purely conjectural
Sunday, April 22, 2007
After considering, the most profound thing I've ever read"In a strange room you must empty yourself for sleep. And before you are emptied for sleep, what are you. And when you are emptied for sleep, you are not. And when you are filled with sleep, you never were. I don't know what I am. I don't know if I am or not. Jewel knows he is, because he does not know that he does not know whether he is or not. He cannot empty himself for sleep because he is not what he is and he is what he is not. Beyond the unlamped wall I can hear the rain shaping the wagon that is ours, the load that is no longer theirs that felled and sawed it nor yet theirs that bought it and which is not ours either, lie on our wagon though it does, asleep. And since sleep is is-not and rain and wind are was, it is not. Yet the wagon is, because when the wagon is was, Addie Bundren will not be. And Jewel is, so Addie Bundren must be. And then I must be, or I could not empty myself for sleep in a strange room. And so if I am not emptied yet, I am is.
How often have I lain beneath rain on a strange roof, thinking of home.
Labels: existentialism, Faulkner, meaning, quotes
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
"We should conquer the earth by driving stakes into its soil (tent stakes)."
I adore you, sir.
By the way, I've fixed this thing so that you can leave anonymous comments.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
The gents and I took a trip to Hot Springs this weekend--Jennifer, Michael, Sam, Brandon, Maegan and I drove down (through torrential rain) Friday afternoon, and Trent and his (soon to be ex) girlfriend Bekah met up with us Saturday. Michael's mother, who wants to be me when she drove up, was overjoyed to have us and served as entertainment, drink mixer, and story teller the entire time, telling us what great kids we were and how proud of us she was (she had just met a couple of us!) We giggled and drank and pillow fought through the night until Maegan and I passed out drunk and laughing in a bed.
Woke up the next afternoon and went through some thrift stores and flea markets where I found books, crazy earrings, a pineapple necklace, and a shirt that says "Everything is releasing energy all the time" inexplicably and managed to insult the woman working there by insinuating she changed her prices by who came along. And then after playing pirate golf in the freeeeeeezing cold, the boys decided to jump in the lake to be manly--pretty ironic, considering Quaid was scared of the green water and fish! Instead of watching Red Eye and making out with Cillian Murphy's image, as I had planned, I drank too much wine, read too much postmodern gay fiction, and felt petulant and shouted in the bathroom most of the night; what a waste.
And then! Today, when leaving, Michael and Jennifer and Sam got into a car wreck! Brandon, Maegan and I were waiting a stopsign for them to follow us, as we were in a caravan, and they went right through a yield sign and plowed into the side of a van of a carpet salesman. I think Maegan and I were more shaken up than the guys are, so we jumped out, dashed over, and called 911. Luckily everyone was ok, but Michael's car is totaled since the frame is bent to hell and the engine is leaking strange substances and some doors wouldn't open. Michael's mother pulled up and exclaimed "Mikey! You broke your car!" and then laughed when we dropped vodka transferring vehicles; I think I fell madly in love with her at that point...Anyway, we took hilarious photographs when the cops weren't looking, because car wrecks are just so amusing.
Labels: awesome moms, car wreck, Hot Springs
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
BRUSH YOUR TEETH!!
Today I am wearing a shirt I found [stole].
I find war propaganda, especially that from World War II, to be so effective. I watched a documentary on women in the military today, and something about the soaring heroic trumpet line always makes me think of youth shattered and genuine patriotism--which I know is crap, so the propaganda is particularly clever, I guess.
I need to see 300, and, in particular, Grindhouse. These movies were made for my sort of terrible sensibilities--something about a girl with an AK47 for a leg. Call me creepy, but that's just hot.
Speaking of machine guns, I am having a troubling resurgence of religious feeling. Somehow, despite all of the scientific evidence and stirring philosophical discussion and years of doubt, the feeling keeps sneaking back steadily. The fact that I'm fairly certain that it comes out of a desire for it to be truth, rather than the actual conviction that it is truth, makes me feel pretty plaintive.
Today it's raining and it's carnival! No fair. I debated getting a funnel cake, but my shoes were getting wet--the 3 year old in me is pissed of at not caving into such sugary deliciousness over such a pathetic reason. And the 21 year old in me is pissed at missing Sharon Olds last night. Although I think I was less upset at the fact that I missed her (quite honestly, I think that no one can top Neil Gaiman, particularly not Feminist Warriors of Lit'rature) than that I thought Tim would great me in Milton today ranting about how he not only saw her read, he met her. But he was mourning about funding troubles, something with which I can certainly sympathize, so all my pitiful excuses and cunning remarks I had planned were all to no use.
It makes me feel convinced Nick is my soulmate when I can plot such face-saving actions with him participating with an equal, if not greater, degree of enthusiasm. My picture widget keeps flashing artistic pictures he's sent of himself, and I have come to the realization that I have missed him more intently in this past week than I have for the entire 8 months that he's been gone previously. Had a dream about strictly making out with him--no parts of our bodies touching but our mouths. The things I miss unexpectedly...
Sunday, April 8, 2007
Arguing with Nick makes me sick. I'm not sure if he purposely twists what I have to say around into me sounding like I'm constantly nagging him, and purposely puts himself down so that I'll (of course, always) contradict him, but it's impossible to have an argument with him without my grievances being taken seriously. I know I may not be the most perfect person to argue with, but I feel like at least I don't try to convince him that I'm an idiot so that, in the end, he forgets about his problem and then feels guilty for even having brought it up.
Every single thing that has bothered me that I've told him about emotionally has not gotten resolved and has ended with him blaming it on his stupidity.
He's a bloody philosophy professor. He's not stupid. I'm sick of that excuse.
I don't know what to do. I feel like somehow he is degrading my feelings, not taking them seriously or something. Even him telling me I'm wrong is preferable to it turning into the "put down Nick" hour.
I am starting to feel like nothing in this relationship ends with happiness--it's always guilt for both parties.
Saturday, April 7, 2007
I'm feeling pretty wonewy, not really sure why. Nick went to his cousin's house tonight to socialize, but it's not like he and I would be with each other anyway; my father is snoring in his recliner, mom's scrapbooking in the kitchen, jonathan's at his girlfriend's, and danielle is probably prancing about somewhere. But I feel lonely a lot lately.
Surely it stems from Nick being gone for so long, but I think it's also some sort of intropersonal loneliness at work here too--I don't know that I'd feel very good with anyone around. I have done a lot of personal growing this year, and while I am grateful for the opportunity, I've sort of shifted into a state of limbo. I feel like I'm caught between lives--I mean, I'm getting an easter basket tomorrow, and married in July. Strange.
It's probably because I'm PMSing. I lose :P
But say, I went geocaching in the cold today, and bought some scrapstuff and made sloppy but earnest pages; while I do feel sort of like a 37 year old housewife, it's terribly fun. I've also been reading this interesting book about the cultural impact of popular culture on women in the 1960s, 70s, and 80s, and while it makes some predictable assumptions, the woman is wry and witty and funny as hell.
Is it strange that I, sort of a fallen child of God, am a bit unsettled that Nick is going to get drunk tonight?
I think I'll go back to my book. This entry has been haphapzard but has accurately represented my state of mind; I can't concentrate, my thoughts are disjointed and melancholy, and even my happy little hobbies are being observed through a haze of sulkiness and sinus headache.
Labels: lonely, scrapbooking, whine
Wednesday, April 4, 2007
Ah, the start of a new blog. I tried a resurgence of self-examination over at Myspace, but no use; while I thought that I'd enjoy writing for the people I hate (the only reason I keep a myspace, you know), it turns out it's pretty stifling. Not as stifling as writing for people you do know, though, because those mothers expect you to write all the time, and prettily, about events which they've observed.
So, for now, it's you and me, kid. And anyone else who stumbles upon this. This place doesn't seem overly concerned with sociability though, so for awhile it'll be me speaking to the echoes of myself.
The power supply in my PC blew, and I just had to spend 27 begrudging dollars on a new one. Since the birthday has rolled around, I have had delightfully more than I thought I would, but still, St. Joseph's collection of terrible vintage clothes is calling me and I'm quite cross that at least 27 useless items of clothing are now unattainable. Sonuvabitch.
I should be writing a one-page book review for women's history, due approximately a day and a half ago, but I think the thesis writing has made me unable to keep thinking, thinking, thinking all the time. I went to Something Brewing with Linda, hoping the scenery would change productivity, but mainly I just chatted with Justin about his life. Piss and vinegar. It seems like everywhere I go, no matter what I surround myself with, I feel this terrible malaise; at home I feel uncomfortable, like a guest, and here I feel unproductive and generally moody and prone to eating too many Cadbury Eggs.
I am getting married, blog, on July 21st. And then heading to graduate school, most likely choosing Utah or Kansas but desperately wanting to go to the University of Chicago, where I was completely out-of-the-blue accepted and where my fiancee was not. He has no problem talking about Utah and Kansas, which will keep me out of my dream school, gaily; why, then, do I feel so guilty talking about Chicago when it will keep him out of his? He talks about being happy, and established; at least he had the chance to establish himself without me inserting my interests into the equation.
I am not resentful that he is keeping me from going to Chicago, at all. I think that this malaise, in fact, stems from him not being here. But you'd think that he would show a little sorrow, or some sympathy at least, about me not going there. He says that he would automatically choose wherever I went, because he'd only be happy with me, but I don't see me making any demands on where he can go to school, so of course he has the luxury of the decision being made up for him.
I know I would be poor in Chicago but, quite frankly, it would be worth it. It's someplace I could reinvent myself. I'd probably feel the same way about my friends that I have felt in the countless other places I've lived--a little bit on the fringe--but all the music that would be there, and all the cool books, and the atmosphere, and oh God most of all the opportunity.
I feel like Nick, maybe a little unfairly, prioritizes his needs first. He tells me all the time that he wants to teach at a teaching university, no wait, a research university, no wait, a teaching university, but I've yet to hear him ask me what I want.
I'm not asking for him to completely sacrifice his future for me. He is only on the waiting list at NIU, and it's a highly competitive school, and I get the feeling that he genuinely believes he won't get in. That's fine if he doesn't. Then we will take the best we can get and run with it. But it seems that he can't muster any sort of optimism for my sake, and all I've heard about is him talk about what he, he, he will do. Is it because I'm a woman? Because he went to grad school a year earlier than me? Or does he not see my future in the same light as his. He says he's liberal, but when it boils down to me having children, for instance, does he just want me to stay at home, being intelligent and having fun, but taking a back seat to his career?
God, I hadn't expected all this to come out. I didn't even know that I was feeling so shafted. But I am itching to be an adult, and start a new life, and move out of the dorms and out of my parents' and go to someplace where I am in charge of the dishwasher, goddamnit, and I already feel like my choices are being considered secondary.
Speaking of things that I can purportedly control, I ate lasagna and french fries at lunch today, and cereal for dinner. So much for low freaking carb. Generally I don't let myself eat a meal if I weigh more than I want to--yeah, I know it's unhealthy, shut it--and then when I weigh a little less I go crazy. It's so frustrating. Can't I just control myself and eat a salad, or some hamburger? What is it about bread that's so ridiculously delicious looking?
I could pour lots more out, but I suppose I should just get to work.
Labels: complaints, grad school, life choices
About This Blog
Name::stochastic
From::Lawrence, Kansas, United States
In Petrucci I trust.
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About Me
Name::stochastic
From::Lawrence, Kansas, United States
In Petrucci I trust.
View my complete profile
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