"I am involved in such a mysterious way"

Glad to be stress-free, mostly, for the next week. Then, three or four final tests, and a final paper, and a month in rural Wisconsin.

Planning on seeing a concert in Chicago tonight--it should be fun. The Storyteller's Theatre runs this weekend on campus, so I'll catch a performance tomorrow. Otherwise, have lots of reading to start catching up on, now that the horror of the paper I turned in yesterday is off my back.

Still can't shake my disappointments in myself for failing to figure out, in any substantive way, how much I can trust the girl who failed to pick up her phone before break . . . ran into her yesterday, unexpectedly, and she says something about really looking forward to "getting done and never looking back" after finishing the semester. I had thought about giving her a call this weekend before she said that, but now . . . I'm afraid it would just be a waste of energy--energy that we both need to finish our final work before the semester ends.

I keep thinking and hoping . . . and realizing the futility of the numbers.

"Nature proves hard to ignore."

damn, this paper is turning out terribly . . . but it is turning out. and, at this rate, i'll get 2 hours of rest, and then have three hours where i can hopefully revise it to a point where the writing is no longer so awful.

we'll see . . . ~1500 words written, with my third argument and conclusion yet to be drafted. length won't be a problem (yay), but there are many, many other problems.

i wish i could just turn my outline and citation pages in, that the professor could examine the logic of my arguments that way. if nothing else, it would save me some embarassment--last paper, i finished a draft two days before it was due and had that much time to revise to perfection yet still made some tremendous writing errors.

my arguments will work, particularly because my citations do actually follow a cohesive progression/logic . . . but the wrapping--the actual paper, the finding ways to pose that logic in a standard form--i am worried about.

oh, right, and the one thing i was looking forward to today (seeing a new draft of my fiction class play performed) didn't happen.

almost ready to pray (!!!) that december not play out like this month at all. fuck november 2007.

Anywhere but where I want to be

Panicky a bit, and disgruntled--

am trying to focus on drafting a paper due Thursday afternoon, and am having more trouble than I hoped for. Wanted to get at least half of it done tonight . . . is sitting somewhere between 25-35% done at the moment. Is a lot better from having nothing, but I'll have little time before 9pm to work on it tomorrow.

And I'll have to finish it tomorrow night, regardless . . . this is not where I want to be. But, of course, this is my fault--entirely, for neglecting everything when in Wisconsin.

Academically, spiritually, emotionally, creatively--nothing is where I want it right now.

After I can stop worrying about this paper, things should be much better. I have been much more productive over the last two days than any other similar period this month, yet I *know* and rightfully dread the anguish I am setting myself up for tomorrow.

Drafting the arguments for my paper, I felt terrible--kept second-guessing my ideas, thinking "there's going to be something a lot stronger that will flare up only after spending hours on these weak ideas." At the moment, I have drafted my core ideas with one exception that I must revise, and have gathered almost all the citations I should need. This really is the hard part . . . but revising the failed point isn't going to happen tonight, and I can't comfortably move forward without having gathered all of the evidence I'll use.

I am . . . well, I will be better this time two days from now. Until then, I'll just have to suffer.

Heading out

Last few days have not seen any hoped-for increase in luck . . . in fact, still plagued by a modicum of annoyances that have been outweighing my few small successes.

Am heading to my brothers' apartment in a few moments, hoping to be able to brave the first snow-fall tonight to make it up to Wisconsin. I really do love this weather--but not when I have to drive 500 miles. Another of those annoyances . . .

Can't say whether I'll update up North.

Whatever.

Unproductive

Still failing, largely, to focus myself on my academic workload. Will grab hold of things before life becomes unmanageable . . .

Eh . . .

Made a last-minute decision to see the fall dance show Le Corsaire. A ballet with pirates . . . it was either that or the All-University Band concert. Figured pirates would be worth my time, and think I was right. Very interesting costume designs, particularly in the first two (of three) acts. And how many more chances will I have to see a dance show for $7 at a place within walking distance?

At this rate, I won't have much downtime over break except for the 7 hour trips to and from . . .

Hoping I'm at the end of this period of inactivity. Maybe will be able to write more interesting posts soon, hm.

cliche- "Will wonders never cease?"

Unproductive today . . . highly unproductive, except for having two dreams this morning & attending a 45-minute play this evening.

Of course, who in attendance at this play but the only woman I've ever tried hooking up with through Facebook? She never responded back then--and, tonight, I have yet to surprise myself with failing to disappear immediately after a play lets out (which is to say, here was a chance for me to introduce myself face-to-face, and I passed it up).

I am getting very sick of worrying about relationships . . . I think this is a good time for that: if I can successfully pry myself from these silly thoughts, I should be able to focus on everything I need to over Thanksgiving. Which is: two papers (one due on the 29th), a poetry analysis, revising a play, and drawing backgrounds for the last scene of The Burning Five. Oh, and a little game called Mass Effect comes out on Monday.

I'll have enough to worry about starting Monday beyond the circling thoughts.

That'll be good.

color-forms

Locked in revolving thoughts, but not quite enough to keep me from self-cultivation.

Attended a lecture by epistemologist Dr. John Greco this afternoon on virtue-based epistemology. It was interesting . . . and it was nice to focus the mind on something theoretically abstract for a while.

Still, such thoughts fade and turn, again, toward uncertain nonsenses. Not like I want to focus, not like I even want to share it . . . but I try, here, to write through it.

Listened to Kaki King's "these are the armies of the tyranized" while walking to class this morning. Fell asleep listening to Katsuhiko Maeda's (Worlds End Girlfriend) Hurtbreak Wonderland and Farewell Kingdom albums last night. Dreamt I was in a hotel, on vacation with my family . . . parents & brother were running out to pick up dinner or something, and I looked out a window into a verdant, hilly landscape with an overcast sky.

Walked closer to get a wider perspective, and witnessed a tornado form in the distance. At first it seemed to travel away from where I was, but soon it turned around and came right at my location. It tore through the wall of the hotel--but it was pathetically tiny, such that the destruction it caused, though vigorous, was confined to, perhaps, a width of a foot, straight from one side of the room to the other. I easily avoided it, simply awed by the odd beauty of splintering wood caused by this small, meticulous-moving pillar reaching into heaven.

My parents returned, and we left. Sat in the back seat of the family minivan, gazing out the window at a forest road occasionally punctuated by a turned-over car every few hundred yards.

This dream felt . . . relaxing.

Grandfather clock heart

Had high hopes today . . . that they were dashed unceremoniously hasn't quite fully settled in.

There seems to be a party going on a floor or two below--drunken screaming for the last 3 hours . . . my roommate was screaming at his TV most of the night before that, apparently stubbornly refusing to give up finishing a Call of Duty 4 challenge or something. And, since about 15 minutes ago, my neighbor has turned his music on. I am trapped by noise when silence would be most useful.

I'm still not really sure what I'm trying to do, attempting to meet up with a girl I met two years ago. The last time I spoke with her at length she told me she had recently become engaged--last Fall. I ran into her in the English building about three weeks ago, and have been trying to set up an hour or so to hear how she's doing.

It's really starting to feel like she's avoiding me . . . but it's not even worth thinking to the point of coming up with negative conclusions. I saw her inbetween classes Tuesday, and we agreed to meet this evening.

She didn't answer her phone.

I don't like that it's affecting me . . . I don't like that, when distracted away from my escapes, I keep wondering if she was sincere on Tuesday . . . it's a minor uncertainty . . .

that I would want to be friends if she would put forth the least effort--that, in the hopeless chance (& selfish thought) that I could start a . . . I keep backing myself into this thought. I'd just like to know for sure, at this point, if this is one-sided . . .

All of this doubly compounded by the constant thought that I have no good reason to worry over any of this.

Better moods

I woke up from a dream this morning oddly amused: I had been wandering through a library, looking for a computer someone had told me had a particular image-editing application on it. I kept searching, walking up and down row after row of computers, inbetween bookshelves, occasionally logging in on a black-case Dell or an off-white Gateway machine, but none of the computers had what I was looking for.

Towards the end of the dream, I passed a series of computers about which I thought "Surely, these computers have what I am looking for!" but all of them were already occupied by other library patrons. Upon waking up, I discovered an immediate surface-level interpretation of the dream: this was a shallow processing of my relationship problems.

Of course, it ended without solution--I never found what I was looking for.

Yesterday I made loose plans with a friend I've wanted to reconnect with--tentatively, we're going to meet after classes tomorrow. I am looking forward to it, trying not to brainstorm contingency possibilities for what we might share . . . this friend is a person I have a lot of trouble "seeing through."

I don't want to know what to expect-- . . .

Persichetti

The NIU Wind Ensemble played Persichetti's "Pageant for Band" last night. Listening pulled a rush of visceral memories--many kinesthetic--from the back of my mind.

I remembered, but with an outside perspective, the kind of person I was back when one of my expectations included rehearsing music with the high school band four or five days a week. There was a structure to it, and I wasn't aware at the time, but in retrospect I really . . . I benefited from that little bit of order to (almost) every school day.

Back then, I hadn't the slightest idea that it was even possible for young people to hear live music. Along with the gaming circles I discovered all-too-late, I lament most of all missing this information as a teenager. There is no one to blame, but the misguided assumption handed to me by wider-media, suggesting live-music events only happened in stadiums where tickets sold for $115 for obstructed-view seats.

Importantly, I remembered that music has been an important part of my life since before I started frequenting local venues. Importantly, I remembered that *I used to play music*--and how pleasurable it was when I finally learned a section, and could perform it expressively.

Strangely, I can't remember specifically when I was learning Persichetti's piece. I think it was my 3rd year . . . but can't be sure. Hearing the piece sparked vague whispers of the other works I learned, and particularly of two pieces I worked on during my last semester. These I can't remember.

These memories have helped me . . . but have not proved a cure-all for the depression I vividly noticed myself in yesterday afternoon (stretching back unnoticed to around Halloween).

Another brief moment of joy this afternoon--receiving my British Poetry test--but this, too, faded quickly. I want to say I am in a better position to climb back into my normal functioning having identified being in a period of depression . . . so I'll do that.

Let's say that.

Found out tonight's show was cancelled around 9:30pm . . .

somewhat uncanny, for my plans to implode thusly--
tomorrow's events are both on campus, so it would be entirely eerie if things fall apart yet again.

i want to blame the bad luck on something . . .
but it would be irresponsible & unwarranted to do so.

so i'll retreat back into game-worlds,
neglecting academic work--

but yea, hark!
the sky lights to the west
for the first time in far,
far too long--

this coming storm is welcome:
let the thunder blast & blare,
& let the heavens give vision
unaccoutred--unclothed--

"Tonight's Show is Sold-out"

Tried to see Tera Melos last night, but was turned away at the door . . . a first at the in-town venue. Left in a pretty bad mood, feeling like my plans for the rest of the weekend died unceremoniously. Listened to "Farewell Kingdom" by World's End Girlfriend before turning in for the night, and that . . . solidified my mood, I suppose.

Will try visiting the venue again later tonight for a Toybox Theatre show. Wondering if a friend will respond to a voice-mail left Thursday evening . . . thinking chances therein are fairly slim.

Found myself feeling extremely nostalgic with Stargate: SG1 turned on in the background while playing Hellgate: London a few hours ago. Felt like I belong somewhere else right now, with different company . . . and also felt the shadow of the demon called "career" looming precariously above my shoulders.

My mood is pretty grim right now . . . believing that life, particularly in my current moment, is meaningful is proving rather difficult. I think I remember this mood popping up before Thanksgiving in the past . . .

It's tiring . . . but it's a little better than being inexplicably angry.

Bananas & No Apple Sauce

Have been active this week, and plan on continuing the trend through Sunday night--was my turn in Fiction Writing to see the first draft of my one-act play performed Wednesday, and I travelled up to Beloit last night with a friend to see Kid, You'll Move Mountains. Hope to catch Tera Melos in town this evening, a Toybox Theatre show tomorrow night, a smaller NIU T&D production Sunday afternoon, and the NIU Wind Ensemble concert Sunday night.

All of this at the expense of falling dreadfully behind in reading for one of my classes . . . but not quite losing any focus in any other class. Interesting, that--generally, if I start shirking academic responsibility, it's across the board.

Had a few interesting discussions in/between Beloit last night; among them: what is important music, academic locales, how to write papers, the maturity of college-age folk, & pretense in/around relationships. Very stimulating, in-depth conversations . . . something I've been missing this month. It was refreshing.

Wandering back into the "swing" of blogging is progressing less-easily than I had hoped . . . but perhaps this was just a bad week to kick off my blogging renaissance.

"He thought: good music, beautiful women . . ."
--from Supercar's "Desperado" video

Returning to blogging

I stopped updating my other, longer-running blog this past summer--a few weeks before Fall University classes started, actually.

I've felt content to be without a soapbox . . . but, after reading through two months of posts made about a year ago, I realized that there is a chance I am missing something in neglecting to record some of my thoughts every now-and-then. I consider keeping a paper journal, but remember the last time I tried this--and how I failed to keep it up for more than three consecutive nights.

The digital is familiar--if far less personal . . . but the lack of privacy, understood in a peculiar way, can be helpful--and especially so if I achieve any of my grandest goals. A classmate in my Romanticism class remarked today about how it is a shame that our world has largely lost the "art" of letter-writing. We were examining a selection of letters by Keats, and another classmate quipped, jokingly, that perhaps modern authors will have e-mails--but in the standard, average sense, of the two-line, incomplete sentence garbage most people seem to write.

I kept my thoughts to myself, thinking about blogs--in particular, those of current authors, like Neil Gaiman, who actually do make consistent contributions in a semi-personal way, somewhat like the letters that previous generations relied upon. Hence, I feel doubly-compelled to return to updating my own journal--but away from my first community, instead almost completely hidden on my own webspace (albeit with a link from that first community in case anyone still checks in from back there).

Much, yet little, has transpired since late July . . .

I don't feel like summarizing, and realize it would behoove me to get some sleep right now as I have a British Poetry exam to study for in the morning (having neglected to do so tonight). Then, farewell--

I wonder if I will regain my previous consistency, or if this will be a failed experiment . . .