So Sunday I went out jogging, which turned into a 2 hour walk around Cambridge and everywhere here on the north side of the river. Yesterday I did another 2 hour walk, and came home and threw in some leg exercises too. Today I was going to go jogging and limit myself to an hour of being outside, plus some exercises at home, and give myself tomorrow off, but my legs are so sore I had a hard time getting off my air mattress this morning.
I decided after spending a school year in the newsroom and only getting to the gym sporadically, I should take the initiative to get back into a routine to keep myself from getting bored and depressed. And I've heard that BU just redid their gym, and it's awesome (although nothing's as cool as the Rickel), so that should help once it gets too damn cold to be outside.
It's the first day of classes at TCU today, I still have two more weeks of waiting, and I'm feeling a bit disconnected, like I don't have anything to do. (But wait for the UPS guy, who left a note saying he'd try again between 10:30 and 5. Bastard.)
And I've been working, of course, to save up money to fly back to Fort Worth asap. Along this line, the other day someone offered to help me out in buying tickets and whatnot. I don't quite remember when I'd been as flattered and complimented. When someone offers to do something for you because they WANT to, not because they somehow feel they HAVE to, it's remarkable. It made me feel like I should be more humble, for someone to give me something like that.
Isn't it funny how it takes people being nice to us to knock us down a peg and make us watch ourselves more closely? Someone being mean or cruel never does it as well, and always makes you spiteful, too. But when someone's nice . . . well, hell. Nice people rock.
And I think fruit baskets are one of the best inventions ever, so everybody should look at ediblearrangements.com. Mmm. Beautiful.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Monday, August 22, 2005
"Fly" In 20-Point Times New Roman
So for a while now I've wanted a tattoo that said "fly" on my ribcage right under my heart (no, not on my boob, right below it, you dorks). It's to remind myself I can always try and I can always be better . . . flying is astounding, and I can be astounding, but it requires work. (That's why I decided against the word "soar," even though I'm afraid people will see "fly" and think of supa-fly or something. Soaring doesn't require any work . . . but anyhow. Tangent.)
And so Dan and I got to Boston Tuesday afternoon and I've been sort of wondering if I should get that tattoo now that I'm here. To remind myself to work hard at the two most important things to me right now: school, to really give my all to the program I'm been waiting for years to get to; and my relationships with other people, to really hold on to the people I love and adore and to ensure they want to hold on to me too. If you can't imagine your life without someone . . . then you probably just shouldn't live without them. Seems simple enough.
Right now I only get the Internet on the balconey of our second-floor flat or at the kitchen window. I've got wireless and I'm skimming it off someone nearby (thank you, Apple Network ea3e2b) but it's still sketchy. But remarkably, I found a way to give in and join the facebook in the online time I have. And I found time to update this. Go me.
I don't have a lot else to do. I started work today at an all-natural/organic restaurant across the street, and at least it pays pretty well. But school doesn't start for another two weeks or so and Dan is gone. (Insert a little picture of me sad and bored right here.)
The highlight to life on this street is the late-night Cambridge cycling cult. Ask me about them sometime. It's entertaining. I think they're harmless.
And let's not forget Goodwill, which is so amusing it's hard to get in words.
So I'm ok for right now . . . I try not to think too much about how far away everybody I love is. If I do, it starts hurting. Once school gets started and once I earn a paycheck or two and can fly home, things will be better, I'm sure of it. Remember I said I'd be counting down the days until I could fly back to Texas? It's true.
Send me encouragement if you want, and more importantly, be sure to make fun of me on the facebook because I broke down and joined.
(PS: Let's just damn it all and get two kittens at once. Who could choose between Cavanaugh and Poughkeepsie?)
And so Dan and I got to Boston Tuesday afternoon and I've been sort of wondering if I should get that tattoo now that I'm here. To remind myself to work hard at the two most important things to me right now: school, to really give my all to the program I'm been waiting for years to get to; and my relationships with other people, to really hold on to the people I love and adore and to ensure they want to hold on to me too. If you can't imagine your life without someone . . . then you probably just shouldn't live without them. Seems simple enough.
Right now I only get the Internet on the balconey of our second-floor flat or at the kitchen window. I've got wireless and I'm skimming it off someone nearby (thank you, Apple Network ea3e2b) but it's still sketchy. But remarkably, I found a way to give in and join the facebook in the online time I have. And I found time to update this. Go me.
I don't have a lot else to do. I started work today at an all-natural/organic restaurant across the street, and at least it pays pretty well. But school doesn't start for another two weeks or so and Dan is gone. (Insert a little picture of me sad and bored right here.)
The highlight to life on this street is the late-night Cambridge cycling cult. Ask me about them sometime. It's entertaining. I think they're harmless.
And let's not forget Goodwill, which is so amusing it's hard to get in words.
So I'm ok for right now . . . I try not to think too much about how far away everybody I love is. If I do, it starts hurting. Once school gets started and once I earn a paycheck or two and can fly home, things will be better, I'm sure of it. Remember I said I'd be counting down the days until I could fly back to Texas? It's true.
Send me encouragement if you want, and more importantly, be sure to make fun of me on the facebook because I broke down and joined.
(PS: Let's just damn it all and get two kittens at once. Who could choose between Cavanaugh and Poughkeepsie?)
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
What To Do With Noel
I'm down to a little less than two more weeks of mostly-permanent residence in Texas, and this weekend I read a "thank you for everything" e-mail sent by a guy who was thanking everyone he'd ever met for being in his life as he left his internship. He started off the e-mail with two verses of that song about leaving on a jet plane (I think that was the song, anyhow), and it sort of made me relieved because his favorite music is from musicals (yeah, like Oklahoma! and Phantom of the Opera) and at least he didn't quote any of that nonsense. It would have been too much.
And then I got to thinking, well, hell, I'll be saying good-bye to people soon myself.
But then I realized it would all be bullshit.
Because Fort Worth is home now and Boston will just be a place I'm doing my schoolwork so I can come home to Texas and play. I'll say bye to people, sure, but it will mean "see you later" rather than "I'll never see you again." As soon as I get up there I'll be counting the days until I can come home to everyone. And I'm going to try my damn best to land an internship here next summer.
There's only one problem: I can't take Noel with me to Boston. I drove him cross country once and he suffered what I am pretty sure was a stroke. One side of his body was all limp and he swum in little lopsided circles for about three weeks. And he didn't eat for two. So if anyone would like to fish-sit for me while I'm away, let me know. I like to think he'd be as happy to have me come home as my sister and all my friends and Topper, but I doubt he'd notice one way or another. And I'm cool with that.
And then I got to thinking, well, hell, I'll be saying good-bye to people soon myself.
But then I realized it would all be bullshit.
Because Fort Worth is home now and Boston will just be a place I'm doing my schoolwork so I can come home to Texas and play. I'll say bye to people, sure, but it will mean "see you later" rather than "I'll never see you again." As soon as I get up there I'll be counting the days until I can come home to everyone. And I'm going to try my damn best to land an internship here next summer.
There's only one problem: I can't take Noel with me to Boston. I drove him cross country once and he suffered what I am pretty sure was a stroke. One side of his body was all limp and he swum in little lopsided circles for about three weeks. And he didn't eat for two. So if anyone would like to fish-sit for me while I'm away, let me know. I like to think he'd be as happy to have me come home as my sister and all my friends and Topper, but I doubt he'd notice one way or another. And I'm cool with that.
Monday, July 11, 2005
Here and There
It's fricking hot in Texas during the summer. That's what I've learned so far, staying here in Fort Worth. I spend my days inside hiding in the air conditioning and the evenings out at the barn riding until both Topper and I are grimy with sweat (it doesn't take long). It's kinda gross, and getting into my car is like climbing into an oven if it's been sitting in the sun. It's worth it, though: my car takes me to work, takes me to the barn, takes me to Austin for weekends with Dan.
It's hot and it's boring. I go down to Austin as frequently as possible because even if I don't do anything, at least I'm doing nothing with someone, and there's a lot to be said for having someone around all the time. I never feel better than when I know I have someone to do things with and to do things for. My sister is still here, but she's got a hectic work and social life, and my friends are equally busy, so if I'm in Fort Worth I'm generally bored in that air conditioning, hiding from the humidity and sun.
I think Noel misses being in the newsroom. I know I do. Even though I spent most of the semester stressed and sick, I miss it because it was fun. Speaking of sick, I think I finally got all the mono side effects kicked, thanks to a specialist and a heavy-duty regimen of drugs. I'm going into my third week of being not on drugs and still no sore throat again — woohoo!
On the other hand, I'm suspicious that something else is going on and the radiologist today didn't take me seriously. I found a mysterious lump the day after the Fourth, when I was down in Austin, and it's bruised and sore, and I went to my doctor last week and she set me up for an ultrasound because she didn't know what it was. After spending all weekend worrying and working myself into a near anxiety attack about what it could be, the radiologist today told me he didn't know what it was either but I should just tell my doctor if it changes. So he was useless. But the aching is worse and spreading rapidly, so I guess I'll call Dr. Inman again tomorrow. At least she takes me seriously.
I downloaded the song "Coke" by Flickerstick from Loren last night. That song is my fav by them, and rocks my face off so many ways. It's great. Being able to download songs from him is like being able to sit in a music store and pick and choose . . . it's great. He's got an outstanding collection. Kudos to people with good music taste.
Instead of spending money buying new books this summer (when I could be spending that money on Mexican food down in Austin, yum), I've been reading all the books my sister has. She has an eclectic little collection going there. Lots of Chuck Palahniuk, or however you spell it, and slightly twisted novels. Right now I'm reading Violin by Anne Rice, and I'd forgotten how damn dense her prose is. Good grief. Newspaper work has left me with no patience for her heavy words that could be cut down neatly with a good red pen.
I just realized that me complaining about someone being too wordy must be awfully hypocritical. My apologies. I know I'm long-winded myself.
But at least I don't use exclamation points everywhere like she does. So there.
I'm still getting my editing kicks for the summer by reading daily articles about the Tour de France. Lance is SO hot. It's amazing. How badass would it be if he did run for Texas governor someday?
I'd vote for that in a heartbeat.
It's hot and it's boring. I go down to Austin as frequently as possible because even if I don't do anything, at least I'm doing nothing with someone, and there's a lot to be said for having someone around all the time. I never feel better than when I know I have someone to do things with and to do things for. My sister is still here, but she's got a hectic work and social life, and my friends are equally busy, so if I'm in Fort Worth I'm generally bored in that air conditioning, hiding from the humidity and sun.
I think Noel misses being in the newsroom. I know I do. Even though I spent most of the semester stressed and sick, I miss it because it was fun. Speaking of sick, I think I finally got all the mono side effects kicked, thanks to a specialist and a heavy-duty regimen of drugs. I'm going into my third week of being not on drugs and still no sore throat again — woohoo!
On the other hand, I'm suspicious that something else is going on and the radiologist today didn't take me seriously. I found a mysterious lump the day after the Fourth, when I was down in Austin, and it's bruised and sore, and I went to my doctor last week and she set me up for an ultrasound because she didn't know what it was. After spending all weekend worrying and working myself into a near anxiety attack about what it could be, the radiologist today told me he didn't know what it was either but I should just tell my doctor if it changes. So he was useless. But the aching is worse and spreading rapidly, so I guess I'll call Dr. Inman again tomorrow. At least she takes me seriously.
I downloaded the song "Coke" by Flickerstick from Loren last night. That song is my fav by them, and rocks my face off so many ways. It's great. Being able to download songs from him is like being able to sit in a music store and pick and choose . . . it's great. He's got an outstanding collection. Kudos to people with good music taste.
Instead of spending money buying new books this summer (when I could be spending that money on Mexican food down in Austin, yum), I've been reading all the books my sister has. She has an eclectic little collection going there. Lots of Chuck Palahniuk, or however you spell it, and slightly twisted novels. Right now I'm reading Violin by Anne Rice, and I'd forgotten how damn dense her prose is. Good grief. Newspaper work has left me with no patience for her heavy words that could be cut down neatly with a good red pen.
I just realized that me complaining about someone being too wordy must be awfully hypocritical. My apologies. I know I'm long-winded myself.
But at least I don't use exclamation points everywhere like she does. So there.
I'm still getting my editing kicks for the summer by reading daily articles about the Tour de France. Lance is SO hot. It's amazing. How badass would it be if he did run for Texas governor someday?
I'd vote for that in a heartbeat.
Sunday, June 19, 2005
Summer Sliding In
It's been two months since I posted, I realized the other day, but I have a good excuse for missing each month. First, the bridging of April and May . . . final weeks at the paper, last days of classes, exams, and fighting a bad case of not-caring, when all I wanted to do was rent movies, drink Slurpees, go riding, forget the fact that things would be changing.
And then May into June . . . I had no real Internet service. Or, at least, I was intruding on someone else's life and apartment (even more than usual) for three weeks and just couldn't bring myself to check e-mails or anything else. My new job, nannying for the "heathen child" Corban, occupied my time, along with trying to keep up with life. I graduated from Texas Christian University. I'll be going to Boston in the fall. It's too hot to ride Topper with any degree of comfort unless it's ass-early or hella-late. There were parties to be had, drunken proclamations to hear, and relaxing to do after the semester.
So now I'm in mid-June and in a house near TCU, living with my sister and two others until the end of the summer. I'm still nannying Corban, riding Topper, and missing the newsroom. My evenings are long and boring. Phone calls are about the only exciting thing right now, barring the sometimes-scary drive to and from Austin every few weeks.
I will have a four month summer, from class end to class start, and already a month of it is gone. What did I do? The funny thing is, I basically did nothing, but at the same time, I could freeze it and replay it because it was just-right.
I've never been in Fort Worth/Dallas over the summer. I think I'm going to melt. Already I'm wimping out from the heat.
Keep me cool. Keep me calm. Keep that frozen time and this freezing period of just-right forever, no matter how strong the heat gets.
And then May into June . . . I had no real Internet service. Or, at least, I was intruding on someone else's life and apartment (even more than usual) for three weeks and just couldn't bring myself to check e-mails or anything else. My new job, nannying for the "heathen child" Corban, occupied my time, along with trying to keep up with life. I graduated from Texas Christian University. I'll be going to Boston in the fall. It's too hot to ride Topper with any degree of comfort unless it's ass-early or hella-late. There were parties to be had, drunken proclamations to hear, and relaxing to do after the semester.
So now I'm in mid-June and in a house near TCU, living with my sister and two others until the end of the summer. I'm still nannying Corban, riding Topper, and missing the newsroom. My evenings are long and boring. Phone calls are about the only exciting thing right now, barring the sometimes-scary drive to and from Austin every few weeks.
I will have a four month summer, from class end to class start, and already a month of it is gone. What did I do? The funny thing is, I basically did nothing, but at the same time, I could freeze it and replay it because it was just-right.
I've never been in Fort Worth/Dallas over the summer. I think I'm going to melt. Already I'm wimping out from the heat.
Keep me cool. Keep me calm. Keep that frozen time and this freezing period of just-right forever, no matter how strong the heat gets.
Monday, April 11, 2005
Tears Me Inside Out
"There's something about you
Tears me inside out whenever you're around
There's something about you
Speeding through my veins until we hit the ground
And there's something about this rush
Take it away
It made me feel so good . . . "
(New Radicals)
I know this is at least the second time I've quoted this song in here. It's great. It's called "Mother we just can't get enough" and every time I hear it I get this whooshing feeling in my chest. It's awesome.
Spring is about good music. Actually, scratch that . . . all year should be about good music. Speaking of good music, Adam alerted me that new Oasis is out there. Thank goodness someone is more dedicated at keeping up with the band. I'm a horrible fan. Just in general, I suck at memorizing facts and remembering things and knowing the news.
The clock finally clicked the end of perhaps one of the longest weeks ever. I don't know how else to put it. I have a long and bitter anthem for everyone to hear about. But there were some really really good parts, like seeing people do even better than you expect them to, winning at poker, finding breakfast in downtown Dallas at 2 a.m. even though things are worrisome, getting really dressed up and then buying more gym shorts.
When I was packing to go to TIPA I found two spanking-new pens in my backpack. They're so pretty black and smooth. I really do have an addiction to office supplies, but it's not a problem. Counselors are for wimps.
I just almost bought a Polaroid camera online. I told Dan about my plans a few weeks ago. I'd like to have one, take random pictures of people when they're not looking and then walk over and hand the picture to them. I don't think most people realize how perfect they are most of the time. I'd like to write something on the back, but I don't know what.
Just spend a second or two looking at someone who's not looking at you. How perfect.
"And there's something about you
That makes me fly
You're a heart attack
Just the kind I like"
Tears me inside out whenever you're around
There's something about you
Speeding through my veins until we hit the ground
And there's something about this rush
Take it away
It made me feel so good . . . "
(New Radicals)
I know this is at least the second time I've quoted this song in here. It's great. It's called "Mother we just can't get enough" and every time I hear it I get this whooshing feeling in my chest. It's awesome.
Spring is about good music. Actually, scratch that . . . all year should be about good music. Speaking of good music, Adam alerted me that new Oasis is out there. Thank goodness someone is more dedicated at keeping up with the band. I'm a horrible fan. Just in general, I suck at memorizing facts and remembering things and knowing the news.
The clock finally clicked the end of perhaps one of the longest weeks ever. I don't know how else to put it. I have a long and bitter anthem for everyone to hear about. But there were some really really good parts, like seeing people do even better than you expect them to, winning at poker, finding breakfast in downtown Dallas at 2 a.m. even though things are worrisome, getting really dressed up and then buying more gym shorts.
When I was packing to go to TIPA I found two spanking-new pens in my backpack. They're so pretty black and smooth. I really do have an addiction to office supplies, but it's not a problem. Counselors are for wimps.
I just almost bought a Polaroid camera online. I told Dan about my plans a few weeks ago. I'd like to have one, take random pictures of people when they're not looking and then walk over and hand the picture to them. I don't think most people realize how perfect they are most of the time. I'd like to write something on the back, but I don't know what.
Just spend a second or two looking at someone who's not looking at you. How perfect.
"And there's something about you
That makes me fly
You're a heart attack
Just the kind I like"
Friday, April 01, 2005
Won't Get Fooled Again
It's disconcerting that I was thinking of Mitch Hedberg with my last post and today found out he's (allegedly) dead of a heart attack. I'm afraid to wonder about other comedians now, because what if they keel over as well? Last thing I want is for the Executive Transvestite bunch to lose their leading member as Eddie Izzard gets beaten by the Queen with a brick in her handbag. If this is a ruse, I'm gonna be mad. But happy. For now I'll be mad and sad.
Speaking of sad . . . it's sad that this whole Terry Schiavo thing is going on. The entire situation is just revolting. I was flipping through channels and it's on the news, on documentaries already, whatever. But if I'm ever stuck in a bed and can't talk to people and can't read and can't get outside and can't see the wonders of my world and can't do things to make people happy and can't be productive . . . don't just remove the feeding tube, and I don't care what the neurological exams show, just give me a lethal amount of morphine and let me float away, tripped out of my mind.
What a way to go. It will make up for all the times I said no to drugs.
I feel like I'm on a drug trip sometimes, still . . . I got the weirdest feeling of deja vu this week when I was in the newsroom until I realized duh, I have been here before, I have done this before, this is stupid. Isn't that absurd that the brain would let you experience deja vu about something you do all the time?
This show about Schiavo is showing a preacher with a megaphone talking to a crowd of picketers. (I'm against picketing, but I don't know how to show it.) I would love to get a megaphone and sit somewhere and just start rambling. Sometimes it takes a while to get me to talk. Sometimes I just ramble and can't help it. But I would sit with my megaphone and spew the most original sentences I can think of, that's all. It would probably be nonsense. But it could be beautiful (or damn ugly). If somebody were to ask me to just talk in original sentences, I would. I would give them all the words they ever wanted. (And afterward, would they want to talk to me ever again?)
I would like someone to read the lyrics from Blue Eyes by the Cary Brothers from the Garden State Soundtrack and think of me. Wouldn't that be nice? But only the good lyrics, not the lines I don't like. If someone did that, paid attention to only the good lyrics, that wouldn't be nice . . . that would be badass. Because it even mentions me rambling with my megaphone all those sentences pent up somewhere.
. . . I just wanna sing a song with you
I just want to take it off of you
Cause Blue Eyes
You are all that I need
Cause Blue Eyes
You’re the sweet to my mean
Fess it up, dot on the palm of your hand
I can help you to stand
Saved it up for this dance
Tell me all the things you can . . .
Cause Blue Eyes
You’re the secret I keep
Cause Blue Eyes
All the lights on and you are alive
But you can't point the way to your heart
So sublime, when the stars are aligned
But you don't know
You don't know the greatness you are . . .
I just wanna sing a song with you
I just wanna get it on with you
Cause Blue Eyes
You’re the secret I keep
Cause Blue Eyes
I just wanna sing a song with you…
Speaking of sad . . . it's sad that this whole Terry Schiavo thing is going on. The entire situation is just revolting. I was flipping through channels and it's on the news, on documentaries already, whatever. But if I'm ever stuck in a bed and can't talk to people and can't read and can't get outside and can't see the wonders of my world and can't do things to make people happy and can't be productive . . . don't just remove the feeding tube, and I don't care what the neurological exams show, just give me a lethal amount of morphine and let me float away, tripped out of my mind.
What a way to go. It will make up for all the times I said no to drugs.
I feel like I'm on a drug trip sometimes, still . . . I got the weirdest feeling of deja vu this week when I was in the newsroom until I realized duh, I have been here before, I have done this before, this is stupid. Isn't that absurd that the brain would let you experience deja vu about something you do all the time?
This show about Schiavo is showing a preacher with a megaphone talking to a crowd of picketers. (I'm against picketing, but I don't know how to show it.) I would love to get a megaphone and sit somewhere and just start rambling. Sometimes it takes a while to get me to talk. Sometimes I just ramble and can't help it. But I would sit with my megaphone and spew the most original sentences I can think of, that's all. It would probably be nonsense. But it could be beautiful (or damn ugly). If somebody were to ask me to just talk in original sentences, I would. I would give them all the words they ever wanted. (And afterward, would they want to talk to me ever again?)
I would like someone to read the lyrics from Blue Eyes by the Cary Brothers from the Garden State Soundtrack and think of me. Wouldn't that be nice? But only the good lyrics, not the lines I don't like. If someone did that, paid attention to only the good lyrics, that wouldn't be nice . . . that would be badass. Because it even mentions me rambling with my megaphone all those sentences pent up somewhere.
. . . I just wanna sing a song with you
I just want to take it off of you
Cause Blue Eyes
You are all that I need
Cause Blue Eyes
You’re the sweet to my mean
Fess it up, dot on the palm of your hand
I can help you to stand
Saved it up for this dance
Tell me all the things you can . . .
Cause Blue Eyes
You’re the secret I keep
Cause Blue Eyes
All the lights on and you are alive
But you can't point the way to your heart
So sublime, when the stars are aligned
But you don't know
You don't know the greatness you are . . .
I just wanna sing a song with you
I just wanna get it on with you
Cause Blue Eyes
You’re the secret I keep
Cause Blue Eyes
I just wanna sing a song with you…
Monday, March 28, 2005
Will You Need Binoculars?
If I stand on the south side of the Charles River in Boston and throw up double middle fingers to the north side, do you think they'll be able to see me?
Because I'd sure love to tell the people at MIT how I feel about them turning me down while Boston U said hell yes, come be a grad student with us. We'll even consider giving you a scholarship to come over here and thumb your nose at Tech students.
And then don't forget the waitlist of Johns Hopkins.
Can I just say I'm bowled over? I fluctuated between being sure I'd get in to all 3 and thinking good grief, they'd be nuts to let me into any of those. Who would want me infesting the campus?
But now they're saying it's ok, like a koala infestation. The cutest infestation ever. Mitch Hedberg can come pat me on the head.
And now I feel even more bone-weary than before. Now that all the anticipation is gone, nothing is left but hard decisions and paperwork. I just want to sleep. (I haven't sleep for 10 days, cos that would be too long.)
This is Liz all-together . . .
I really don't feel all-together right now. But that's ok. Things will fall into place. I'm gonna go listen to a comedy CD, perhaps, so I quit quoting it, and get to the Sleater-Kinney that Claunch gave me. Mmm.
Now what?
Because I'd sure love to tell the people at MIT how I feel about them turning me down while Boston U said hell yes, come be a grad student with us. We'll even consider giving you a scholarship to come over here and thumb your nose at Tech students.
And then don't forget the waitlist of Johns Hopkins.
Can I just say I'm bowled over? I fluctuated between being sure I'd get in to all 3 and thinking good grief, they'd be nuts to let me into any of those. Who would want me infesting the campus?
But now they're saying it's ok, like a koala infestation. The cutest infestation ever. Mitch Hedberg can come pat me on the head.
And now I feel even more bone-weary than before. Now that all the anticipation is gone, nothing is left but hard decisions and paperwork. I just want to sleep. (I haven't sleep for 10 days, cos that would be too long.)
This is Liz all-together . . .
I really don't feel all-together right now. But that's ok. Things will fall into place. I'm gonna go listen to a comedy CD, perhaps, so I quit quoting it, and get to the Sleater-Kinney that Claunch gave me. Mmm.
Now what?
Sunday, March 27, 2005
All Things Have Risen
I honestly don't care enough is "risen" is grammatically correct (sorry Horvit, you'll never brainwash me into being a complete copyeditor). But things go up, slowly, surely, even when it seems like nothing ever will.
This is the first Easter Sunday I've ever spent in Fort Worth. It's funny how you can remember where you were back through the years . . . freshman year, out in the country of Texas, somewhere by the Brazos, I think. Sophomore year, in London, at Westminster Cathedral and then spending the afternoon in the bar of the Texas Embassy restaurant, where a friend was working all day. Last year, in San Antonio, with Maureen and her family. This year, my sister and I, 7 a.m. Mass and then a big dinner later on.
Faith is delicate. My faith in God has never faltered, not once in my life that I remember. My faith in my family never has either. But my faith in other people and institutions has been rocked, lately. Today I reminded myself that it's called faith for a reason . . . you've got to work at it. Keep reminding yourself you're doing the right thing. Keep reminding yourself that people are good and you should trust them. Keep reminding. Tie a string around your finger, tattoo it on your skin, and remember.
I will tattoo it on my body someday, where I can carry a constant reminder.
And also, a documentary (I love them, I am a dork and if you don't like them, you are a fool and not the cool way, either) just got finished and there were definitely puffins in it. Those little birds are definitely as cool as penguins and deserve equal notoreity (and that's from the root notorious, which is a BAD word, but I don't care, puffins are badasses).
Remember.
This is the first Easter Sunday I've ever spent in Fort Worth. It's funny how you can remember where you were back through the years . . . freshman year, out in the country of Texas, somewhere by the Brazos, I think. Sophomore year, in London, at Westminster Cathedral and then spending the afternoon in the bar of the Texas Embassy restaurant, where a friend was working all day. Last year, in San Antonio, with Maureen and her family. This year, my sister and I, 7 a.m. Mass and then a big dinner later on.
Faith is delicate. My faith in God has never faltered, not once in my life that I remember. My faith in my family never has either. But my faith in other people and institutions has been rocked, lately. Today I reminded myself that it's called faith for a reason . . . you've got to work at it. Keep reminding yourself you're doing the right thing. Keep reminding yourself that people are good and you should trust them. Keep reminding. Tie a string around your finger, tattoo it on your skin, and remember.
I will tattoo it on my body someday, where I can carry a constant reminder.
And also, a documentary (I love them, I am a dork and if you don't like them, you are a fool and not the cool way, either) just got finished and there were definitely puffins in it. Those little birds are definitely as cool as penguins and deserve equal notoreity (and that's from the root notorious, which is a BAD word, but I don't care, puffins are badasses).
Remember.
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
A Long Report Of Telemarketers & Other Misc. Things
I realize it's been a while since the last entry, and guess it's because things keep falling apart and I feel like I'm constantly trying to fit little bits of my life back together. And it's not just my life, either. More than ever I'm discovering that your life can never be as simple as you want, and there are countless people woven into your life who feel the impact of every little thing you're party to.
What's new? Our journalism department is now the Schieffer School of Journalism, which is pretty cool. Gives me something spiffy to put on my resume. Lots of big names came, and I still like to tell people about how Bob Woodward was in my newsroom and shook my hand. He's a badass.
Spring break came, along with me not feeling so hot. I'd spent a few weeks studiously ignoring the painful lymph nodes "the size of cats" (says Jason) until my throat hurt, and when I finally made it to the doctor the verdict was strep, a tonsil infection and mono. Took enough drugs to kill everything and knock me out, and found that while a nice warm fuzzy feeling ensues after taking that many meds, it still has its down.
So most of break was spent unconscious, but the people who kept me company and listened to my ramblings rock my world about 19 different ways. The mono is a pretty severe case, and if you're sick the only thing you want is a little sympathy. My parents, my sister, Jason, Maureen, Emily, Stephen, Claunch, Loren, my darling editors and everyone from the newsroom . . . yeah, I owe these people a lot.
And to those people who give you grief when you don't feel well . . . you suck at life. (Yeah, especially you telemarketers who call my dorm at 9 a.m. when I'm asleep enough to actually answer.)
In other news . . . Easter is coming and Lent will be over soon, meaning I can drink again. It wasn't that big a deal not to drink, but good grief, if ever there were a time period where I would need a margarita or two, it's been this Lent. The Society of Professional Journalists had a code of ethics that calls on everyone to be accountable, be honest, minimize harm, stuff like that . . . good stuff, yah?
It's called being a decent human being, in my book, and I try . . . I've been trying for a few weeks now to be completely honest about things in an attempt to minimize harm to others (remember what I said about everybody's life getting woven into yours?). It seems no matter how hard I try, I always end up getting people pissed off. Do I suck at trying to be good or what?
Sometimes there are instances where you walk into something knowing you're going to hurt someone . . . wow. I wanted to be a doctor when I got to university. I still consider it sometimes. But then I'm not sure I could walk into something where I know I'm bearing bad news sometimes. How do you let a family know their son just died? How do you let someone know that things will never be the same? How do you tell someone that everything they think is different now?
I can't do that. I've done it a few times because I was doing what I felt was the best thing, but that doesn't help a lot. It doesn't help when you know you're doing it for the right reason or you're trying your best, if someone gets hurt, then it's your fault.
Hmm. I've forgotten where I was going with all that. So in conclusion, I'm sick, and will be for a while, but that's cool, at least I'm not contagious. If people give me grief for falling asleep all the time, I have a legit excuse now.
In addition to not infecting people, I'm still trying my best as far as a code of ethics. If you don't want to be a decent human being, then you suck at life.
A telemarketer just called. It's nearly 9 p.m. She was nice and asked if I was interested, I told her I wasn't, thanks very much, but have a good night. She said, you too, thanks, bye, and that was it.
There is good out there.
What's new? Our journalism department is now the Schieffer School of Journalism, which is pretty cool. Gives me something spiffy to put on my resume. Lots of big names came, and I still like to tell people about how Bob Woodward was in my newsroom and shook my hand. He's a badass.
Spring break came, along with me not feeling so hot. I'd spent a few weeks studiously ignoring the painful lymph nodes "the size of cats" (says Jason) until my throat hurt, and when I finally made it to the doctor the verdict was strep, a tonsil infection and mono. Took enough drugs to kill everything and knock me out, and found that while a nice warm fuzzy feeling ensues after taking that many meds, it still has its down.
So most of break was spent unconscious, but the people who kept me company and listened to my ramblings rock my world about 19 different ways. The mono is a pretty severe case, and if you're sick the only thing you want is a little sympathy. My parents, my sister, Jason, Maureen, Emily, Stephen, Claunch, Loren, my darling editors and everyone from the newsroom . . . yeah, I owe these people a lot.
And to those people who give you grief when you don't feel well . . . you suck at life. (Yeah, especially you telemarketers who call my dorm at 9 a.m. when I'm asleep enough to actually answer.)
In other news . . . Easter is coming and Lent will be over soon, meaning I can drink again. It wasn't that big a deal not to drink, but good grief, if ever there were a time period where I would need a margarita or two, it's been this Lent. The Society of Professional Journalists had a code of ethics that calls on everyone to be accountable, be honest, minimize harm, stuff like that . . . good stuff, yah?
It's called being a decent human being, in my book, and I try . . . I've been trying for a few weeks now to be completely honest about things in an attempt to minimize harm to others (remember what I said about everybody's life getting woven into yours?). It seems no matter how hard I try, I always end up getting people pissed off. Do I suck at trying to be good or what?
Sometimes there are instances where you walk into something knowing you're going to hurt someone . . . wow. I wanted to be a doctor when I got to university. I still consider it sometimes. But then I'm not sure I could walk into something where I know I'm bearing bad news sometimes. How do you let a family know their son just died? How do you let someone know that things will never be the same? How do you tell someone that everything they think is different now?
I can't do that. I've done it a few times because I was doing what I felt was the best thing, but that doesn't help a lot. It doesn't help when you know you're doing it for the right reason or you're trying your best, if someone gets hurt, then it's your fault.
Hmm. I've forgotten where I was going with all that. So in conclusion, I'm sick, and will be for a while, but that's cool, at least I'm not contagious. If people give me grief for falling asleep all the time, I have a legit excuse now.
In addition to not infecting people, I'm still trying my best as far as a code of ethics. If you don't want to be a decent human being, then you suck at life.
A telemarketer just called. It's nearly 9 p.m. She was nice and asked if I was interested, I told her I wasn't, thanks very much, but have a good night. She said, you too, thanks, bye, and that was it.
There is good out there.
Saturday, February 26, 2005
To Sleep, Ah, Perchance To Dream . . .
After almost an entire week of sleeping badly, I've now had some days of decent sleep. Things at work have been good, especially since bridges seem to be mended between my friend and me. Both of us had been very, very hurt by various things, but I think we both learned a lesson. I know what I've found, at any rate.
Sometimes you run across those people you feel you've known forever. They're so rare, but when you find them, you can slip along with them like a habit. It's so easy to slide into everything that you forget that you haven't known this person forever and you don't know everything about them. And a person's most vulnerable parts are the things you always see last, so you end up wounding someone without even realizing it.
But if you know one of these people and you fall besides each other like that, then it also means you're supposed to get over any problems and get back into the good stuff. Because that's all anyone wants--the good stuff. As long as you always remember the good stuff, you can get on with the bad stuff.
Asides from that, I don't know too much of what to say. Spring is making a tentative entrance in Texas, and the daffodils all bloomed on Monday, which is good, because I needed to be reassured that things can still be simple and happy. Now I'm fully convinced again.
If it weren't for the growing pile of laundry and the fact I just can't stay on Topper long enough to get my back fixed again, life would be perfect right now.
The laundry can be fixed, and Topper I can live with and love because the whole thing is part of me.
For copyediting, we were supposed to find an example of good writing. It could be anything. This is one of my favorites because I think it relates to any type of love, with friends, lovers, family, anything. Does anybody else think this is a great simile?
"Falling in love is like owning a dog: an epithalamion"
by Taylor Mali
Falling in love is like owning a dog.
First of all, it's a big responsibility,
especially in a city like New York.
So think long and hard before deciding on love.
On the other hand, love gives you a sense of security:
When you're walking down the street late at night
and you have a leash on love
ain't no one gonna mess with you.
Who knows what love could do in its own defense?
On cold winter nights, love is warm.
It lies next to you and lives and breathes
and makes funny noises.
Love wakes you up all hours of the night with its needs.
Love doesn't like being left alone for long.
But come home and love is always happy to see you.
It may break a few things accidentally in its passion for life,
but you can never be mad at love for long.
Is love good all the time? No! No!
Love can be bad. Bad, love, bad! Very bad love.
Love makes messes.
Love leaves you little surprises here and there.
Love needs lots of cleaning up after.
Sometimes you just want to get love fixed.
Sometimes you just want to roll up a piece of newspaper
and swat love on the nose,
not so much to cause pain,
just to let love know Don't you ever do that again!
Sometimes love just wants to go for a nice long walk.
Because love loves exercise!
It runs you around the block and leaves you breathless.
It pulls you in several different directions at once,
or winds around and around you
until you're all wound up and can't move.
But love makes you meet people wherever you go.
People who have nothing in common but love
stop and talk to each other on the street.
Throw things away and love will bring them back,
again, and again, and again.
But most of all, love needs love, and lots of it.
And, in return, love loves you and never stops.
Sometimes you run across those people you feel you've known forever. They're so rare, but when you find them, you can slip along with them like a habit. It's so easy to slide into everything that you forget that you haven't known this person forever and you don't know everything about them. And a person's most vulnerable parts are the things you always see last, so you end up wounding someone without even realizing it.
But if you know one of these people and you fall besides each other like that, then it also means you're supposed to get over any problems and get back into the good stuff. Because that's all anyone wants--the good stuff. As long as you always remember the good stuff, you can get on with the bad stuff.
Asides from that, I don't know too much of what to say. Spring is making a tentative entrance in Texas, and the daffodils all bloomed on Monday, which is good, because I needed to be reassured that things can still be simple and happy. Now I'm fully convinced again.
If it weren't for the growing pile of laundry and the fact I just can't stay on Topper long enough to get my back fixed again, life would be perfect right now.
The laundry can be fixed, and Topper I can live with and love because the whole thing is part of me.
For copyediting, we were supposed to find an example of good writing. It could be anything. This is one of my favorites because I think it relates to any type of love, with friends, lovers, family, anything. Does anybody else think this is a great simile?
"Falling in love is like owning a dog: an epithalamion"
by Taylor Mali
Falling in love is like owning a dog.
First of all, it's a big responsibility,
especially in a city like New York.
So think long and hard before deciding on love.
On the other hand, love gives you a sense of security:
When you're walking down the street late at night
and you have a leash on love
ain't no one gonna mess with you.
Who knows what love could do in its own defense?
On cold winter nights, love is warm.
It lies next to you and lives and breathes
and makes funny noises.
Love wakes you up all hours of the night with its needs.
Love doesn't like being left alone for long.
But come home and love is always happy to see you.
It may break a few things accidentally in its passion for life,
but you can never be mad at love for long.
Is love good all the time? No! No!
Love can be bad. Bad, love, bad! Very bad love.
Love makes messes.
Love leaves you little surprises here and there.
Love needs lots of cleaning up after.
Sometimes you just want to get love fixed.
Sometimes you just want to roll up a piece of newspaper
and swat love on the nose,
not so much to cause pain,
just to let love know Don't you ever do that again!
Sometimes love just wants to go for a nice long walk.
Because love loves exercise!
It runs you around the block and leaves you breathless.
It pulls you in several different directions at once,
or winds around and around you
until you're all wound up and can't move.
But love makes you meet people wherever you go.
People who have nothing in common but love
stop and talk to each other on the street.
Throw things away and love will bring them back,
again, and again, and again.
But most of all, love needs love, and lots of it.
And, in return, love loves you and never stops.
Thursday, February 17, 2005
Choking
So I guess the funk from the weekend never really disappeared, seeing as how it's Thursday night and I'm still chewing over things. I've got enough to chew over that I feel like I'm choking and the whole thing makes me vaguely sick to my stomach. I may be thinking too much, but then, I don't know. I'm pretty sure things need a lot of thought right now.
I got in a huge fight with a friend and coworker Tuesday. This person is a friend first, but it was a coworker fight, if that makes any sense. Unfortunately, neither of us kept personal problems out of the fight, so it escalated into an all-out dirty fight. We probably know each other too well. I'm certain that this aftermath hurts so badly because we were (are?) such close friends.
Work will go on, but right now I'm hanging in limbo personally. The other person said they didn't want to talk to me at all as of Tuesday night, but I don't know if that still applies. I'm terrified of saying anything for fear of making things worse. But how can I make things better without saying anything? Because this is not working, being without each other. It sucks in the worst possible fashion, and I know I don't want things to stay like this.
I got accused of being insensitive and generally bitchy. This was the other person's problem with me personally and professionally, from what I can gather. I just can't quite wrap my head around all of it, though. There were no real problems till last week, when I must've morphed into an infuriating person. So I can't be all insensitive and all bitchy, otherwise I'm pretty sure that would've gotten in the way of us being such close friends to begin with.
But I know that it's probably true at some level. My problem is that I've mistaken always telling the truth with always saying what pops to mind. The little self-censoring section of my brain just sort of disappears when I've known a person after a certain period of time. I get to the point where I can figure I can say absolutely anything and it'll be ok because it's just a friend.
And now I know that's not the case, I should still watch myself. This is my public admittance. Isn't it Alchoholics Anonymous that say admitting you have a problem is the first step to recovery? This is the best first step I can take, since I can't apologize to my friend any more since, as far as I know, they still don't want to talk to me. If they've changed their mind, I have no way of knowing that. I can only hope that one run of me behaving badly without realizing it won't ruin anything permanently.
Also, I'm still learning what pisses this person off. I'm still learning with everyone. Every once in a while something totally unexpected I do or say makes my parents mad, or my friend of several years. I can't take back anything I've said, since I didn't mean it and didn't intend it as harmful to begin with. But I've been trying so hard to learn for a while now and just unfortunately made all my mistakes in one row. I definitely learned from the mistakes, no worries there--but I just hope the other person lets me prove it.
I am not all a problem, and not everything I do is a problem, but I am THE problem right now, it seems.
Some other random musings on the subject . . .
It's only the people who know you the best and are the closest to you who can hurt you the worst. And if two people really are that close, it's certain each is equally miserable over problems. It's nice when friends spill over to work, but it sucks when problems from either spill into the other. Can you ever keep them apart, I wonder?
I don't want this to end . . . but does someone else feel my unintentional mistakes are serious enough to warrant killing off such a great, reassuring, confiding, comfortable, entertaining relationship that really and honestly works?
I got in a huge fight with a friend and coworker Tuesday. This person is a friend first, but it was a coworker fight, if that makes any sense. Unfortunately, neither of us kept personal problems out of the fight, so it escalated into an all-out dirty fight. We probably know each other too well. I'm certain that this aftermath hurts so badly because we were (are?) such close friends.
Work will go on, but right now I'm hanging in limbo personally. The other person said they didn't want to talk to me at all as of Tuesday night, but I don't know if that still applies. I'm terrified of saying anything for fear of making things worse. But how can I make things better without saying anything? Because this is not working, being without each other. It sucks in the worst possible fashion, and I know I don't want things to stay like this.
I got accused of being insensitive and generally bitchy. This was the other person's problem with me personally and professionally, from what I can gather. I just can't quite wrap my head around all of it, though. There were no real problems till last week, when I must've morphed into an infuriating person. So I can't be all insensitive and all bitchy, otherwise I'm pretty sure that would've gotten in the way of us being such close friends to begin with.
But I know that it's probably true at some level. My problem is that I've mistaken always telling the truth with always saying what pops to mind. The little self-censoring section of my brain just sort of disappears when I've known a person after a certain period of time. I get to the point where I can figure I can say absolutely anything and it'll be ok because it's just a friend.
And now I know that's not the case, I should still watch myself. This is my public admittance. Isn't it Alchoholics Anonymous that say admitting you have a problem is the first step to recovery? This is the best first step I can take, since I can't apologize to my friend any more since, as far as I know, they still don't want to talk to me. If they've changed their mind, I have no way of knowing that. I can only hope that one run of me behaving badly without realizing it won't ruin anything permanently.
Also, I'm still learning what pisses this person off. I'm still learning with everyone. Every once in a while something totally unexpected I do or say makes my parents mad, or my friend of several years. I can't take back anything I've said, since I didn't mean it and didn't intend it as harmful to begin with. But I've been trying so hard to learn for a while now and just unfortunately made all my mistakes in one row. I definitely learned from the mistakes, no worries there--but I just hope the other person lets me prove it.
I am not all a problem, and not everything I do is a problem, but I am THE problem right now, it seems.
Some other random musings on the subject . . .
It's only the people who know you the best and are the closest to you who can hurt you the worst. And if two people really are that close, it's certain each is equally miserable over problems. It's nice when friends spill over to work, but it sucks when problems from either spill into the other. Can you ever keep them apart, I wonder?
I don't want this to end . . . but does someone else feel my unintentional mistakes are serious enough to warrant killing off such a great, reassuring, confiding, comfortable, entertaining relationship that really and honestly works?
Sunday, February 13, 2005
Golden
Updating this thing has been sporadic lately, I know. Apologies to those who find a weird satisfaction from knowing what I think. There's probably a good number of you that hear everything from me directly anyway.
Now that we're a month into the semester (it seems so much longer) I think I've found my routine. Homework gets done in the middle of the day, I'm usually awake for classes, and work is the same. Almost everybody I need to talk to or want to see is at work, so I don't feel too badly about getting out so late and usually getting to sleep soon after that.
I just got back from the barn and riding Topper. It wasn't a very exciting ride--but it was the first time in more than two weeks, I think. He hurt his legs, then it was raining, then I got sick, and it was just one thing after another. So today we go out and spend about 20 min or so just sort of stretching out . . . it felt so nice! I missed my saddle so much. And it just feels so right to ride.
Plus, it was effing beautiful outside today. Texas in the spring really is something to see. Especially when it seems like it's been constantly raining lately.
Being outside made me feel better about myself today. I woke up in a funk . . . just one of those restless, disjoined states where I question everything I want to take for granted and wonder if I'm doing the right things. That's part of the reason why I love the week so much--I'm too busy to question myself. I know everything is ok and I'm fine, but I can't help it, every once in a while I just start thinking too much about things that should be simple.
The other day on the radio I heard the song "Golden" by Jill Scott. That song is awesome. It's been running through my head since then, and I really can't complain.
I'm taking my freedom, pulling it off the shelf, putting it on my chain, wearing it round my neck
I'm taking my freedom, putting it in my car, wherever I chose to go, it will take me far
I'm taking my own freedom, putting it in my song, singing loud and strong, groovin' all day long
I'm taking my freedom, putting it in my stroll, I be high steppin ya'll, letting the joy unfold
I'm holding on my freedom, can't take it from me, I was born into it, it comes naturally
I'm strumming my own freedom, praying to God in me, representing his glory, hope he's proud of me.
Living my life like it's golden, living my life like it's golden, living my life like it's golden
Living my life like it's golden, golden
Now that we're a month into the semester (it seems so much longer) I think I've found my routine. Homework gets done in the middle of the day, I'm usually awake for classes, and work is the same. Almost everybody I need to talk to or want to see is at work, so I don't feel too badly about getting out so late and usually getting to sleep soon after that.
I just got back from the barn and riding Topper. It wasn't a very exciting ride--but it was the first time in more than two weeks, I think. He hurt his legs, then it was raining, then I got sick, and it was just one thing after another. So today we go out and spend about 20 min or so just sort of stretching out . . . it felt so nice! I missed my saddle so much. And it just feels so right to ride.
Plus, it was effing beautiful outside today. Texas in the spring really is something to see. Especially when it seems like it's been constantly raining lately.
Being outside made me feel better about myself today. I woke up in a funk . . . just one of those restless, disjoined states where I question everything I want to take for granted and wonder if I'm doing the right things. That's part of the reason why I love the week so much--I'm too busy to question myself. I know everything is ok and I'm fine, but I can't help it, every once in a while I just start thinking too much about things that should be simple.
The other day on the radio I heard the song "Golden" by Jill Scott. That song is awesome. It's been running through my head since then, and I really can't complain.
I'm taking my freedom, pulling it off the shelf, putting it on my chain, wearing it round my neck
I'm taking my freedom, putting it in my car, wherever I chose to go, it will take me far
I'm taking my own freedom, putting it in my song, singing loud and strong, groovin' all day long
I'm taking my freedom, putting it in my stroll, I be high steppin ya'll, letting the joy unfold
I'm holding on my freedom, can't take it from me, I was born into it, it comes naturally
I'm strumming my own freedom, praying to God in me, representing his glory, hope he's proud of me.
Living my life like it's golden, living my life like it's golden, living my life like it's golden
Living my life like it's golden, golden
Sunday, January 23, 2005
Back At Square One (And Not Unhappy About It)
So back at the barn, back at school, back in classes, back in the newsroom. I love being back, having things to fill my time (there's usually about 18 hours filled before starting again). What I love about the school year is how my weekends and workdays balance each other out. Friday night I was in bed and comatose as of about 10:30, and then didn't drag myself out until a few hours past noon Saturday. Delicious. It makes up for all those nights in the newsroom and up doing stupid work, like media law or copyediting homework.
I think copyediting will be the bane of my life this semester. When I'm around Dr. Horvit, everything I do is shit, period. It doesn't matter how long or how hard I worked on the paper, or how long my designers and copyeditors stayed to make sure everything was the best possible, it's all not nearly good enough for her. It doesn't take a lot of her to make me feel like a complete failure. I'm glad the class is only an hour long, though, because if I had to be in there longer I think I'd go nuts.
I shouldn't let Dr. Horvit get to me, I know, especially when I can prove I must be pretty ok (we had a killer first week). I gotta admit, this first week, the newspaper is probably what kept me from losing my head. Final grad school applications, classes, doctor's appointments, no paycheck for going on a month and a half, my parents probably PCSing, all kinds of stuff. At the paper I see the people I want to see and I can get stuff done without too many worries. Even Bohler isn't driving me as nuts as he usually does right now.
Yeah, I really don't have too much to say. In case you couldn't tell. Everything is going really well, actually. I'm feeling really good because I'm doing something, and while I'm perpetually tired and perhaps a little cranky at times, I don't mean to be.
As I've said so many times before, life is beautiful. And that's more than just nice.
I think copyediting will be the bane of my life this semester. When I'm around Dr. Horvit, everything I do is shit, period. It doesn't matter how long or how hard I worked on the paper, or how long my designers and copyeditors stayed to make sure everything was the best possible, it's all not nearly good enough for her. It doesn't take a lot of her to make me feel like a complete failure. I'm glad the class is only an hour long, though, because if I had to be in there longer I think I'd go nuts.
I shouldn't let Dr. Horvit get to me, I know, especially when I can prove I must be pretty ok (we had a killer first week). I gotta admit, this first week, the newspaper is probably what kept me from losing my head. Final grad school applications, classes, doctor's appointments, no paycheck for going on a month and a half, my parents probably PCSing, all kinds of stuff. At the paper I see the people I want to see and I can get stuff done without too many worries. Even Bohler isn't driving me as nuts as he usually does right now.
Yeah, I really don't have too much to say. In case you couldn't tell. Everything is going really well, actually. I'm feeling really good because I'm doing something, and while I'm perpetually tired and perhaps a little cranky at times, I don't mean to be.
As I've said so many times before, life is beautiful. And that's more than just nice.
Friday, January 07, 2005
Time Running Out
It's the beginning of a new year and it already seems chock-full for the first few months. How did I run out of time so quickly? I'm not quite sure, but one thing is for sure: this semester I won't be able to slack off. Of course, I always tell myself that and I always do, but anyway . . . I've just realized I'm going to have to be careful this time around.
Careful careful careful. I really hate being so careful about things. I hate that gnawing, slightly sickened feeling that there's always something looming for me to take care of. Responsibility can suck. Responsibility means you have to take things seriously, and I'd much rather not if I don't have to.
On an up note, at least all the stuff filling my time should be good. The weather will get nice again, so Topper and I can spend lots of time outside . . . grad school applications could be a ticket to another year of school . . . work will be, as per usual, incredibly entertaining and not nearly as confusing as last semester . . . and there's always other stuff to do, like art museums and zoos and concerts and movies and just generally loving the fact I'm in college so all my friends are close for me to harass.
It's nice being harassed and having people to harass. God bless college.
Careful careful careful. I really hate being so careful about things. I hate that gnawing, slightly sickened feeling that there's always something looming for me to take care of. Responsibility can suck. Responsibility means you have to take things seriously, and I'd much rather not if I don't have to.
On an up note, at least all the stuff filling my time should be good. The weather will get nice again, so Topper and I can spend lots of time outside . . . grad school applications could be a ticket to another year of school . . . work will be, as per usual, incredibly entertaining and not nearly as confusing as last semester . . . and there's always other stuff to do, like art museums and zoos and concerts and movies and just generally loving the fact I'm in college so all my friends are close for me to harass.
It's nice being harassed and having people to harass. God bless college.
Wednesday, December 08, 2004
Writing For The Sake Of Seeing My Own Words
Right now I'd like to suggest that anyone who isn't feeling especially abstract (or drunk) not read this.
And just in case you aren't listening to me and aren't taking me seriously, I've decided to put the other things in comments on my own post. That's pretty damn dorky right there.
But the thing is, like I've been saying recently, fall and winter put me in the mood for blues. I need long, painful guitar solos and sternum-shaking bass lines to growl along to. I want the music to weep of joy and pain.
Blues is the purest form of modern music, in my opinion. It gets down to the nitty gritty and base level of what you are.
Anyway, the other day I had up some lyrics that I had written years ago, and Erin's Adam (sorry, the only way I can think of to distinguish them) made some comment about them. I've decided I'll go ahead and put up some of them, since I've got no other use for them. This way, if you read them and want to give me a band to borrow for a night or two, you can see what I bring to the table.
I really do want to be in a band. That would kick ass.
In the mean time I'll just sing my songs without notes or melody out there into the abyss. It's sorta like singing to yourself.
If you're lucky enough to have a band and crazy enough to give these a whirl, please do. Credit me and let me know how it goes. Give them a good time growl-out.
And be again forewarned, there will probably be more. When you're outside at the barn, on top a horse and under that Texas sky, you've got to sing.
And just in case you aren't listening to me and aren't taking me seriously, I've decided to put the other things in comments on my own post. That's pretty damn dorky right there.
But the thing is, like I've been saying recently, fall and winter put me in the mood for blues. I need long, painful guitar solos and sternum-shaking bass lines to growl along to. I want the music to weep of joy and pain.
Blues is the purest form of modern music, in my opinion. It gets down to the nitty gritty and base level of what you are.
Anyway, the other day I had up some lyrics that I had written years ago, and Erin's Adam (sorry, the only way I can think of to distinguish them) made some comment about them. I've decided I'll go ahead and put up some of them, since I've got no other use for them. This way, if you read them and want to give me a band to borrow for a night or two, you can see what I bring to the table.
I really do want to be in a band. That would kick ass.
In the mean time I'll just sing my songs without notes or melody out there into the abyss. It's sorta like singing to yourself.
If you're lucky enough to have a band and crazy enough to give these a whirl, please do. Credit me and let me know how it goes. Give them a good time growl-out.
And be again forewarned, there will probably be more. When you're outside at the barn, on top a horse and under that Texas sky, you've got to sing.
Monday, December 06, 2004
Time On My Hands
The newspaper is done publishing for the semester . . . and I'm finding myself wondering more and more what normal people do to fill their time. What did I do before the paper? I read books, dissected computers for art projects, watched foreign films, made big plans and slowly worked in chipping away at what it would take to achieve them.
Now I'm just filling minutes before class. It sounds bad to just fill minutes, doesn't it? This minute will never come back, it is gone, there it goes, watch it slipping away and all you did was stare out the window at the people running across the street in the rain. But filling minutes isn't wasting minutes, I don't think.
By the way, this is the most astounding restaurant idea ever. I wonder if they have franchise opportunities, cos I'd like to get in on it. A place that centers on cereal . . . hot damn.
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/6630816/
That rocks my face off. You know it does yours, too. Admit it. You love cereal.
And other foods to love . . . clementines are in season now. If you're wondering what the heck they are, they're perfect little tart oranges, easy to peel by hand, no seeds if they're good, and the ones at Central Market are expensive but well worth it.
If there's anyone out there who lives in Fort Worth and can play blues, please let me know. Winter always puts me more in a blues mood (summer is loud rock n roll, although they're often one and the same). I have a stack of lyrics and a swarm of things in my head I want to do. I just can't play any instruments because I'm a moron.
I sat down and did some writing Saturday night. It was the first time in a while, and what came out sort of scared me. I didn't see it going this direction. It's not bad, it's just I didn't expect to see it come out of me. Do you ever wonder where stuff comes from in your mind? Where does the sudden urge to smack someone come from, or the craving for tuna salad or the words which drop out without warning? I honestly have no idea where most of the stuff I write comes from. But then . . . it's probably for the best. I read a book about neuropsychology over Thanksgiving, Into the Silent Land, and it was talking about the author Robert Louis Stevenson, who wrote Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. His ideas just appeared, from someplace unknown, and he felt like just a vehicle for the story. At this point, I feel the same way.
Also, much thanks to everyone who attended Friday night's Skiff party, and even more thanks to everyone who brought alcohol and a good sense of fun. I thought it was a riot. I also think most people heard "The Accent" come out at some point, unless they left early. Is who you are when you're drinking who you are at the core? Am I still an accented philosopher more than anything else? You tell me. I don't know. But ignorance is bliss.
Now I'm just filling minutes before class. It sounds bad to just fill minutes, doesn't it? This minute will never come back, it is gone, there it goes, watch it slipping away and all you did was stare out the window at the people running across the street in the rain. But filling minutes isn't wasting minutes, I don't think.
By the way, this is the most astounding restaurant idea ever. I wonder if they have franchise opportunities, cos I'd like to get in on it. A place that centers on cereal . . . hot damn.
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/6630816/
That rocks my face off. You know it does yours, too. Admit it. You love cereal.
And other foods to love . . . clementines are in season now. If you're wondering what the heck they are, they're perfect little tart oranges, easy to peel by hand, no seeds if they're good, and the ones at Central Market are expensive but well worth it.
If there's anyone out there who lives in Fort Worth and can play blues, please let me know. Winter always puts me more in a blues mood (summer is loud rock n roll, although they're often one and the same). I have a stack of lyrics and a swarm of things in my head I want to do. I just can't play any instruments because I'm a moron.
I sat down and did some writing Saturday night. It was the first time in a while, and what came out sort of scared me. I didn't see it going this direction. It's not bad, it's just I didn't expect to see it come out of me. Do you ever wonder where stuff comes from in your mind? Where does the sudden urge to smack someone come from, or the craving for tuna salad or the words which drop out without warning? I honestly have no idea where most of the stuff I write comes from. But then . . . it's probably for the best. I read a book about neuropsychology over Thanksgiving, Into the Silent Land, and it was talking about the author Robert Louis Stevenson, who wrote Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. His ideas just appeared, from someplace unknown, and he felt like just a vehicle for the story. At this point, I feel the same way.
Also, much thanks to everyone who attended Friday night's Skiff party, and even more thanks to everyone who brought alcohol and a good sense of fun. I thought it was a riot. I also think most people heard "The Accent" come out at some point, unless they left early. Is who you are when you're drinking who you are at the core? Am I still an accented philosopher more than anything else? You tell me. I don't know. But ignorance is bliss.
Wednesday, December 01, 2004
Nine Past One In The Newsroom
It's 1:09 (a.m.) and I'm sitting in a brightly-lit newsroom on my own. Technically it's Wednesday morning, but I don't think so. We got the paper set to bed more than an hour ago and I've finished interviews for next semester's officers. What am I still doing up here?
I figure if I go home I'll just fall asleep, so if I want any time to think I should do it someplace too uncomfortable to nap. I've tried sleeping at my desk before and it just doesn't work. I'm forced to sit here and look around me and do some pondering. Deep, deep pondering, Drew, deep pondering.
(Drew makes fun of the way I write my blog. He insists that I copy edit it or something before posting it. I don't. Things just tumble round in my head and topple out into this, that's all. I write the exact same way he does. What's wrong with writing like you talk?)
This is just randomness. I saw today that my sister quoted a Billy Joel song and that made me proud, although I don't know why. Last night was wretched up here; I wasn't in a bad mood, but I was moody and God bless the guys for keeping me cheered up. I've got my wits back now, though, and feel like I'm doing better than fine. The fact that I was able to pull my life back from total disarray was uplifting.
I like the newsroom empty like this at the end of the day. I like pacing around the room and tidying things . . . I like it because it's mine. I don't think you can totally claim ownership of many things, but this place belongs to me. Of that I'm certain. And certainty can be nice. It can still hold surprises--like the fax in my box about an all-expenses paid trip to DC for a conference in mid-February. Is one month into the semester too soon for me to go back home, even if it's for a conference?
And is it bad of me to look forward to the end of the paper's semester because of all the parties and celebrating?
I didn't think so.
Coldplay has a song called "Don't Panic." It's rather good.
"We live in a beautiful world,
Yeah we do, yeah we do,
We live in a beautiful world . . .
"Oh, all that I know
There's nothing here to run from,
'Cos yeah, everybody here's got somebody to lean on."
Also, work is still being done on the next great American novel. I need suggestions. I need the names of feelings and emotions . . . anything, good, bad, sideways, but not typical labels like "happy" or "angry." Give me vicious, somber, ebullient, oppressed, exuberant . . . as many as possible. I need to finish this thing and get it out of my system before it shreds me up from the inside out.
I figure if I go home I'll just fall asleep, so if I want any time to think I should do it someplace too uncomfortable to nap. I've tried sleeping at my desk before and it just doesn't work. I'm forced to sit here and look around me and do some pondering. Deep, deep pondering, Drew, deep pondering.
(Drew makes fun of the way I write my blog. He insists that I copy edit it or something before posting it. I don't. Things just tumble round in my head and topple out into this, that's all. I write the exact same way he does. What's wrong with writing like you talk?)
This is just randomness. I saw today that my sister quoted a Billy Joel song and that made me proud, although I don't know why. Last night was wretched up here; I wasn't in a bad mood, but I was moody and God bless the guys for keeping me cheered up. I've got my wits back now, though, and feel like I'm doing better than fine. The fact that I was able to pull my life back from total disarray was uplifting.
I like the newsroom empty like this at the end of the day. I like pacing around the room and tidying things . . . I like it because it's mine. I don't think you can totally claim ownership of many things, but this place belongs to me. Of that I'm certain. And certainty can be nice. It can still hold surprises--like the fax in my box about an all-expenses paid trip to DC for a conference in mid-February. Is one month into the semester too soon for me to go back home, even if it's for a conference?
And is it bad of me to look forward to the end of the paper's semester because of all the parties and celebrating?
I didn't think so.
Coldplay has a song called "Don't Panic." It's rather good.
"We live in a beautiful world,
Yeah we do, yeah we do,
We live in a beautiful world . . .
"Oh, all that I know
There's nothing here to run from,
'Cos yeah, everybody here's got somebody to lean on."
Also, work is still being done on the next great American novel. I need suggestions. I need the names of feelings and emotions . . . anything, good, bad, sideways, but not typical labels like "happy" or "angry." Give me vicious, somber, ebullient, oppressed, exuberant . . . as many as possible. I need to finish this thing and get it out of my system before it shreds me up from the inside out.
Monday, November 29, 2004
And Then There Was One
I am back, with one more of some things left and absolutely nothing left of some other things. That's what taking a mini vacation can do to you. I am back at school with one more week of publication, one more chance to up my grades, one more good afternoon left on my book on neuropsychology, one more CD to add to the collection (Honkin' on Bobo by Aerosmith--may the blues live forever!), and one more night left before starting the week.
I have no more home football games left of college, no more chances to see my team in a bowl game while I'm still a student here, no more time to put off some things and no more answers in my head than when I left, despite having ample time to ponder and muse while at home.
I had plenty of time to think and plenty of things to think about. The first night I go home I always go to my bedroom, leave only the small lamp on, and open up my bookcase, gently easing back the antique door and revealing my stacks. I stand there, semi-slouched, for a long time, picking up some volumes, putting them back, flipping through them, searching for that one line I love, looking at the covers and remembering the last time I read it.
My books are all in the past. They're places I've been before, things I know, things I remember, and still places I go back to, to add to that long history. So, naturally, surrounded by my horse models and antique furniture and framed photo essay pieces, I think about the past.
Mostly I thought about this semester. Retrospectively, I think I did a good job--with everything. With classes, friends, workmates, Topper, reading, grad school things . . . all of it. I would say that if I could change one thing, I would become a little more aggressive. But I'm not worried, because now I know what to do in the future. Always live and learn for the future.
But the one thing that holds me back is this: I never know where to draw the line. I'm not an incredibly aggressive person because I can never stop thinking about other people involved in things. So where do I draw the line between being supportive and just being a pushover? I know you can express your intentions firmly, but when should you just let it go? If you let it go, are you a pushover, placid and ineffective? I don't know. I'm still trying to figure that one out.
I think I've decided the only thing you can be is honest while being careful with your words. I need to remember that yes, I'm always thinking about other people involved, but if I'm involved, I can't let myself fade into the background. I need to be in my proper place, wherever that may be, and sometimes it will be in the background, but I can still fight for myself. If there's one thing I don't lack, it's faith in myself, so I may as well act on it.
Tonight, I'm a rock n' roll star.
(And if I ever do become one, I'm going to become totally aggressive and trash the most expensive hotel room I can afford, just for kicks. That would be a riot. Everyone's invited to this hotel party.)
I have no more home football games left of college, no more chances to see my team in a bowl game while I'm still a student here, no more time to put off some things and no more answers in my head than when I left, despite having ample time to ponder and muse while at home.
I had plenty of time to think and plenty of things to think about. The first night I go home I always go to my bedroom, leave only the small lamp on, and open up my bookcase, gently easing back the antique door and revealing my stacks. I stand there, semi-slouched, for a long time, picking up some volumes, putting them back, flipping through them, searching for that one line I love, looking at the covers and remembering the last time I read it.
My books are all in the past. They're places I've been before, things I know, things I remember, and still places I go back to, to add to that long history. So, naturally, surrounded by my horse models and antique furniture and framed photo essay pieces, I think about the past.
Mostly I thought about this semester. Retrospectively, I think I did a good job--with everything. With classes, friends, workmates, Topper, reading, grad school things . . . all of it. I would say that if I could change one thing, I would become a little more aggressive. But I'm not worried, because now I know what to do in the future. Always live and learn for the future.
But the one thing that holds me back is this: I never know where to draw the line. I'm not an incredibly aggressive person because I can never stop thinking about other people involved in things. So where do I draw the line between being supportive and just being a pushover? I know you can express your intentions firmly, but when should you just let it go? If you let it go, are you a pushover, placid and ineffective? I don't know. I'm still trying to figure that one out.
I think I've decided the only thing you can be is honest while being careful with your words. I need to remember that yes, I'm always thinking about other people involved, but if I'm involved, I can't let myself fade into the background. I need to be in my proper place, wherever that may be, and sometimes it will be in the background, but I can still fight for myself. If there's one thing I don't lack, it's faith in myself, so I may as well act on it.
Tonight, I'm a rock n' roll star.
(And if I ever do become one, I'm going to become totally aggressive and trash the most expensive hotel room I can afford, just for kicks. That would be a riot. Everyone's invited to this hotel party.)
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
Dammit, Listen To Me Good, I'm Sleeping By Myself Tonight
At this time tomorrow I will be at home, in my own bed, very probably curled up with one of the cats and a book. There's nothing as comforting as being in bed but not alone. I was thinking about it this weekend because I sleep with my reading light on when my roommate isn't here. When she's there I feel better, even if she's snoring gently and making weird noises (the same she makes at her television when she's awake).
When I'm at home I don't feel the need to leave the light on. I know my parents are down the hall, one of the cats is usually with me, and home is just always safe for me. Sleeping with anyone I trust nearby is safe for me, one of the most secure and cared-for and comforted states I can be in. I never feel quite safe at school . . . which is probably just as well. Last semester I rolled over to find a strange man who had gotten into the room standing over my bed. Despite the fact he bolted faster than I could even comprehend what was happening, I'm still shaken by it on that primitive level where my heart jumps out of my chest when I'm almost asleep and the phone rings.
I think my imagination has gotten worse since coming to college, too, which doesn't help. Aren't people supposed to lose that as they grow up? You learn more about the world, it becomes less mysterious and wonderous, there's less left to the imagination. It seems like most people work like that, anyhow. But it seems like the more I know, the more I realize that the world is much more profoundly bizarre than I could ever have thought. And the more I know, the more I realize I don't know anything.
And that leaves me at night in my dorm room with my eyes shut but my lungs tense.
But isn't it great how just having someone else in the room or an animal with you makes you feel better? Just right away, that's all you need. You always sleep better with company (unless it's Gin, he likes to wake up and walk across you and then sit down and purr as loudly as possible once he knows you're awake). It's just proof that people aren't supposed to be alone. We're still pack animals that desperately need each other.
So I'm looking forward to going home. I sleep like a brick almost all the time, no matter where I am, but being at home will make falling asleep considerably easier.
When I'm at home I don't feel the need to leave the light on. I know my parents are down the hall, one of the cats is usually with me, and home is just always safe for me. Sleeping with anyone I trust nearby is safe for me, one of the most secure and cared-for and comforted states I can be in. I never feel quite safe at school . . . which is probably just as well. Last semester I rolled over to find a strange man who had gotten into the room standing over my bed. Despite the fact he bolted faster than I could even comprehend what was happening, I'm still shaken by it on that primitive level where my heart jumps out of my chest when I'm almost asleep and the phone rings.
I think my imagination has gotten worse since coming to college, too, which doesn't help. Aren't people supposed to lose that as they grow up? You learn more about the world, it becomes less mysterious and wonderous, there's less left to the imagination. It seems like most people work like that, anyhow. But it seems like the more I know, the more I realize that the world is much more profoundly bizarre than I could ever have thought. And the more I know, the more I realize I don't know anything.
And that leaves me at night in my dorm room with my eyes shut but my lungs tense.
But isn't it great how just having someone else in the room or an animal with you makes you feel better? Just right away, that's all you need. You always sleep better with company (unless it's Gin, he likes to wake up and walk across you and then sit down and purr as loudly as possible once he knows you're awake). It's just proof that people aren't supposed to be alone. We're still pack animals that desperately need each other.
So I'm looking forward to going home. I sleep like a brick almost all the time, no matter where I am, but being at home will make falling asleep considerably easier.
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