…Isn’t that different from March, only there is a very observable lack of ice cream.
I’m not exactly sure where I got the idea that life would be smooth sailing once I made a commitment to something. It’s been anything but.
I have (read: had) a short story due at 6 this morning. Not done. Lots of stuff: Not done. There are four-ish weeks of school left and there is so very, very much: Not done.
On the other hand, I’ve managed to see this guy (It was in March, but it was so cool that it carried over):
Phil Jones’ didgeridoo workshop. I think if I go to one every year, in about 10 years, I’ll have figured out how to play.
I got to play some of these again:
Another view. I played the second from the right. It had both a crocodile and a kangaroo on it:
I feel so behind, so utterly behind (and I am. I’m under no illusion that, academically speaking, I am desperately, amazingly, utterly behind), and yet as I look at all of the things that are making up my life right now, I am absolutely amazed.
Sure, my sanity’s just holding on by a thread, but what a wonderful life. What an amazingly full life. I work more, not less, hours at the writing center. I go to see (and play) the didge played and I go to the marina for coffee. (Just accomplished that, for the record, Jenny. Completely overcast, but I stood in front of the light house and drank my coffee with much relish). I have taken classes through church. I am signed up for more appropriate study classes. I have utterly, utterly, fallen in love with movement, and I am fascinated by the way my body is moving. While the weight thing still bothers me (of course), it is more of a “where I am” rather than a “who I am.”
And that has changed everything.
I thought I’d be slick and cinematic. I thought I’d have a secondary blog (again, what the hell?) that I’d have my weight loss stuff at. I really thought it’d be a good idea, and I was planning to, at the end of the Fast, put them together through cute little graphics and say “Ta-Da here I is” and all that jazz. It wasn’t because I wanted the weight loss thing separate. It was because the blog revolved around my spiritual journey that is being reflected by weight loss.
And for some reason, I thought that was a good idea to keep them separate and have an “unveiling” of sorts.
Right. It was a good idea at the time, but I realize that the nature of my blog, whether I keep it together or separate, will most likely change because I am changing. I have changed. I will change.
And, as the purpose of this blog is to record my “footsteps through college, bad jokes, and life in general” (which, I’ve noticed, much to my great sadness does not show up with this Digg format), it seems silly to separate a section of from the rest of my “life in general.”
It is what it is.
I’m not sure why I wanted it separate so badly that I tried many, many times to keep it separate. But I’ll be here once again, spamming my own blog with entries from another, and things will re-settle into my typical “not so often” updates, I’m sure. I think a part of it is that I’m unwilling to let go (as of yet) my “sense of humor of a 13 year old boy.” I have proclaimed myself as one thing, and yet, here I am, still overfond of the ubiquitous penis jokes.
Which reminds me. I went to the awards banquet last night for a local contest. I brought my parents because a) I really thought I’d win (a hunch which was ego in disguise, I think) and b) I really wanted them to meet Professor F-dawg. He wasn’t there, and it turned out that the awards banquet was actually an award announcement tacked on the end of an hour of poetry.
I dig poetry, for the most part. When it’s poetic.
They had three poets, none of whom I was particularly impressed with, although they were all very impressed with themselves. The one that showed the most personality was some crazy lady who got her MFA from University of Iowa. She wrote a poem about a dress that had books on it, and the poem consisted of her being a divorcee and going out on dates, and saying, “You can’t slide your hand past Jane Eyre” and other things like that. (Rather cool, I thought, anyway). So I grabbed her after the ceremony, or, rather, simply complimented her on that poem (I didn’t want, after all, to be insincere), and that I wanted to attend University of Iowa as well).
She plopped down, appearing expectant of more praise, I suppose, and got up when I didn’t offer any beyond that single poem.
The Nose was there, so cute in his utter superiority. I heard him say, “I haven’t read American novels since…” (I forgot when, but implied long ago since he was too good for them).
Poor guy. He’s missing some good stuff with his head up his ass like that.
He asked me how I liked it. I asked him if he wanted the truth.
He really should know better than to say yes when he means no. Especially with me. We do, after all, have a history of this exact exchange.
“I’ve found more emotionally charged poetry on a porn board. I have found things which, in a non-sexual way, have engaged me and made me wistful and full of memories and made me feel alive. I have found things that made me fall in love, fall in hate, fall in sadness and fear by unpublished and unprofessional and untrained poets than this shit which comes the Writer’s Workshop. This is not poesis. I’ve seen poesis.”
He just sort of stood there in his Noseness and blinked.
I was rather proud of myself until I realized two things. One, I mentioned “porn board” and I had my parents with me. And, two, that my rep as the resident ‘vert would be confirmed if any of my peers had heard me.
Integration, baby. Achtung!