Where Is My Mind
Is the song currently playing. I have come to quite enjoy Ben Folds. I know these seem unrelated, but they both play on my Elliott Smith Pandora station. I like Ben Folds and Elliott Smith considerably more than the Pixies because they both have this kind of upbeat sound that masks the melancholy and darkness of their lyrics.
I was up until 6am.
I woke up at 10:40am.
I finished Looking for Alaska.
I now own two copies of a book I utterly detest. Je beaucoup deteste la chercher d'Alaska. Absolument. I foolishly left my physical copy at work the day my discussion board post on it was due so I had no way of citing my grievances. I am batting a 100 in that class so I determined it was worth it to shell out the 10 dollars for a Kindle copy; the bummer being that I can now never return that copy.
It's truly terrible- but perhaps the most realistic depiction of life as a juvenile male that I have ever read? I am uncertain having never been one, but it's what I would assume from my previous interactions with them. And from my experience dating now. They do seem pretty preoccupied with sex and the sexual objects before them being vessels for their change and adventure. How one is expected to be that with as little personality as possible, I may never know. One of the most common statements in a dating profile is "I've got my shit together and I am looking someone who does as well" (albeit, usually not as succinctly and less or more grammatically correct). I feel like the main character in this horrid little novel probably went on to write the same thing one day. After graduating. Well after the death of his "friend" he did little more than masturbate to, in the sense of pleasuring himself, even after her accident. He moves on, having realized that he can only forgive all involved. He can only spend his racing past the shadows of guilt, because a life of guilt is just falling into the labyrinth and that would be no life at all. Such a ridiculous and privileged concept would surely grow into considering that he "has his shit together".
I have yet to meet someone who does. And I wonder, is that because they avoid me like a plague? Can they tell I'm just a blanket of pox they don't need to introduce into their lives because it will surely just bring ruin and a need for reconstruction no one has time for? Or do they just not exist? Are we all victims of an idea that we have propagated through history- a great fiction we writers create in hindsight, that rectifies all the errors we have witnessed and endured, as though there had been another way? As though getting through a few hurdles unphased means that we've lived a worthy life. On better days I imagine it's the latter. No one has the answers until they're written, until someone has failed, unless they are a fiction.
I am ready for my test tomorrow, now, and that is all that matters. Tonight I am going to an art/music exhibit that focuses on gender- which sounds like it could be all the blustering of artistry that I deeply dislike...but I go with Lies, Dig and Coll, so that's all that matters there. Shared experiences are increasing in value for me as of late- and perhaps there will be some things that I can write about. Or that might motivate me to explore gender a bit more in my own art. I've always been a great proponent of gender swapping characters in classical fiction...but I don't really do a lot to explore my relation with it I suppose. I just live under the assumption that things are created for me, and read and view art in a rosy hue of ignorance. I can be anything. Until as time goes by, I become nothing.
I want to go for a run, but I realized yesterday that my illness was actually just my emerging menstrual cycle. Blooming furiously through my body, as it tends to do, in the coy way women's troubles are expressed. So as much as I want to run, I want to alternate between sleeping and eating cookies much more. I need to tell Tehya the film was rain delayed.
I also need to get caught up on my reading for Philosophy of Science. It's a largely writing based course, but the lectures are so jumbled that I am not sure if I will do as well in it as I had hoped. Right now I have an A, a high C, and an unknown. I know I can maintain the A. I think I can pull the C up to at least a B, but I am hoping for an A, that one is in French, and I just haven't been staying ahead of it as well as I would like. That should be easy enough to change. The problem will be with Philosophy. Philosophy is the problem.
Well that's how I am.
How are you?
How is the world?
I was up until 6am.
I woke up at 10:40am.
I finished Looking for Alaska.
I now own two copies of a book I utterly detest. Je beaucoup deteste la chercher d'Alaska. Absolument. I foolishly left my physical copy at work the day my discussion board post on it was due so I had no way of citing my grievances. I am batting a 100 in that class so I determined it was worth it to shell out the 10 dollars for a Kindle copy; the bummer being that I can now never return that copy.
It's truly terrible- but perhaps the most realistic depiction of life as a juvenile male that I have ever read? I am uncertain having never been one, but it's what I would assume from my previous interactions with them. And from my experience dating now. They do seem pretty preoccupied with sex and the sexual objects before them being vessels for their change and adventure. How one is expected to be that with as little personality as possible, I may never know. One of the most common statements in a dating profile is "I've got my shit together and I am looking someone who does as well" (albeit, usually not as succinctly and less or more grammatically correct). I feel like the main character in this horrid little novel probably went on to write the same thing one day. After graduating. Well after the death of his "friend" he did little more than masturbate to, in the sense of pleasuring himself, even after her accident. He moves on, having realized that he can only forgive all involved. He can only spend his racing past the shadows of guilt, because a life of guilt is just falling into the labyrinth and that would be no life at all. Such a ridiculous and privileged concept would surely grow into considering that he "has his shit together".
I have yet to meet someone who does. And I wonder, is that because they avoid me like a plague? Can they tell I'm just a blanket of pox they don't need to introduce into their lives because it will surely just bring ruin and a need for reconstruction no one has time for? Or do they just not exist? Are we all victims of an idea that we have propagated through history- a great fiction we writers create in hindsight, that rectifies all the errors we have witnessed and endured, as though there had been another way? As though getting through a few hurdles unphased means that we've lived a worthy life. On better days I imagine it's the latter. No one has the answers until they're written, until someone has failed, unless they are a fiction.
I am ready for my test tomorrow, now, and that is all that matters. Tonight I am going to an art/music exhibit that focuses on gender- which sounds like it could be all the blustering of artistry that I deeply dislike...but I go with Lies, Dig and Coll, so that's all that matters there. Shared experiences are increasing in value for me as of late- and perhaps there will be some things that I can write about. Or that might motivate me to explore gender a bit more in my own art. I've always been a great proponent of gender swapping characters in classical fiction...but I don't really do a lot to explore my relation with it I suppose. I just live under the assumption that things are created for me, and read and view art in a rosy hue of ignorance. I can be anything. Until as time goes by, I become nothing.
I want to go for a run, but I realized yesterday that my illness was actually just my emerging menstrual cycle. Blooming furiously through my body, as it tends to do, in the coy way women's troubles are expressed. So as much as I want to run, I want to alternate between sleeping and eating cookies much more. I need to tell Tehya the film was rain delayed.
I also need to get caught up on my reading for Philosophy of Science. It's a largely writing based course, but the lectures are so jumbled that I am not sure if I will do as well in it as I had hoped. Right now I have an A, a high C, and an unknown. I know I can maintain the A. I think I can pull the C up to at least a B, but I am hoping for an A, that one is in French, and I just haven't been staying ahead of it as well as I would like. That should be easy enough to change. The problem will be with Philosophy. Philosophy is the problem.
Well that's how I am.
How are you?
How is the world?
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