Thanks to the wonderful power of Hulu, I have finally discovered Arrested Development. After countless recommendations from trusted friends and rave reviews, I am now indulging in the hilarity.
Holy balls this show is funny.
And, for my money, there is no one better at being nervous/awkward as Michael Cera. Seriously.
Also thanks to Hulu, 30 Rock has entered my list of hilarious shows and regular viewing.
See, because I work at fucking four in the morning, I can't stay up to watch t.v. shows when they're normally on. Thank God for the internet, which allows me to watch these shows when I should instead be studying or otherwise bettering myself.
My life wasn't always this exciting. There was a time, back when I was in college the first time, and before I moved (back) in with my parents, when i used to have things other than watching t.v. on the internet to do on a Friday night. That time has since passed. I am now a 24 year old male who lives with his parents (and grandmother) who also recently lost his driver's license. Now, if these things had either one occurred separately--that is, if I would have lost my license a little over a year ago when I still lived with friends in the beautiful hills of East Tennessee, or if I lived with my parents and hadn't lost my license--they would have been bearable. In one option, leaving the house wasn't all that great anyway, because in the house I had Rock Band and all the beer, wine and friends a guy could ask for. In the other, I could drive wherever the hell I wanted whenever I pleased or when this place got to be too much. These things, however, happened to occur simultaneously, leaving me in my parents house with my grandmother and no way out. Fucking awesome.
Hence, you have a blog and plenty of time to catch up on now defunct television shows.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Feeling infinite...
So, I finally read The Perks of Being a Wallflower again. This time I did it for class as my "choice" book. I don't think I followed the assignment, but I don't care. I'd been meaning to read it again and this was a good opportunity. (Thanks, Megan, by the way, for giving it to me what, in one sense, seems like an eternity ago yet in another seems like only yesterday.)
Though I can no longer say that it's my favorite book, (I've read a lot of books since then) I can still say that it's a quality read and I enjoyed it again. My favorite part is still and likely always will be Charlie's poignant line as they are driving through the Fort Pitt tunnels emerging into the city, "I feel infinite." Because that describes it so well, doesn't it? We've all had that feeling (at least I hope we have), and there's nothing else like it. So, in keeping with my promise to myself to write more often, here's a story about some characters feeling that exact thing.
They raised the back hatch of the old Cherokee and retrieved three lawn chairs, unfolding them and setting them up in the gravel in front of the camper. It was a quiet day at the lake, as it always was. There was never much stirring among the campers in the day-time. Most every one was out in the water doing one thing or another and those that weren't, hid in the dark corners of their shelters, making coffins of their beds, serving their penance for the night before. The three of them had been granted a reprieve--this weekend would soon be over, and their time could be served after they'd returned to the daily drudge of their all-too academic lives. This weekend was borrowed time. They sat upon the gravel in their lawn chairs shirtless like animate chloroplasts, allowing the sun's rays to fill them with nourishment and energy they could feel as their skin basked in it, seeking saturation.
Jesse was hard at work packing the Camels. As he worked, his mind wandered to the times he'd spent over the past year, fondly reminiscing over the many nights at school spent learning but not studying. As he finished, he let out a knowing and satisfied chuckle. He admired his work, and saw that it was good. He lit, hit, and passed, drawing another from the pack to repeat the process until they each inhaled, leaned back and sat silent and still as the trees. The reflection of the sun on the water filled them with joy and the sound and smell of the smoke paired perfectly with the warm embrace on the sun's love. The three of them smoked in silence until the last of the embers was extinguished, having fulfilled its destiny admirably. These were always the times when they felt the smartest and most at home, among kindred spirits and like minds, discussing anything that the wind introduced. The world was their prompt, and on that day, they wanted to tackle it--all of it--starting at the beginning and working up to the previous second, accounting for everything that was and was to be. All was clear. They had succeeded in decoding life's veiled codes. They each understood fully and exactly, sharing thoughts as they shared air. All they saw and smelled and thought and heard was life, and it was perfect. What had been a mysterious mistress always flirting from afar yet remaining out of grasp had today revealed herself and all of her deepest secrets. She had given herself to them, completely submitting to the passion of the moment. It was a triumph; the stone was rolled away and the truth shone bright through the clouds. In that moment, they were infinite.
Incidentally, I am planning a Great American Adventure, in which I will take several months to drive cross country, stopping at whatever place catches my eye or piques my interest. Any suggestions?
Though I can no longer say that it's my favorite book, (I've read a lot of books since then) I can still say that it's a quality read and I enjoyed it again. My favorite part is still and likely always will be Charlie's poignant line as they are driving through the Fort Pitt tunnels emerging into the city, "I feel infinite." Because that describes it so well, doesn't it? We've all had that feeling (at least I hope we have), and there's nothing else like it. So, in keeping with my promise to myself to write more often, here's a story about some characters feeling that exact thing.
They raised the back hatch of the old Cherokee and retrieved three lawn chairs, unfolding them and setting them up in the gravel in front of the camper. It was a quiet day at the lake, as it always was. There was never much stirring among the campers in the day-time. Most every one was out in the water doing one thing or another and those that weren't, hid in the dark corners of their shelters, making coffins of their beds, serving their penance for the night before. The three of them had been granted a reprieve--this weekend would soon be over, and their time could be served after they'd returned to the daily drudge of their all-too academic lives. This weekend was borrowed time. They sat upon the gravel in their lawn chairs shirtless like animate chloroplasts, allowing the sun's rays to fill them with nourishment and energy they could feel as their skin basked in it, seeking saturation.
Jesse was hard at work packing the Camels. As he worked, his mind wandered to the times he'd spent over the past year, fondly reminiscing over the many nights at school spent learning but not studying. As he finished, he let out a knowing and satisfied chuckle. He admired his work, and saw that it was good. He lit, hit, and passed, drawing another from the pack to repeat the process until they each inhaled, leaned back and sat silent and still as the trees. The reflection of the sun on the water filled them with joy and the sound and smell of the smoke paired perfectly with the warm embrace on the sun's love. The three of them smoked in silence until the last of the embers was extinguished, having fulfilled its destiny admirably. These were always the times when they felt the smartest and most at home, among kindred spirits and like minds, discussing anything that the wind introduced. The world was their prompt, and on that day, they wanted to tackle it--all of it--starting at the beginning and working up to the previous second, accounting for everything that was and was to be. All was clear. They had succeeded in decoding life's veiled codes. They each understood fully and exactly, sharing thoughts as they shared air. All they saw and smelled and thought and heard was life, and it was perfect. What had been a mysterious mistress always flirting from afar yet remaining out of grasp had today revealed herself and all of her deepest secrets. She had given herself to them, completely submitting to the passion of the moment. It was a triumph; the stone was rolled away and the truth shone bright through the clouds. In that moment, they were infinite.
Incidentally, I am planning a Great American Adventure, in which I will take several months to drive cross country, stopping at whatever place catches my eye or piques my interest. Any suggestions?
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Getting your money's worth...
During some rousing discussion in class today about the cop-out that is Cather's epilogue to The Song of the Lark, I was reminded of a Hemingway quote that I took note of while reading The Sun Also Rises, and it got me to thinking about life and how it works. Here's the quote:
You payed some way for everything that was any good . . . Either you paid by learning about them, or by experience, or by taking chances, or by money. Enjoying living was ;earning to get your money's worth and knowing when you had it. You could get your money's worth. The world was a good place to buy in.
Aside from re-realizing why I love Hemingway so much, this quote got me thinking about life, especially in regard to the most recent version of my philosophy on how it works. See, since so much of my life has revolved around baseball, I tend to relate everything back to it. Recently, I've realized that one of the things I love about baseball so much is how, in my opinion, it reflects life so well. In giving some advice earlier this morning, I brought up the old analogy of the scales of life, and of balance and harmony and equal & opposites and all that. In baseball terms, it goes a little something like this:
A player that's a .300 hitter is going to hit .300. That's it. Slumps come and go, and they are bound to run their course no matter what you do about it. Like, as former Padres' catcher Terry Kennedy said, the common cold. As a player, you just keep plugging away, putting your work in and moving forward with the faith that, eventually, you will pull out of it. And, if you're a .300 hitter, you will. Then, in theory, for every slump, you're going to have a hot streak to balance in out. For example, you might hit .200 in April, but go on a tear in June and hit .400. Those two months, roughly, cancel each other out bringing you back to your true average.
To put a face to this argument, let's take a look at current Pirates' first baseman, Adam LaRoche, one of the better examples of this theory. To start, LaRoche is a career .273 hitter. In 2008, LaRoche had a typically horrendous start, hitting just .163 in 23 games in April (and one in May). However, he also had a typically strong finish, hitting .321 in 23 games in September and October. Now, let's take a bigger sample. In 87 games before the All-Star break, LaRoche hit .251; in his 49 games after the All-Star break (he spent some time on the disabled list), he hit .304. What was his average, when all was said and done, at the end of the season? .270, just three points below where his career numbers would indicate.
See, that's why they play so many games in a baseball season. The nature of the game is that there are going to be ups and downs, highs and lows, much like the nature of life. But that's why we (hopefully) get so many days in life. You can't judge things by a day or a week, a month, or even a year. You've got to try and see the big picture, the entire season, the entire career. Because, in time, things always even out right to where they should be.
So, how does this relate to Hemingway and Willa Cather? Well, that Hemingway quote is describing that very thing. In order to gain something, you've got to give something up. Nothing comes for free. Why do hangovers exist? To balance out the feeling of the night before. They are the price we pay for that great feeling of drunkenness. Just like slumps and hot streaks, just like paying for things---this is the way of the world.
This is what Cather ignores in her epilogue. In order to be great, you've got to make some sacrifices. The entire novel pays this close attention, and does a fine job of describing Thea's sacrifices as well as her successes. Unfortunately, the epilogue completely ignores this fact.
But seriously, read the book. It's awesome.
You payed some way for everything that was any good . . . Either you paid by learning about them, or by experience, or by taking chances, or by money. Enjoying living was ;earning to get your money's worth and knowing when you had it. You could get your money's worth. The world was a good place to buy in.
Aside from re-realizing why I love Hemingway so much, this quote got me thinking about life, especially in regard to the most recent version of my philosophy on how it works. See, since so much of my life has revolved around baseball, I tend to relate everything back to it. Recently, I've realized that one of the things I love about baseball so much is how, in my opinion, it reflects life so well. In giving some advice earlier this morning, I brought up the old analogy of the scales of life, and of balance and harmony and equal & opposites and all that. In baseball terms, it goes a little something like this:
A player that's a .300 hitter is going to hit .300. That's it. Slumps come and go, and they are bound to run their course no matter what you do about it. Like, as former Padres' catcher Terry Kennedy said, the common cold. As a player, you just keep plugging away, putting your work in and moving forward with the faith that, eventually, you will pull out of it. And, if you're a .300 hitter, you will. Then, in theory, for every slump, you're going to have a hot streak to balance in out. For example, you might hit .200 in April, but go on a tear in June and hit .400. Those two months, roughly, cancel each other out bringing you back to your true average.
To put a face to this argument, let's take a look at current Pirates' first baseman, Adam LaRoche, one of the better examples of this theory. To start, LaRoche is a career .273 hitter. In 2008, LaRoche had a typically horrendous start, hitting just .163 in 23 games in April (and one in May). However, he also had a typically strong finish, hitting .321 in 23 games in September and October. Now, let's take a bigger sample. In 87 games before the All-Star break, LaRoche hit .251; in his 49 games after the All-Star break (he spent some time on the disabled list), he hit .304. What was his average, when all was said and done, at the end of the season? .270, just three points below where his career numbers would indicate.
See, that's why they play so many games in a baseball season. The nature of the game is that there are going to be ups and downs, highs and lows, much like the nature of life. But that's why we (hopefully) get so many days in life. You can't judge things by a day or a week, a month, or even a year. You've got to try and see the big picture, the entire season, the entire career. Because, in time, things always even out right to where they should be.
So, how does this relate to Hemingway and Willa Cather? Well, that Hemingway quote is describing that very thing. In order to gain something, you've got to give something up. Nothing comes for free. Why do hangovers exist? To balance out the feeling of the night before. They are the price we pay for that great feeling of drunkenness. Just like slumps and hot streaks, just like paying for things---this is the way of the world.
This is what Cather ignores in her epilogue. In order to be great, you've got to make some sacrifices. The entire novel pays this close attention, and does a fine job of describing Thea's sacrifices as well as her successes. Unfortunately, the epilogue completely ignores this fact.
But seriously, read the book. It's awesome.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Valentine's Day...
So, in the spirit of the holiday, I am going to take a minute or two to write about the loves of my life that I am spending my evening with: baseball, music, and literature.
Today was the opening day of Spring Training for the Pittsburgh Pirates. Although I have no reason to be positive or enthusiastic about this season, as management did next to nothing to improve one of the league's worst teams from last year, I can't help but get excited when the players finally report to Spring camp. Because, after all, it's about far more than wins and losses; regardless of the record, the Pirates have 162 games to play this year, and I will enjoy watching as many as I possibly can. Baseball is still baseball, no matter how good or bad your team is, and that is one of the most beautiful and perfect things in the world. That is my first love.
Seventeen years ago today, in a garage in Southern California, four fellows gathered for their first rehearsal together. Those four fellows were the members of Weezer, and though two of those members have since been replaced, the spirit of the band remains relatively in tact through some tumultuous and terrible times, no less. It's been a long road for Weezer and for Weezer fans. Like a love that starts out hot and passionate, Weezer burst onto the scene, emerging at the perfect time to pave the way for the power-pop post-grunge era in music history, and what an amazing era it was. Most of my favorite modern music comes from these few years starting around 1994, including two undeniable classics from the Weez. Though they faded away completely for a while, and are unlikely to ever fully return to the greatness that they achieved in their original incarnation, a Weezer fan can't help but be a little proud of their staying power. Their latest album, the self-titled "Red Album," showed glimpses of greatness again, and I can't help but be a little excited about what the future might bring for the band that changed my life so many years ago. To the first band that I ever loved, who piqued my interest in music and paved the way for my future expanding tastes, I thank you.
As for literature, you are my newest and freshest love. We discovered one another amidst a sea of confusion and perhaps because of that, I have yet to give you all of my trust. It took me a long time to make a move at all. Despite the years of playful flirting, I kept you waiting, experimenting with other potential suitors. Even now, I have yet to take the leap of faith required to reach our full potential together. But that's what I wanted to talk to you about: I've been thinking about it, and I think it's time. We're good together. We understand each other. I can see parts of myself in you, and there are parts of you that I can see that others can't. We bring out the best in each other. I feel as though you make me a better person, as though I'm more with you than I am without. And although I struggle at times in having the confidence to believe that I am good enough for you, I am working on it. Time and again those whose opinions I value, those who hold you in the highest regard, have tried to make it clear to me, that I am good enough for you, that I do get you, that I'm not merely fantasizing. The signs have all been there, but I've been too unsure of myself to accept them. So, forgive me for dragging my feet. Forgive me for selling myself short and for giving up on us too early. It's time. After more than a year of him-hawing and postponing and talking myself out of it, I've made up my mind.
I'm going to tell you this in all sincerity, and I know you've heard it before, but this time I mean it---more than all the other times, though I meant it then too. This time, I think I'm finally ready. After this semester, I will no longer be an English Education major. Instead, I will take the time, however much it may take, to get my shit together and do what I've known I wanted to do for some time now. No more taking the safe way out. I'm taking a chance. I don't know where I'll end up or when I'll get there, but it's coming. I'm over the quarter-life crisis that I've been going through where I thought that I'd better hurry up and settle down into a boring life in a boring town and start a routine before my hair turned gray. Here we go. Here I come.
And some Jay-Z lyrics that popped into my head during the last paragraph for good measure:
They say an eye for an eye, we both lose our sight
And two wrongs don't make a right
But when you been wrong and you know all along that it's just one life
At what point does one fight? (Good question right!)
Today was the opening day of Spring Training for the Pittsburgh Pirates. Although I have no reason to be positive or enthusiastic about this season, as management did next to nothing to improve one of the league's worst teams from last year, I can't help but get excited when the players finally report to Spring camp. Because, after all, it's about far more than wins and losses; regardless of the record, the Pirates have 162 games to play this year, and I will enjoy watching as many as I possibly can. Baseball is still baseball, no matter how good or bad your team is, and that is one of the most beautiful and perfect things in the world. That is my first love.
Seventeen years ago today, in a garage in Southern California, four fellows gathered for their first rehearsal together. Those four fellows were the members of Weezer, and though two of those members have since been replaced, the spirit of the band remains relatively in tact through some tumultuous and terrible times, no less. It's been a long road for Weezer and for Weezer fans. Like a love that starts out hot and passionate, Weezer burst onto the scene, emerging at the perfect time to pave the way for the power-pop post-grunge era in music history, and what an amazing era it was. Most of my favorite modern music comes from these few years starting around 1994, including two undeniable classics from the Weez. Though they faded away completely for a while, and are unlikely to ever fully return to the greatness that they achieved in their original incarnation, a Weezer fan can't help but be a little proud of their staying power. Their latest album, the self-titled "Red Album," showed glimpses of greatness again, and I can't help but be a little excited about what the future might bring for the band that changed my life so many years ago. To the first band that I ever loved, who piqued my interest in music and paved the way for my future expanding tastes, I thank you.
As for literature, you are my newest and freshest love. We discovered one another amidst a sea of confusion and perhaps because of that, I have yet to give you all of my trust. It took me a long time to make a move at all. Despite the years of playful flirting, I kept you waiting, experimenting with other potential suitors. Even now, I have yet to take the leap of faith required to reach our full potential together. But that's what I wanted to talk to you about: I've been thinking about it, and I think it's time. We're good together. We understand each other. I can see parts of myself in you, and there are parts of you that I can see that others can't. We bring out the best in each other. I feel as though you make me a better person, as though I'm more with you than I am without. And although I struggle at times in having the confidence to believe that I am good enough for you, I am working on it. Time and again those whose opinions I value, those who hold you in the highest regard, have tried to make it clear to me, that I am good enough for you, that I do get you, that I'm not merely fantasizing. The signs have all been there, but I've been too unsure of myself to accept them. So, forgive me for dragging my feet. Forgive me for selling myself short and for giving up on us too early. It's time. After more than a year of him-hawing and postponing and talking myself out of it, I've made up my mind.
I'm going to tell you this in all sincerity, and I know you've heard it before, but this time I mean it---more than all the other times, though I meant it then too. This time, I think I'm finally ready. After this semester, I will no longer be an English Education major. Instead, I will take the time, however much it may take, to get my shit together and do what I've known I wanted to do for some time now. No more taking the safe way out. I'm taking a chance. I don't know where I'll end up or when I'll get there, but it's coming. I'm over the quarter-life crisis that I've been going through where I thought that I'd better hurry up and settle down into a boring life in a boring town and start a routine before my hair turned gray. Here we go. Here I come.
And some Jay-Z lyrics that popped into my head during the last paragraph for good measure:
They say an eye for an eye, we both lose our sight
And two wrongs don't make a right
But when you been wrong and you know all along that it's just one life
At what point does one fight? (Good question right!)
Sunday, February 8, 2009
We've had some times I wouldn't trade for the world...
I am thankful for much in this life. Perhaps the one thing for which I am most thankful for is good friends and family. What would life be without them?
This weekend, many of my friends were gathering near our old stomping grounds for a makeshift reunion which was certain to consist of countless old stories rehashed over beers and endless laughter. It was this weekend because our old ball team was playing their home opener, which was a great excuse to get together, and just another reason why the weekend would be so grand. I'd been looking forward to this even to see old friends and get refreshed and recharged, which is what seeing them always seems to do for me. Unfortunately, I was unable to attend this weekend because I am without a driver's license at the moment. Honestly, the worst part about the whole thing was the fact that I was going to miss the fun that was to be happening this weekend.
Luckily for me, I've got some amazing friends, two of whom decided to bring themselves to me as a surprise in an attempt to lift my spirits. Words cannot describe what this meant to me.
Not only did they have to drive the nine plus hours that it takes to get here from there, but they also made a choice to miss out on all the fun that was happening down there (and take some serious shit from the guys that were going to be there, I might add). This act and this weekend has reaffirmed my belief that I have some of the best friends in the world. Without whom, I would truly be lost instead of just feeling like it at times. It's good to know you're missed and it's good to know that people care about you.
So, thanks guys. And to the rest of you, I'll see you as soon as I am able. A road trip is going to be just what I need. I can't wait.
This weekend, many of my friends were gathering near our old stomping grounds for a makeshift reunion which was certain to consist of countless old stories rehashed over beers and endless laughter. It was this weekend because our old ball team was playing their home opener, which was a great excuse to get together, and just another reason why the weekend would be so grand. I'd been looking forward to this even to see old friends and get refreshed and recharged, which is what seeing them always seems to do for me. Unfortunately, I was unable to attend this weekend because I am without a driver's license at the moment. Honestly, the worst part about the whole thing was the fact that I was going to miss the fun that was to be happening this weekend.
Luckily for me, I've got some amazing friends, two of whom decided to bring themselves to me as a surprise in an attempt to lift my spirits. Words cannot describe what this meant to me.
Not only did they have to drive the nine plus hours that it takes to get here from there, but they also made a choice to miss out on all the fun that was happening down there (and take some serious shit from the guys that were going to be there, I might add). This act and this weekend has reaffirmed my belief that I have some of the best friends in the world. Without whom, I would truly be lost instead of just feeling like it at times. It's good to know you're missed and it's good to know that people care about you.
So, thanks guys. And to the rest of you, I'll see you as soon as I am able. A road trip is going to be just what I need. I can't wait.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
With Arms Outstretched...
Now some days, they last longer than others
But this day by the lake went too fast...
The four of them had spent many hot summer days on the cool, murky waters of Lake Norris, but this one, as was evidenced by the moments of awesome silence, was perfect. The water somehow still enough for a soothing calm and choppy enough for a rhythmic rock and sway. The sun shone down a nurturing warmth, arousing a feeling of complete contentment, at its hottest moments counteracted by a well-timed wind. The sweet smells of heat and sweat and the thick Tennessee air and the water filled their nostrils with sheer pleasure. The mountains pierced the crisp, clean blue sky with their blunt peaks looming large----both spectator to and spectacle of the day. The water kept time, gently slapping the sides of the pontoon. Birds sang out in exuberance, praising the day and applauding its maker. The breeze pushed its way through the tall grass and trees on the shore, sounding its approval. The four lay on the boat soaking in the beauty, basking in the outpouring of divine love...
The black sky raged electric as the thunder marched over the mountains, ricocheting off of the dark, still water and back into the starless night. The two of them sat huddled together beneath the shelter of the camper's awning and listened. The rain drummed against the rows of aluminum and peppered the hard, dry ground, seeking its place in the earth.
"Do you think it's raining at home?"
"Maybe. But not like this."
The two sank back into silence, bodies weak from the day on the water, hearts full with young love and joy and pure contentedness and the satisfaction of a perfect day that was finally drawing to a close. Eyelids were heavy and necks grew limp but the day fought for survival, scratching, clawing, clinging, fighting for its last breaths. The faint sounds of Clint Eastwood in High Plains Drifter seeped from inside where the other two had given in to the creeping call of the night on the couch.
"I love the way it smells."
But she was floating away on the lazy waves of sinking sleep.
But this day by the lake went too fast...
The four of them had spent many hot summer days on the cool, murky waters of Lake Norris, but this one, as was evidenced by the moments of awesome silence, was perfect. The water somehow still enough for a soothing calm and choppy enough for a rhythmic rock and sway. The sun shone down a nurturing warmth, arousing a feeling of complete contentment, at its hottest moments counteracted by a well-timed wind. The sweet smells of heat and sweat and the thick Tennessee air and the water filled their nostrils with sheer pleasure. The mountains pierced the crisp, clean blue sky with their blunt peaks looming large----both spectator to and spectacle of the day. The water kept time, gently slapping the sides of the pontoon. Birds sang out in exuberance, praising the day and applauding its maker. The breeze pushed its way through the tall grass and trees on the shore, sounding its approval. The four lay on the boat soaking in the beauty, basking in the outpouring of divine love...
The black sky raged electric as the thunder marched over the mountains, ricocheting off of the dark, still water and back into the starless night. The two of them sat huddled together beneath the shelter of the camper's awning and listened. The rain drummed against the rows of aluminum and peppered the hard, dry ground, seeking its place in the earth.
"Do you think it's raining at home?"
"Maybe. But not like this."
The two sank back into silence, bodies weak from the day on the water, hearts full with young love and joy and pure contentedness and the satisfaction of a perfect day that was finally drawing to a close. Eyelids were heavy and necks grew limp but the day fought for survival, scratching, clawing, clinging, fighting for its last breaths. The faint sounds of Clint Eastwood in High Plains Drifter seeped from inside where the other two had given in to the creeping call of the night on the couch.
"I love the way it smells."
But she was floating away on the lazy waves of sinking sleep.
Horoscopes, Questions, and Bob Dylan
I read a horroscope last night at work that said something to the effect of "make mental health your top priority," so I skipped class, finally got a couple hours of sleep and am currently doing absolutely nothing but thinking, (which has got to stop because it's a filthy habit) and trying to get myself back to a functional condition.
That thinking that I just mentioned has been going on constantly since yesterday morning, but it's been lingering since a long time before that. It's most likely a product of lack of sleep. It's also likely a side effect of working your ass off towards something you're not even sure that you want, and in all likelihood, will give up on eventually when you realize that it just ain't for you.
The truth is, I'd probably back out now if it wasn't for all the money I've got tied up in it.
And so, I look for other options.
That thinking that I just mentioned has been going on constantly since yesterday morning, but it's been lingering since a long time before that. It's most likely a product of lack of sleep. It's also likely a side effect of working your ass off towards something you're not even sure that you want, and in all likelihood, will give up on eventually when you realize that it just ain't for you.
The truth is, I'd probably back out now if it wasn't for all the money I've got tied up in it.
And so, I look for other options.
What's got me the most worried about this whole situation, (because it certainly isn't anything new) is that I just can't help but make the comparison to Frank Wheeler from the recent movie (which I understand is based on a novel) Revolutionary Road. Which, if you've seen the movie, probably sounds dramatic, and it is, but I assure you there are similarities there. If you haven't seen it, you should.
See, I'm the kind of person that can, eventually, find a way to be happy with almost any situation. That's why this weird point in my life is so important--because while I know that I'll be "happy" in some way wherever I end up, I don't want to look back and wish that things had been different or that I'd had the guts to try something. If there's something that I really want to do, now's the time to figure it out and go for it, before all of the responsibilities and weights of the world that I'm bound to end up in start to wrap around my wrists and ankles and keep me in one place for the rest of my days. But half of the time, I think that to be more desirable to the alternative. The problem is, I don't really know what that alternative is. There's a million different paths, a million different destinations, and, as exciting as all of that is, it's equally as terrifying. It'd be one thing if I could just narrow it down to a few choices--I'd make a list of pros and cons or something and go from there--but there is no narrowing. If anything, the list gets broader and more extensive with each passing day. The only way I've ever been able to rule anything out is to actually try it, and there's no way that I have time to try all of these possibilities.
The problem all comes down to something very fundamental about myself: I've always had this feeling or sense of being meant for big things and that I had a special purpose and place in this world, that I was going to be different, that I was going to make a difference. While this is great because it means I've had an upbringing that reared me to expect things of myself, to have confidence, that I've had opportunities, it also sucks because it means that I'm not satisfied with the idea of a life that the majority of those around me seem to have no trouble settling into. At least not yet. Will I eventually just roll over and fall in line? That's what I've been planning. That's why I'm in school to be a high school teacher and why I'm coaching a high school baseball team and why I moved back with my parents and why I got a job at Home Depot and why I lie awake at night and can't fall asleep and why, half the time, I feel sick to my stomach.
And what really pisses me off about all of this, is that I should be grateful to have such an opportunity. This is the opportunity that my parents worked so hard to give me. An opportunity that how many people around the country, around the world, would be more than happy to have. So why can't I embrace it? Maybe one of these days, when the last shred of my youth sloughs away like a dead skin cell, I'll make something of myself.
So how about Bob Dylan's ghost pushing product along Wyclef Jean during the SuperBowl?
See, I'm the kind of person that can, eventually, find a way to be happy with almost any situation. That's why this weird point in my life is so important--because while I know that I'll be "happy" in some way wherever I end up, I don't want to look back and wish that things had been different or that I'd had the guts to try something. If there's something that I really want to do, now's the time to figure it out and go for it, before all of the responsibilities and weights of the world that I'm bound to end up in start to wrap around my wrists and ankles and keep me in one place for the rest of my days. But half of the time, I think that to be more desirable to the alternative. The problem is, I don't really know what that alternative is. There's a million different paths, a million different destinations, and, as exciting as all of that is, it's equally as terrifying. It'd be one thing if I could just narrow it down to a few choices--I'd make a list of pros and cons or something and go from there--but there is no narrowing. If anything, the list gets broader and more extensive with each passing day. The only way I've ever been able to rule anything out is to actually try it, and there's no way that I have time to try all of these possibilities.
The problem all comes down to something very fundamental about myself: I've always had this feeling or sense of being meant for big things and that I had a special purpose and place in this world, that I was going to be different, that I was going to make a difference. While this is great because it means I've had an upbringing that reared me to expect things of myself, to have confidence, that I've had opportunities, it also sucks because it means that I'm not satisfied with the idea of a life that the majority of those around me seem to have no trouble settling into. At least not yet. Will I eventually just roll over and fall in line? That's what I've been planning. That's why I'm in school to be a high school teacher and why I'm coaching a high school baseball team and why I moved back with my parents and why I got a job at Home Depot and why I lie awake at night and can't fall asleep and why, half the time, I feel sick to my stomach.
And what really pisses me off about all of this, is that I should be grateful to have such an opportunity. This is the opportunity that my parents worked so hard to give me. An opportunity that how many people around the country, around the world, would be more than happy to have. So why can't I embrace it? Maybe one of these days, when the last shred of my youth sloughs away like a dead skin cell, I'll make something of myself.
So how about Bob Dylan's ghost pushing product along Wyclef Jean during the SuperBowl?
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)