aaaaaaaaaaaah! I’m SO sore! I somehow, stupidly, forgot to stretch out last night after climbing, and now my fingers and arms are so stiff I’m being forced to type this with my toes!
…
Well, maybe the toes thing is a bit of an exaggeration, but honest to goodness, my firth thought when I woke up this morning was “aaaaaaaaaaaah! I didn’t stretch!”
Good heavens, I sure do complain a lot, don’t I? Oh well…
…and i am only biding time
only reciting memorized lines
Another weekend come and gone. Sunday, June 5th. 2005. Good god. When I open my Palm Desktop, I can see every day between now and the day I leave for Bangkok in my quick-calendar view. It’s going SO quickly.
On balance, it was a quiet weekend. I read. I listened to music. I played my guitar. I got a bunch of new music from Erik (I’m up to 166gb…). I slept. I spent some time on my slackline. I barbequed (sp?!). Twice.
and i’m not fit to touch,
the hem of your garmet.
no, no, i’m
not fit to touch
But really, having a nice quiet weekend was good. Lord knows nextweekend is going to be more than crazy enough to make up for this weekend (backpacking into Veadeawoo Friday night, Taste of Fort Collins/Gin Blossoms Saturday afternoon & evening, Anything-But-Clothes-Goes party at Goetter’s Saturday night…).
And so life in Cheyenne goes.
Ha ha– conflicted? Yeah. Confused? Always. Uncertain but hopeful. Daring but cautious. On the surface, life is so plain and simple right now. Under the surface? I’m pulling a hundred different directions with nowhere to go but no reason to stay. It’s full and rich and complicated and stupid… and somehow it feels like it’s the sort of drama that emerges in a relationship once in the initual fury of love has faded… things slow down. Passions fade. And to replace it, bullshit drama. There’s really nothing to it, but since everything else is coming up lacking, it suffices for substance. Does it work? Yeah, I guess. Is there something better? God, I hope so. But in the mean time? I just keep playing the games with myself. Keep myself distracted. Every day one day closer to July 31– terror sadness loss excitement adventure alone free foreign.
i have no love but only goals
how very empty is my soul
it is a soul that feels no thrill
it is a soul that could easily kill
yellow green black white mountains sillhouette sunset plains green prarie. rain mud sticks stones bricks and bricks and layers of bricks and shovel dirt shovel dirt shovel dirt. i’m too priviledged, white upper-class for this. and what about her? fuck, i don’t know. july 31. but what does that mean? climbing shoes beer music duldrums questions numb tired apprehensive. shovel dirt shovel dirt climb a wall. drive music drive music phonecall. pillow.
it doesn’t make any sense to me, either. no, of course it does. it’s me. it’s here and now. it’s what and how and who and everything but why. it’s not angst, it’s not happiness, it’s not loss, it’s just the words being pulled from the air in front of me.
and i’m not fit to touch
the hem of your garmet,
no, no i’m…
not fit to touch
the hem of your garmet…
Apparently I’m going to Bangkok. I haven’t received any of the confirmation materials from Thammasat yet, but no matter– I (finally) have a plane ticket, and I’m sure I can figure things out when I get there. Heh, realistically the confirmation materials should be arriving any day now, but even if Thammasat decided that they hate Americans and that I couldn’t come, I think I’d just go hang out in south-east Asia for a year.
I can’t believe it’s 10:30 on Monday night already. The weekends go SO quickly!
I need to get my clothes out of the dryer and go to bed.
It’s a good thing I don’t have faster internet– I downloaded 5gb of music last night, and at that rate, it wouldn’t be long before I’d need to start taking out student loans to buy more hard-drive space.
Speaking of music, I had an eargasm (to borrow an apt word from Outkast) listening to the high-fidelity, remastered recording of Dark Side of the Moon last night. This would be the part where I gush about Pink Floyd for five paragraphs, except for the fact that this is actually the part where I get off my computer and go to bed.
Right-o.
Love: usually bullshit, and always a bad idea.
Deep, I know. =) I can’t explain why, but as I was trying to drift asleep last night, my last conscious thought was exactly that. A clever little maxim, I think.
Because it’s true! By love I mean in the “romantic,” gag-me-with-a-spoon Padmae: “Oh, Anakin I love you so much!” sense of the word, of course.
My arms are peeling like crazy. Rather gross, I would say.
Tonight I’m cleaning out my closet. But in a literal, not-Eminem-metaphorical sense. Right. For the record, I’m listening to Pearl Jam and U2. Not Eminem. No… really. I am!
So here’s another random thought: there’s an interesting parallel in literary devices between Episode III and Sophocles’ Oedipus Rex. In Episode III, Anakin learns his fate, and then in order to try to avoid his fate, he becomes evil and fulfills his fate. The only reason that Padmae (sp?!– like I care) dies during childbirth is because she’s lost her will to live because Anakin turned to the Dark Side to try to prevent her death, right? In case you’re not familiar with Oedipus Rex, a startlingly similar turn of events takes place. To make a long play short (you can thank me later), Oedipus learns his fate to kill his father and marry his mother, and only by trying to avoid it does he fulfill it.
Right. So if my blog were an English prof, I would turn this into a whole big long and boring paper instead of a two-line thesis. But it’s not. But you’re welcome to write the paper for me in the comments, if you really really want to. I won’t try to stop you….
So what does this mean? Exactly this: instead of reading FREAKING OEDIPUS REX for the hundred billionth time, classes should now simply watch Episode III because the same discussion about fate vs free will and blah blah blah can be derived from an entertaining and contemporary source. Right. Time for me to go talk to Mrs. Jessen and the honors director at MSU.
That’s it for the deep stuff tonight. Your head is probably hurting by now, so I’ll stop writing so you can go take some aspirin. =P
Nope. Just kidding. I’m going to make an announcement, that for the LAST FREAKING TIME, “good” is an adjective (or a noun, but we’re even going to go there). Not an adverb. Well is an adverb. Good is not. If you did good, you gave money to the poor. But if you earned an A++++++ on your exam, you did well. Not good. So, instead of reading “Crunchy chicken goes good on salads,” the sign in front of Taco Johns should read “Crunchy chicken goes well on salads.” The unfortunate (but logical) deduction from this grammatically incorrect sign being in place for the past three weeks is this:
it started in wyoming
or so the story goes
just a man making tacos
now everybody knows…
there’s a whole lot of mexican goin’ on!
Goin’ on at Taco John’s!
No. That would be a good deduction, but a wrong deduction. The correct deduction is that no one that works at Taco Johns can form a FREAKING correct English sentence, for John’s sake!
(Don’t worry, though– I called one of my buddies that works there and told him that the sign was grammatically incorrect, and I’m sure he’ll tell his supervisor, and they’ll fix the sign. Sheesh.)
(You think I’m kidding about calling. I’m not.)
And I’m really done now. Back to… cleaning out my closet …as it were.
God, I’m a roller-coaster, but god… it feels good to be this high. Emotionally high, that is… =)
I forgot that sometimes Cheyenne has exceptionally nice nights. Nothing raises the spirits like driving down the interstate at night, windows down and stereo blaring, loving the feel of night tassel-ing and flying through my hair..
I was in the park slacklining with Carter till midnight, O.A.R. and Dispatch playing from my car as we laughingly tripped our way from tree to tree in the warm semi-darkness…
I’m only a week in, and already I’ve enjoyed myself so much. And Sagar isn’t even back yet. Cheyenne’s dead, but the people aren’t. And thank god for that.
It’s wonderful to be able to go back and appreciate the things and people I underappreciated in high school. Like Madam Eagan-Wright. I’ve long recognized that she’s an incredible woman, but at dinner tonight (a few “alums” were invited to her annual French dinner becuase some impertinent underclassmen didn’t show) I discovered that I like her. She’s done so much. So much. Speaking of which, next time you’re in Great Falls, check out the local galleries for etchings by Paula Egan– she worked her way through college by creating etchings in the summer and selling them. How cool.
Is there any better feeling in the world than cool, green grass on bare-feet that have been imprisoned in leather shoes all day?
She was also very encouraging of my hopes to go into the Peace Corps, and hearing the stories from her experiences in Haiti (via the PC) just somehow filled me with a sort of awe at the vividness and richness of her experiences there. And god, I want that.