Waffling in THREE dimensions.
Sunday, January 28, 2007
They are coming for me. Allow the depth of those words sink. They are coming for me. While I cannot be certain, I can feel it. As real as any compulsion or ghost touch, someone will come. I have witnessed the process many times. When someone isn't at church, they worry, they send an emissary. I am certain the leadership would not likely know the better of my absence, my roommates will. Jon distinctly said, "see you in church." Perhaps a reactionary grunt on my part was taken as confirmation, and they will become distressed, worried that I fell in the shower, paralyzed from the waist down, when I do not show.
I had glanced at my watch before my shower. I realized then I would not be on time with less than 20 minutes to travel and preen. I tried to think of what I would say. I even began to think of what I would write I would say! It was a very eventful shower.
I do not like to be late. No, that is not it at all. I fear being late. I would simply not go than be late. There is a certain shame there instilled by my father, that comes with being late. Sitting in the hard seats, the orange seats, the foyer, whatever it may be, I cannot stand it. When it comes down to going and being late or just not going, I usually choose the later, which was the most likely factor in my "academic suspension" last year. Although it may have been called something else. It stopped me from registering for classes in either case. I could not sign up for classes because the Bishop said so. Then he went on vacation. The guy's an asshole. I must have called his house 200 times trying to resolve that mess. If I should ever become famous and entirely disillusioned, I shall publish that account in my memoirs as the great fall in my religious standing. Or something. It's hard to type, my pinky fingernail is too long.
Sometimes I worry that I am too frank in my journaling. That it is too much diarying. But then I recall that no one reads this, save my girlfriend and her father. Perhaps Melanie too, for which she receives a shout-out. Hell, shout-outs to all! It is of some concern that her father reads this, I try not to worry. I should not fear assault, though many fathers try to project such a threat in their daughter's relations, it is not one I have been familiar with for some time. I should be far more concerned that somehow my parents may fall upon this blog and its indictments of my personal character, which I imagine they could find quite disturbing or something. I lost my thoughts there as I searched for the correct spelling of indictment, complicated by The Free Dictionary going down. I cruised over to Crooks and Liars, one of my favorite partisan blogs hoping the spelling might be found somewhere in pages discussing Scooter Libby, but I ultimately used Google as a spell checker. I told myself last year that I would start reading conservative blogs if power ever switched parties, as I am opposed to any one power holding too much of it and wished to maintain my moder-acy, but I haven't. I now find myself telling myself that I will switch if the presidency falls one way and the congresses and so on. But I know it is a lie. Why would I tell myself these things? I believe in many of the Democratic causes, enough that I registered as a member of their party. But it is difficult to hold such a standing here in "Gayburg" as some call it, but it is a stupid name; Sexburg would be better because you only change one letter. Still, they remain unmoved.
I have less than 5 minutes remaining. I don't know that I have said anything meaningful in this second post, only that I have postponed my communion. I did not mention what I had been planning to say when asked, like I had planned to. Some spiel about an undeniable compulsion to write that seized me. Which is true; it did get the best of me. But I will likely omit any tellings of my late-o-phobia, which I believe it could be classified as since it is obviously disrupting my life. I feel less passionate about it when its something besides church though, although it still very much present on commutes to work. I just get distracted. Distracted hard. Often times I'll want to write something, something profound or something, I don't know, my phone's alarm is telling me to go to church and I'm trying to ignore it. But when I get on the computer, I fall prey to all the distractions of the internet, and whatever. I really should get going. I don't know how I feel about these two posts. They will require some editing for links and whatnot. And tags!
I am greedily shoving cheerios in my mouth; I don't have much time. It's nearly eight, you see. Time to get ready for church. This makes it difficult to type, the time constraints and sticky sugar fingers are quite hefty. I did not go shopping yesterday, I did not do anything yesterday. It was Double XP weekend. It's like spring break for Paragon City. Servers are stressed out, there's a bug that let's you fly under the map, pretty fun stuff. It's the most solid rational for social starvation I've ever heard. Glorious! Unfortunately, I have not come across Peter in game, which is saddening. I thought Jon would take this time to shower, but I sounds like he's shaving. I "should" probably do that, but I won't. It's cold, why expose my face to the harsh elements? I maintain my stance that Jesus had a beard, I am being Christlike by not shaving. They are stupid rules for a stupid place. I hear stories on the radio of town imposing curfews, enabling the harassment of children by police, like a nightly hunting season. I am making a mess with my cheerios. They'll know it was me. I'm the only one who sits here, with a computer. The only one who eats cheerios. The only one who doesn't pick up his messes right away. Usually I do with cheerios, because they smash and crumble, a whole fiasco of vacuuming to be unleashed. Jon is almost done with his shower; he spends the last minute with the water turned to cold. He imagines there is some great health to this, but it is foolishness. What is good that makes you cry out so? I thought for a moment, roller coasters, but this is a fallacy, for they would let the elderly and infirm on if it were a positive experience. That can't be said that such horrible things are not enjoyable, as certainly the case is with roller coasters, but such a change in temperatures gives me headaches. I with use a heuristic to conclude that it has something to do with his Canadian origin.
I had sat down to write something grand, as I tend to imagine all things with alliteration are. But I fear that I have not made a smooth enough transition to it, that I may forget it all together. Can I force it out? No, it would be out of context. Perhaps I shall write this as a reminder of that thing I thought of while walking to the bathroom this morning before noticing that Jon had left the John in a stinker, that it should be written down. Should I remember in that brief time between sacraments and home teaching, I hope to write it down. Though it is unlikely, as I still must read the message to prepare, highlight the brief passage I find worthy enough to share but not so meaningful as to require a lengthy discussion (1 hour tops!). It was something about diverging and coherence, and the grim pronouncement of such. There was something about lambda, which can wait, and something about being a man. None of which I will probably write, though I felt compelled to, as I will be consumed by the Double XP, the rush of achievement and some small satisfaction, following by disappointment and a ripple of loathing that I could not expel myself from a fantasy long enough to give "serious" consideration (it is writing down a list of careers, some of which are jobs, that we might find interesting) to my future, among other assignments I will certainly derelict. Derelict, pronounced ala Zoolander, is Jon's nickname for me. I perfer it to that of 'D', which was so graciously bestowed upon me, not once, but twice, in unrelated events, by people thinking they were both hip and witting in giving me a moniker that was my first initial! I am speaking of my sister, Amanda, and an estranged friend/coworker/(colleague?) Anesh. While they might have been clever, on the whole, neither was in this instant or hip. Given that Jon has just departed, a whole 40 minutes before it begins, I should give heavy consideration to preparation now. I may never understand such zeal. I cannot contain an interest in anything for more than a week, with snakes on planes being an exception though I never felt it as so consuming a passion as is displayed toward church attendance here. For myself, it is largely compulsory, as the fellowship is mediocre, and at times, dank. This is compounded by attendence being compulsory, while I did chose the school I did so a great deal more for financial reasons (they have meeting houses everywhere, and anywhere else being LDS could be a symbol of pride, deference, anything but obligatory) rather than for a desire to be surrounded by the saints or some bull. I tend to fight, rather struggle, against whatever is heft upon me, which is enhanced greatly by my perception of the superficiality of the consignment. The Honor Code, upon which we are counseled weekly
, is, as I see it, a sort of contractual document, the manifest by which they may abort the unworthy and rebellious. It is an order of obedience and accountability, endorsed by a board of shadowy figures, that as I understand is made up of church authorities such as the First Presidency. Isn't it weird that its first and not onest or something? Anyways, I find it hard to believe that our salvation relies in any degree upon the trends of our beards. Why then, do we grow them? God has given us a part of the body for the sole reason of the maintenance of it? Far-fetched. While the personification of our salvation, of God's love, sports a beard in his mortal existence, we must shave our faces from earlobe to earlobe? It is absurd and against the book of Leviticus. I tire of it, but I must be preparing for church. Once again, I seem to have forgotten to read the sunday school lesson ahead of time. Darn..
Friday, January 26, 2007
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
This is me using blogger as a mobile bookmarks tab!
I could do this for all 50 states, but will I? I am not sure, but it had a link to download in excel, which would be a great convienence, so the possibility still exists. I am linking to it now, as I await more instruction on what we need and how it will be processed and the various difficulties transcription will present. Here are the Oregon QuickFacts from the US Census Bureau. And here are the State and County QuickFacts. And here are the USA QuickFacts and even More USA data sets! Ooo! I found some Statistical Abstract with some excel data. I'm certain he will teach us how to transfer to SPSS from excel. Yay!
The Statistical Abstract: Elections is interesting, like the data on presidential vetos. The Composition of Congress by Political Party Affiliation --States: 1999 to 2006 is interesting, but it ends before the 110th Congresses, which would make the whole thing so much more interesting in the dramatic shift in congressional power that happened last election to see if it happened at the state level as well. That data on the similar Composition of Congress by Political Party: 1975 to 2006 could be filled in rather easily, as it is a smaller file and the information would be more easily accessed. Unfortunately, he wants us to have 60 individuals, and we're only on the 43rd president. There are also only 50 states. I could do congressional data; there would be enough there. It is time for my next class, which hopefully I'll pay more attention in than this one. But servers are down! Wo are we! Anyways, statistics time!
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Not so great...but I got it done! It fizzles at the end, but I don't care so much. He said 2-3 pages, and I'm right at 3, not including citations, which I'm fairly certain I did not parenthetically cite correctly. Or correctly ever. Whatever. Its the first paper, I'll do better when he gives us a better description of what he wants. Eh..it sucks throughout, I didn't really care for the book that much (or I would have started sooner and whatnot) oh well. I don't think I'll bother showering before class. I got a ton of stuff tonight too! yay!
Analysis of themes in Vernal Promises
A preliminary product search of http://deseretbook.com/ reveals no results for either “Vernal Promises” or “Jack Harrell,” despite his position as a faculty member at a university that is under the same leadership. It is perhaps possible that Signature Books would not permit the sale of his novel there, or perhaps, as it is his first novel, which Deseret Book subsequently failed to notice and stock. Perhaps Jack Harrell never noticed or bothered to correct some clerical error or legality that prevented the sale of Vernal Promises at Deseret Book locations. Perhaps, more likely, Deseret Book refused to carry the title because of its content. Vernal Promises deals with sex, sin, debauchery. Vernal Promises deals with drugs, drills, addictions. Vernal Promises deals with a lot of things: agency, accountability, morality; the search for truth, a common thread. Luckily, Amazon.com carries the title from a number of distributors.
The novel as a whole focuses on Jacob and Pam Dennison’s turbulent reconciliation with their church, from their first miscarriage to their first move and the characters that help and hinder them on this path. To do this Harrell utilizes a third-person narrator with limited omniscience focused on one actor at a time. He frequently switches the focal character throughout each chapter, often showing events from multiple viewpoints and the effects they have on different characters. This style of story telling allows the theme of accountability to be easily embedded in the novel. Examples of this would be the multiple times Jacob abandons his wife Pam, the cascading consequences of which are explored not only from the individual perspectives of Jacob and Pam, but also that of her bishop’s (193), and her mother’s (204). The first chapter ends saying, “There are consequences, he thought. There’s hell to pay. He rubbed Pam’s back and wanted to cry”(9). In this instance, accountability is discussed overtly; more often it is subtly expressed, such as painful side effects Jacob endures after an alcohol binge, inevitable justice for his action. An exception to this is when Jacob learns of an extra material affair he had may have resulted in a pregnancy, and he is not held accountable, although the woman will have to deal with the consequences (286).
As perhaps the most dynamic character, Jacob throughout his various chemical sojourns questions, “If God wanted obedience, why did he make sin so sweet?”(27) Harrell frequently uses freedom, and the perception there of, as a motif through many of the characters, contrasting different viewpoints. For example, Cheryl, a worldly woman, sees freedom as financial security, while Jacob seeks it through various narcotics to remove himself from the guilt he feels as a result of his moral wanderings and self-doubt. While Jacob original desires freedom, only to discover after a battle with Dwayne, the moral antagonist representing Satan in Vernal Promises, that such “freedom” would damn him eternally. The ‘freedom’ that Dwayne promised was a complete rejection of Jesus Christ and His atoning sacrifice, which Jacob later feels unworthy of. A case could easily be made that the theme of the novel is personal freedom. However, the freedom from guilt Jacob desired, and even the freedom of financial independence Cheryl wanted, coupled with the imminent captivity awaiting Harvey, all come from varying degrees of righteous or unrighteous living, according to the standards set out by the church. Though a few other Christian sects are mentioned, no reference is made to any degree their correctness (although Greg shows a degree of integrity that surpasses that his coworkers), and those that have fallen from the ‘straight’ and narrow are portrayed as unhappy, none more so than Jacob, who shows the difficulty of living in a fallen world with his constant temptations and recessions. Despite his constant pleas, Jacob is free to do as he chooses, following Harrell’s theme of agency.
Because the themes of agency, morality, and accountability are all so intertwined in the Mormon religion, and as such are often discussed together in the frequent passages in which the character of Jacob Dennison debates his standing with himself, and the novel’s antagonist, Dwayne Helper, often with the aid of psychoactive drugs. Their search for truth ultimately leads to a physical altercation, incarceration, and begins Jacob’s reconciliation with the path to salvation. Though like the Jacob of old, Jacob wrestles with the Lord and it is not until he accepts Christ’s salvation that he finds happiness. Neither does Pam truly find happiness (though some semblances of it after her daughter is born as it says, “Pam was pleased with this scene” (316)) until after her husband has returned to the church. In this way, juxtaposed against the character’s previous unhappiness and their rejection of gospel tenets, the themes of morality and its consequences emerge. The novel ends with Jacob surrendering himself to his family and Christ, no longer haunted by his past actions. Harrell concludes, “He wanted to love and give and feel until it became his very nature. This is real love, he thought. This is redemption. He gave himself over to it completely”(342).
Harrell, Jack. Vernal Promises. Salt Lake City: Signature Books Publishing, LLC., 2003.
"Deseret Book - Store." DeseretBook.com. 23 Jan 2007. Deseret Book. 23 Jan 2007
"Deseret Book - Store." DeseretBook.com. 23 Jan 2007. Deseret Book. 23 Jan 2007
"Amazon.com: Vernal Promises: Books: Jack Harrell." Amazon.com. 23 Jan 2007
This is called Downward Social Comparison. I do it constantly. Perhaps it is indicative of low self-esteem on my part, or perhaps it just feels so damn good to know my situation is so vastly superior to some of my peers. That satisfaction is enhanced, nay, magnified, by one individual who rejected my awkward advances post-middle school. Sweeter still by its correlation to the book I am still procrastinating reporting on. I happened upon some pathetic, as they were, blogets (new word score!) on Myspace and it reminded me that I should be writing about this book and not procrastinating and now I'm sort of doing both. But that's OK (which is really annoying because it is inappropriate to Blogger unless completely capitalized, the word that is) you can read Vernal Promises yourself. Honestly, it wasn't that bad. I actually disliked it more for being good than being bad. I sympathized with characters, I sympathized well. And I got like 34 out of 80 for Helping on that last career inventory survey. I don't care to help. Not for long at least. Whiners. Anyways, my reaction to the book!
I figure writing about will get me in the mood (just typed food there instead of mood, just like Pooh! oh God! what am i? what have i become??) to actually start writing on the book, perhaps a caffeine rush will initiate while we wait. Nay, we proceed! The book was unsettling. The protagonists struggles with faith, virtue, vice, all very real. The guilt, judgments, and shame so freely dispensed in this Mormon alcove were present in the book. The small town isolation is tangible, perhaps because I am now in a small town. Anyways, the atmosphere is great. Wahoo!.. While I do not feel I have indulged in any sins so great as those espoused in the novel, I can certainly appreciate the author's convention of them. Jacob and Pam, a young 'newly-wed-ish' couple, live in a trailer. Since the novel begins with a miscarriage from what would have been a child conceived out of wedlock, but birthed into one of those obligatory ones, the newly-wed attitude is not present. Indeed, they had their kicks and giggles before they were meant to. Pam, who becomes devoted to the cause, equates her miscarriage to God's punishment for their debauchery. The author seems to agree, their next 'attempt' at pregnancy goes much smoother, that is, successful, after she has begun living the tenets of The Gospel with her husband, but a lot of things happened between those points. I disagreed with some of the characterization, but I don't feel the desire to express it here or now, some of which has to do with my perception of inadequate research on the author's part (which I alluded to in a previous post). Anyways, I diverged from where I had been heading, but that is not a folly, as I will have to write extensively later/soon in either case. Mostly, the whole situation scares the shit out of me (parents rejoice!). Perhaps it is my knowledge of my own parents young marriage (living in a trailer, expelled from school, pariahs!)(complete with illegitimate-ish child)(order of operations!) that shocks me so deeply. Or my experience in a shitty grocery store job similar to Jacob's at the beginning of the novel. Thankfully, I do not feel tempted by the same vices that Jacob faces. Indeed, I make it a point to learn as much about drugs as I can (via wikipedia!), knowledge is power (school house rock ftw!). I extolled the virtues of LSD and the pains of heroin briefly to Mike in a previous round of procrastination. I know what I'm missing out on, and it doesn't sound that much better than the lucid dreams about current events I have now. I can escape into a fantasy world of heroes and villains easily enough if I must escape a harsh world, or just procrastinate hard. Yet, as I type this, I must realize I am a hypocrite for the amphetamines in my system now. I dope academically. I am shamed...
...but at least I am not Britany.
Monday, January 22, 2007
I procrastinate, hard. I do it even now as I write this blog. I did it last night, and this morning. It is my quintessence.
It started poorly, it should be said. I did not receive the book as soon as I had expected, or had hoped. I only had a week to read it, but I was in no hurry, I like Kirsten read it first, she likes that sort of book anyways. I could refer to her as a resource, if necessary, to discuss the book; I didn't expect to be able to find much in The Hivemind about it, despite my formidable search-fu. It only took 3 days to read, maybe four, I can't remember. It was easy, very plain spoken, though vague in distinctions between illicit substances, fits the target audience well enough. Certainly, such details should be spared for such an innocent audience (or innocent author)! Deseret Book has refused to stock novels for less than contained in this novel, and if it were not required for a class, I doubt the bookstore here would either, even though it was written by a faculty member.
In any case, it is quite late and I have yet to add any real substance, those things which were not the ramblings I pounded onto my cellphone's text pad as they were revealed to me, to the document I need to submit tomorrow morning. I tell myself that I would have gotten to it earlier if it were not Monday, the obligatory Family Home Evening charade to attend, but I know this to be a comforting lie.
Family Home Evening was different: the girls talked. I did not, I seldom to at introductions. My particular brand of humor (which I like to think of as parenthetical) is hopeless to the unfamiliar. We played awkward games, (i got 3rd place in "I never..") and made animal noises and small talk. I didn't say much, but my locus out of my control placed me in that inevitable role: know-it-all. Darn. I can't say I really mind; it certainly seems true, or truthy, at times. But I resent that I was cast so quickly by Mike in the role. Less than two hours in and I am the knower. An apologetic murmur was uttered by one when I confirmed an off-statement that perhaps we just sat around in Allen Ridge asking Derek questions. Do I mind that much? I never considered it a shame, any warrant of pity. They probed, and I proved for them, taught them how to expel a boy, to hyphenate a boy-friend without crushing him, though it may require it. But I saw they had a Super NES, N64, Xbox, PS2, with guitar hero, I think it'll be OK.
The screen hurts my eyes. I took a break earlier to close my eyes, try to relax my jaw, listened to the Aquabats; it was nice. Adam is still up. I am still up. I shouldn't be. We shouldn't be. It is unnatural.
I received a paper cut from a Career Skills-Interest survey. Foreshadowing? Perhaps I shall become an astronaut! Or an advice columnist. How does one go about that?
I still must decide how I shall write this paper. Perhaps it is best to simply begin. But I so don't want to...
Sunday, January 14, 2007
I'm rather awake for 5 am. Rather awake, indeed. I woke up at 4.30; the haze had worn off. It required some work, but 3.50 came soon enough. Now I am awake. That is the story. Some lovely harp music was there to commemorate the occasion. Lovely.
Now I am eating 'meat pie' and I am wary, but Morning Edition is coming on, which I love. It feels rather old to me, that is why I am wary. But it tastes good, aside from some crunches I'd rather not think about.
One of my roommates has their alarm set for 5am. They are crazy! Crazy!
NPR is starting a lot of new little segments, I can't recall their names (one is Crossing the Divide), but they started one Saturday and one today! Wow!
I have to logout, that is, close my browser, because mybyui.edu sucks. So this post is probably over, but there were a few things I wanted to share. The first is a small article on Wired that I found hilarious because of the comments, the second some offhand comments my roommate Mike (not the stupid mike, who is gone) made about Fat Andy, another roommate who has left. Anyways, enjoy:
"what did i do? I said, you're fat. lose some weight you lard!"
Friday, January 12, 2007
It's Friday. I start just a tad later than usual, with two classes instead of three, and I don't have anything pressing upon me in the evening; I love it. I just woke up a little while ago, and by woke up I mean, got out of bed. My bed is becoming increasingly hazardous. I use several fleece blankets, which discharge upon all things suspended in the proximity. I am used to such static, making it a point to discharge myself on ovens whenever possible. I use a nice foam thing my dad gave me, although the pillow I stole from him no longer seems as nice by comparison. But my bed is not that nice, I face peril each night. I sleep on the bottom bunk, getting to which is a hazard. One of Mike's friends told me to clean my room, but I don't listen to girls that aren't named Kirsten. Get it? She asked me what I'd do if Jesus came over and saw my room. I replied, "I'd ask him if he wanted to crash on one of my three beds." It was awesome. So anyways, my room is a mess (no sharing dance!) and its hard to get to my bed with the lights off, big deal. The bottom bunk, although safe from fall damage, has the distinct disadvantage of head injury- the original reason we took the top off my childhood bed, which is now Ethan's. Last night I nearly fell into the heater. My room does not have heat, a heater, but no heat. I believe there are some frayed wires involved, which could result in a tragic polyurethane death if the midnight klankings progress further, or I manage to ignite from static, or some ghastly combination. There is a gap between my bed and wall, presumably made by former tenants to get away from the windows. Finding myself precariously sprawling into such a crevice was quite frightening, but I am pleased to inform you that I did have some sweet dreams of katamari and x-men, with the daily dose of NPR dream-blend. But it's Friday! I get to sleep in past 8! A cause for celebration, I put an Aquatbats' cd on Sleep and roll over. I cannot sleep so late with my cheating, but my room is cold. I stretch like a dinosaur, curling my arms forward so they won't hit the bars above me and pulling my neck back in my somnolence. I image my pandiculation is quite amusing; I certainly enjoy it. I usually spend the next hour or so in oscitancy until I've eaten and showered, but this morning I took the time to read the linear notes on Charge! for the first time. No lyrics, but I enjoyed the special thanks section, which included such notables as Shaq, Karl Malone, and Big Gay Al. The very special thanks included the band members' families, and get this, Heavenly Father. Not to discount their gratitude, but that hypocorism has always appeared to me as an element of Mormon subculture, although I realize it must not be exclusive. It makes me wonder if more members than just Christian Jacobs are members, a term we've been told to discontinue. We were also told to discontinue missionary farewells, but I went to one two weeks ago.
"Woo! Whoa, Grandma! Woo! Oh oh oh ohh... Woo! Oh.." Jon was taking a shower, seems like he messed turned the cold water knob down, allowing for untold acts of burnination. I made that mistake yesterday. I think it has something to do with the different water temperatures not mixing right at the head of the shower, but someplace earlier. So any temperature adjustments are greatly skewed in the net products, if I'm write. Everything in this building sucks, but laundry is free, so.. Or he wasn't burned and just needs to talk to his bishop, and perhaps a psychiatrist for his super-oedipal complex. I tried my best to dictate his yelps, but I'm not very good at translating out of Canadian.
To address Melanie's comment (the only one in months!), it is not that my major is flexible but rather my lax approach to it. Only a fourth of my total credits this semester have any relevance to biology. A more ambitious alternate universe version of myself would probably change the major back to general studies, though I was never the one to select it. My mother selected it when she first registered me to live in the dorms, unfortunately when she did this she had also selected the third floor thinking the more studious atmosphere it advertised would be beneficial, which it wasn't; it was totally gay. Anyways, since I don't know what field I desire (I had been considering pharmaceuticals at the time prior) I see no urgency to alter it at this time, though it would be nice to not have to add that clause of indeterminatance each time someone asks me what my major is, as if it reveals some great truth about my nature. I'm neither limited by words or numbers-though this blog is certainly no reflection of that-I am no more predisposed to biology than literature.
Damn. It is -15*F currently. Today will be fun..
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Perhaps I should be a bounty hunter, like Dog. I am inspired. I am taking a career exploration class. It wants to know what my ideal career is. I have no idea. I would have better success describing this mystery occupation in the negative. It is not graveyard shift. It is not an athletic career. I don't feel that I have reached that magical point of disillusionment and dissociation, where dreams stop being lucid and survival becomes the primal goal. Not yet, I hope. I cannot say I do not feel limited, but it is not because I lacked any sort of potential, aside from those disabilities my disorder affords me, but the late exposure to so many fields I may have enjoyed. How could such time be made up? I worry that some opportunities are exclusive privileges. I am struggling with words.
My dream as a child, 3rd grade when I exemplified that self, was to become a paleontologist. Travel to the Gobi Desert and dig, with my pet iguana. That dream died when Rex died. I also realized I probably couldn't take the heat. Freshman year an aptitude test told me to become an experimental psychologist. That was the only match. Suggested alternatives, which did not match, included mime among others. I delighted in telling people this, a few even thought it possible. I never embraced them. Junior year I heard a report on NPR about a perceived upcoming shortage in pharmacy personal, I cannot recall exact positions, and resolved that I could do that. I've had second thoughts since, but I am still registered as a biology major. Maybe I won't change it and become an apiarist; it sounds enchanting. I will continue to attach the disclaimer "currently" when they ask me my major. Public service as an elected representative is very appealing to me, but the path to get there is daunting; where would I would obtain such capital? I don't know what I'll become. I don't think I'll become a musician, I haven't told my mom I won't be taking that class yet- I don't think I have it in me. If only I had a fairer complexion, to become a male model. I recently deleted all the silly pictures on my cell phone practicing my blue steel. I never should have told Jon that I have that movie, he keeps quoting it. I should go to bed now, with my inspirational message from Dog.
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
I was searching for some misplaced items when I was struck with disappointment. Not for my break, which could be considered disappointing, and came very close to be so, but is currently not considered such by myself, but rather in my family. Yesterday I went to a movie with Chris and he brought some friends to whom I am an acquaintance, which was enjoyable except during the time we lacked direction and the initial awkwardness of being in the house of someone I hardly know. We played Super Smash Brothers, which I am nominal in and will forever remain without such a constitution to support the rigorous training required to meet the skills of such players and I doubt I will ever have peers who are not of that status because who else, and why else, would someone own a Game Cube? Such proficiency is often unimpressive in the knowledge of its requisites, worsened by the un-obscured nature of such sacrifices.
At points, both before and during, we wondered what we should do. It was only because of Kirsten's suggestion that we managed to find anything at all. I find it difficult to entertain at home because of the nature of my family's sanitation. It is quite dismal. My room, which has not been organized in roughly a year, is one of the tidier sections, no doubt because its small size prevents a total saturation of sewage. Aside from that, which people seem to grow accustomed to, to our chagrin, there lies the problem of entertainment, apart from our own antics. But as I was searching I realized that there really is a lot to do here for entertainment. Or rather, there was. An air hockey table, dart board, and foosball table all lie derelict in our "Recreation Room," colloquially adapted to "Rec Room," pronounced (and functioning) as "wreck room". Realizing this made me sad. Luckily, I don't have many friends left here. One of the last ones left today for Russia. I hope the cat lasts another year;it's become a friend, even though it jumps on me and rips my pants. Until I get fleas, it's welcome to sit on my lap and purr.
Whoa. That is weird. Ethan just crawled into the green chair planted firmly in the center of the wreck room and appears to be asleep. I did not see him enter the room; alerted instead by audition. Did he sleep walk to slumber elsewhere? Does he do this often? I have never before witnessed it, but there is a disposition for unconscious oddities in our family. I have been known to sleep with my eyes open (quite painful when they dry out) and reportedly talk and snore, none of which are exclusive to me. I have uncles who have attended late birthday parties, even eating cake, with no recollection, apparently asleep. This claim, however suspect, is often reported at family gatherings. The light is on too. How odd. I don't know when I'll get to sleep, maybe not at all. I'm not ready to go back, or ever really was. I will relent from lamenting. I need to pack...
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