the occasional splash of green. I try so very hard to appear abstract and modern.

I was going to meet with my cultural studies professor. Actually, I would be on my way there right now if I wasn't a chicken shit. In general, I feel that I usually need to have some sort of presentation prepared for when I go meet with him (or any sort of authority figure). There is absolutely nothing intimidating about him except his exceptional knowledge of gay, French philosophers. I mean, I could easily beat this guy up (and everyone knows I'm not exactly the hulk... I do consider myself pretty feisty though, haha).

One thing that possibly made me afraid to write is the fact that I am actually starting a paper on the medium typically noted as "journal" or "memoir", and how it can and can't be considered literature. The readings from class were written, obviously, by gay Frenchmen, and so I question their applicability to the more general form of culture (however, not to myself... not that I speak French). I don't want to be psychoanalyzed. I just want to expel some of this built up energy and maybe entertain someone else once in a while.

Anyway, I made my schedule for next semester. I should say re-made, because I've had this done basically since the course schedules came out for fall 2007. I dropped Medical Terminology to take Intro to Drawing. I figure that if I don't start taking classes I want to take, I might never know what I want to do with my life (not that it would be all-to-surprising if I never really figured that out). I see Erika working and I would love to be a design major, and then I sit down and write something I really like and I want to transfer and major in Creative Writing, and then I think about all the possibilities of medical school or pharmacy school or opening up a bakery or a coffee shop or a shoe store or cineplex etc. (Update: I'm not doing drawing, because it fit really poorly into my schedule).

More than a week ago, Megan told me something so true. I suffer from restless John syndrome. It is because of this that I'm nearly certain I may never find something that I enjoy doing for the rest of my life or someone that I enjoy being with for an extended period of time. At this moment, I think I could totally handle being a temp. I would change jobs every few weeks and write a book about it and suddenly be thrown into fame and fortune. It would be like a really crappy lifetime movie. The love of my life (possibly/probably my Alaskan Husky/Collie) would get cancer and I would have to make it through the days of eating only jars of peanut butter and chocolate frosting and into a new light where I could appreciate the "little" things in life. Ah, if only I were a director of crappy lifetime movies... I wouldn't know what to do with myself.

It should be noted that this is being written to stall. Everything I do is just to stall until I figure this crap all out. I just hope I figure out what I want to do before I stall my way into medicine.

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Saturday Morning and who's gonna play with me?

I got a little more than five hours of sleep last night. The sad thing is, it was voluntary. Everyone else is asleep and I’m awake pounding on the keyboard as quietly as I can. I haven’t been sleeping very much lately. This may be attributed to the fact that I'm not getting enough done, and so I can't go to sleep and it wakes me up in the morning.

Honestly, I don't enjoy being so nerdy that my school work is one of the first things on my mind at all time. I would rather have other things on my mind, like william carlos williams, margaret atwood, or ayn rand.

This string of gorgeous days is determined to ruin my GPA, and it might just succeed in doing so. I lay out in the mall for a couple of hours doing nothing... more than once a week. Yesterday, I indulged in a little more of The Fountainhead, which apparently no one has heard of. That damn perfect sun lulls me into complacency and all I can do is use my chemistry book for a pillow and smile excessively.

I would write more, because this is effectively two entries, but I feel that everyone might need a little break. I promise I won't wait two weeks until the next one!

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Liz Phair knows what I'm thinking.

Americana? Tropicana.

I'm waiting for my own personal exodus, deliverance, transcendence, exposition, exhibition, social liberty, reality show, sherlock holmes, paparazzi, perfected defense mechanism, etc. I'm not equipped with the gloves to take my life into my own hands. (It's prickly and entoxicating!)

Karma-of-the-Day:
"Recognize ordinary, everyday activities as opportunities to awaken."

It's Tuesday (Twos-day), which means that I will be drinking more than two cups of coffee, taking four classes in two subjects, standing on my own two feet, staying up until two in the morning, and putting in my two cents everywhere possible.

Restore my faith in the human race and tell someone 'thank you for being' today.

That Melody I Love

Sunny South Dakota. Other than the fact that I'm near death due to the pending sore throat and possile ear infection, I am wonderful! Let's have some fun, shall we?

I like writing for myself. I can write about whatever I want: angst and sunflowers and jose cuervo and car dancing and regular dancing and south dakota and spring and truffles and even dirty socks. I can write haikus if the wind blows me that way:

.that wind, you know, is
tired of howling away.
sleep, Tempest, and dream.

I can write IN ALL CAPS or forget tousespaces. I can etirw sdrawkcab. I can write you love songs and doodle lyrics and scribble down chem.notes. You can use words and words and swords and hoards of words and herds of birds or chords and curds.

If you stare at a page for long enough you can melt the letters into lines like ice into water. No, no, that's not right, is it? I must rearrange. Rearrange. If you melt at ice enough you can stare into a water lines the long letters into page. There, much better.

Sorandom.edu What can you do with words?