Day O' Lists

Current Obsessions
1. Writing-am writing a lot, yesterday alone I churned out a ten page story, that I think is actually pretty good. It is fun times.
2. Jonathan Swift. Last night I enticed Matt by telling him that I was going to read him some poetry and then went into "A Beautiful Young Nymph Going to Bed." If you haven't read it, you should. It is very, very nasty, yet you just can't look away.
3. Cold weather. I am currently getting out all of my sweaters and such. Another good thing. Nothing feels better than a nice warm sweater on a cold day. It's the simple things that get me.
4. Staying up late. I am starting to get less sleep, and it is not so bad. I mean, it is voluntary. I read until late, and then get up early, yet I don't feel sleepy. Strange, but true.

Books Read Lately
1. War and Peace. I miss you Pierre. Please write.
2. A Good Man is Hard to Find. An old favorite, reread with fervor.
3. Oral History. Another old favorite, reread for final in Southern Writers. Another goody.

Have Started/Getting Ready to Start
1. Anna Karenina
2. Wolf Whistle
3. Look Homeward, Angel. I swear that I will finish it this time.

What's For Dinner Tonight
Chicken provencale, crusty bread

Have a good un!

Man Plans, God Laughs

So I finally took some initiative, garnered some ambition and dressed for success on Friday and Saturday by going to a seminar on publishing jobs. I smiled a lot, shook some hands, and nodded so much my neck felt was tired after the first presentation of the day. I find myself suddenly planning for one of these jobs, getting resumes ready, making appointments with the Career Center. It is promising, but really, it's all enough to make you sick.

But while I am only somewhat excited about my 9-5 possibilities, I am suddenly more excited about writing than I've ever been. I am going to send something off on Wednesday to an honest to goodness lit mag. It is exciting. Even if I get rejected, there's a million more mags, and I'm finally ready to let them know what I've got. Seriously. When I think about the future, I can't not think about writing, so I'm going to embrace it. I'm finally ready to put it at the forefront of my life. So I'm reading a lot, and writing, and just being generally happy. It's time. I'm not planning anything, I'm just letting things go naturally. So that's it. That's me.

Well, I'm going to go. I have a story I want to get cracking on, and I made myself a reading list and I'm not allowing myself to buy more books until I finish everything on it. Have a great day, my gentle readers, and think of me when you go to the bookstore. Someday I'll be on the shelf there (inspiration!!!).

I am going to take a break today from the existential meanderings, as I am rested and feeling better. Further, last night, Matt and I made smores with my creme brulee torch. It was the most delightful thing. Seriously. Nothing sets the mood quite like wielding a blow torch, and I began to see that with the right combination of melted chocolate and gooey marshmallows, anything is possible (even selling yourself to The Man for a life free of intellectual stimulus). Add that to the new Law and Order episode on last night, and I am suddenly Mary Poppins. Chim chim chireee!!!

So in the spirit of a long running sitcom, I am going to defer to a highlights show to do my post for me today. Yes, I'm doing another survey. It's long, so you don't have to read it. But I know you will. BWAH HA HA HA!!!

Name: Morgan
What time is it: 10:15 am
THE FRUITS OF YOUR LABOR( things you can't live without)
Something important on your desk: an MLA documentatioin guide
When you sleep you wear: a t-shirt
If you could afford it at the moment, you would buy: a new bookshelf, a new comforter for my bed, and a new desk chair
Something you don't have a lot of: money, Jelly Belly's
If your house was burning and you could only save 3 items what would they be: my picture of my grandfather standing in front of a plane, an armload of books, my debit card (I don't know--I mean, if my house is on fire, I'm really not going to be thinking about this stuff. I'm going to be thinking about getting my ass out and screaming 'There's a fucking fire over here!')
MORALS
If there were no side effects, you would enjoy being addicted to: alcohol
A time when you purposly hurt someone emotionally: I'm sure I've said shit when I've been fighting with family members, but I don't totally remember.
A time you accidentally hurt someone emotionally: once again, I don't rightly recollect
One person you have killed in your thoughts: I would say George W., but I don't want to spend the next three months in Guantanamo Bay. So I'm going to go with this girl in my Tolstoy class who says stupid shit that's totally wrong and does it at least 6 times in a class period. She needs shootin'.
FRIENDS:
Three traits you look for in a friend: sense of humor, friendliness, an unnamed quality that just makes them fun
Who makes you laugh most often: probably Matt and in class, Rachel
A friend who you can tell anything: again, probably Matt, and Bob
A friend you can go to for advice: Katie
The best piece of advice you had been given: “Always wear clean underwear. You could be in an accident."
Two closest friends: probably myself and I--I love all my friends, but I like alone time too
The friend who uses most of your energy: no one uses my energy, I wouldn't let them
EGO
Your 3 best qualities: sense of humor, cooking ability, plumbing ability or sense of direction
Your 3 worst qualities: laziness, procrastination, love for true crime drama
A compliment that makes you blush: when somebody says something about my writing
You are embarassed when: I fall (I do this a lot)
The greatest physical pain you ever endured: I had mono when I was 13. It felt like someone was sawing my head off.
The greatest emotional pain you ever endured: When Jerry Orbach left L&O.
Moment you are most ashamed of: I used to wear black lipstick. Enough said.
Your best physical feature: my eyes
Who/What makes you happy: reading and talking about a good book
Who/what makes you sad: when we run out of ice cream and I already have my pajamas on and can't run out to the store
EMOTIONS
Emotion you hide most: sadness
The emotion you tend to experience most: happiness
The emotion you are feeling most lately: out-of-sortedness
You have a huge amount of guilt regarding: my procrastinations
When you are angry you need: for you to get out of my face
When you are in love you need: chocolate and champagne
MEMORIES
One of your most peaceful memories: Sunday afternoons
One of your most tragic memories: my grandfather's death
A memory that makes you laugh: anything Matt and I did when we first started dating
A memory that makes you happy: something from my childhood
LOVE
Something someone can say or do that you find extremely attractive: "So what do you think about Andrew in War in Peace?"
Something someone can say or do that you find unattractive: "Do you wanna watch football and do it?"
A personality trait you find appealing: dry wit
Your secret passion: either no hair or lots of hair
What you enjoy most about having a committed relationship: always having someone to eat dinner with
RELATING
DO you have a bf/gf? yep
Who? Matt
What do you find sexy about them: hair and intelligence
A place where you want to have sex: Greek island
A strange place where you have had sex: on the ground, behind a church
What drives you crazy (in a good way) about this person: the way he carries on a conversation
What music is on when you have sex, or is it the tv? none
Favorite song to have sex to : don't know
Describe your mate physicaly: skinny, medium height
Describle your mate's personality: dry wit, intelligent, quiet
You feel most attractive when: Matt gets that look in his eyes
Favorite thing you like to see your mate wear (clothing wise don't say naked): blue jeans, this plaid shirt from the Gap I bought him before he went to Russia
What would you like your mate to do more of: wash dishes
FINALLY
If you had more time alone you would: read more, write more
If you had more patience you would: make homemade bread more often
If you could change one thing about your physical appearance what would it be: weight, I guess, but I don't think about it much
If you had no committments what would you be doing: probably same thing I am doing now, or maybe driving cross country
If you could have one super power what would it be: no idea
If you could start all over....: I'd do it all the same.

Of Suicide and the Hairless

I had a professor once who said that everytime he had an existential crisis, he shaved his head. I am currently looking for the clippers and trying on hats.

But first, the good news. I just finished my paper on War and Peace. The major stuff is over. I have a break. I can breathe. I'm not looking around questioningly at what I have to do next. Yea for me! Yea for my apartment which is finally going to get cleaned! Yea for Matt who hasn't shot me yet! Yea for the Law and Order episode I am going to watch tonight!

So now to the existential stuff. Yeah. So probably everyone has heard about the guy who killed himself in Tucker last weekend. I have been thinking a lot about this, probably thanks to the people in my Creative Writing class who insisted upon talking about it. I don't know. What if this is it for me? I mean, for me being happy. All of a sudden I can't imagine myself any where but at William and Mary, going to class, fulfilling deadlines, talking in crazy conversations about postmodernism and Tolstoy and the syntactical aspects of Pope's poetry. I don't want to live in the real world. However, I know that if I decided to go to grad school now, it would only be because I am refusing not to enter the real world. I mean, if I end up going someday, I want it t be because I want to seek some sort of intellectual betterment, not because I'm a crybaby. I'm just scared that I will end up as some boring slob who doesn't learn anymore and will never be able to be what I want. Oh dear Lord. What is going on here?

On a lighter note, I am discovering that I have a strange obsession with bald men. Check out this handy, dandy list:
Michael Stipe: bald, completely hairless some might say
my Tolstoy professor who I am taking for the third time: bald, naturally
me as a baby: bald
one of my favorite teachers in elementary school: bald
Moby: bald, another completely hairless being, very cute in concert
Ben Kingsley, who I am not totally obsessed with, but who is a very good actor: bald
See? It's astonishing. I'm sure I will think of others later. What is really strange about it is that my boyfriend has a very luxurious head of hair, one that first drew my gaze to him in the first place. And then there's my whole Slash thing, my loving of a man who is all hair and Jack Daniels. I'm weird. Maybe someone could psychoanalyze me. Post a comment and tell me iif you think I am nuts.

Well, I should go. I am going to reread my paper, and decide if I have something to be proud of, or if I should just email it to him and stay at home and watch A&E. This is what it's come to. Ho ho.

It is Tuesday, and this hellish week is almost over (well, technically it's just starting, but my major assignments in this string of major assignments are almost over). It is exciting.

Last night I did my annotated bibliography for my final project. It was fun. I am doing the paper about women in Appalachain fiction, so I got to look through all kinds of books and read about things I remembered from my childhood. And, of course, it made me think. I love where I am from. I love what it has given me, but most of all, what it has not given me. I love being stubborn and independant, but knowing deep down what the important things in life are. I love being proud of who I am, and knowing that my very essence is backed up by a whole string of mountains and music. It makes me feel good inside. Now, I do not doubt my past, instead, I find myself praising it.

So this brings me to the much trickier subject of the future. When I daydream, I think of mountains, not publishing jobs in New York. I think of myself on the porch of my own mountain retreat, staring out as the sun dives behind the blue peaks, coffee cup in hand. I don't think of living in the suburbs, riding the train, smog, none of that. But for some reason, I'm heading straight into the city, begging someone to give me employment so I can live that very life. I don't know why. And for some reason, I can't stop. I'm selling out. It's like being on the side of the mountain and sliding down, unable to get a good hard step on anything, dirt flying around your ankles in mockery. I'm becoming what I so abhor. And I don't quite know what to make of it. It's like I have no free will anymore, like I can't stop the inevitable. I don't know.

It's scary, but I hate this sorry mood I'm creating here. So here's a lighthearted look at my current obsessions:
1. My paper, and the Appalachian ideas therein.
2. Michael Stipe. God love all bald men.
3. Buying new music, or making it, due to lack of fundage.
4. Nerds, both the candy and the people who make good academic conversation about War and Peace.
5. Flannery O'Connor. This could be a permanent obsession but we are rereading it for Southern Writers, so it's like getting back in touch with an old friend.

The Terror of Knowing What This World is About, or Wisdom Garnered from Dr. Macy

I often think of my life as a Lifetime movie. I imagine this beginning shot, a pan over the mountains of Southern Appalachia, probably backed up by some twangy bluegrass music, and then this sound of a baby crying (me) and the happy shining faces of the actors who would play my parents. My life would progress, full of defining moments where some person gives me a nugget of wisdom. And then you would see me, graduating from college or something, and you'd say "Wow, she made it. HOT DAMN! That little hillbilly made it through school!" and then you'd go to bed or finish your ironing and forget all about it. What I had "made" would be questionable but you wouldn't care. That would be the end of my story, the end of whatever.

But, strangely enough, life is not like a Lifetime movie. Life is filled with beginnings and endings, and what's really cool about it is they intersect. There are beginnings in every ending, endings in every beginning. It's all very Oprah, I guess. And sometimes the best parts of life come at times that are neither beginning or ending. Times that just are.

I write this because I just finished War and Peace, and in true Tolstoyan form, the ending is intriguing and thought-provoking, but not in a traditional way. The story just ends. It's like riding that ride at Six Flags where the bottom just flies out and you fly down, screaming in mock-fear. I mean, someone who is much smarter than me can probably find the "ending" in Tolstoy's ending. But I can't, and I like it that way. In the end you wonder if Pierre will ever truly find out the meaning for his existence, if Prince Andrew's son will be cool, if Mary will ever look something other than "plain." It's interesting and very realistic I think.

I feel very strange today, like I should be understanding more than I'm understanding, saying more than I'm saying. I don't know. I want so much to figure it all out, to share it, to say the perfect thing at the perfect time so that those I love won't be sad anymore. Last night I was watching Crossing Jordan (a bit hoky at times, but still just so fucking enjoyable) and Dr. Macy, says something about being 21 and "having the world by the balls," i.e. thinking one knows everything, when in reality you don't have shit figured out, you're just cocky and somewhat drunk. I felt jipped. I'm 21, and I don't feel like that. I know that I will never feel like that, that you can never have it totally figured out, that that's the way of life, and so you best not fuck with it. It's frustrating.

On that note, I should go. I have an annotated bibliography of my final project for Southern writers due tomorrow, and while I have all the materials, I haven't done the legwork yet. So I should do that. And I should write my paper on W&P for Wednesday, and try to convey how much I love that book into 6 pages of shoddy writing. Ho hum. C'est la vie, I guess. C'est la vie.

Shhh...Quiet! I'm in the Library!

Yup. Studyin' today. I so should not be doing this. But in studies I came across an awesome quote I know you will love. And then I combined it with a quote from a song I am currently obsessed with. That's it. Just a little slice of Dryden to make your day, well, more introspective.

From thence to look below on humankind,
Bewildered in the maze of life and blind;
To see vain fools ambitiously contend
For wit and power; their lost endeavors bend
To outshine each other, waste their time and health
In search of honour and pursuit of wealth.
-John Dryden's translations of Lucretius

Life handed us a paycheck, and we said "We've worked harder than this."
-Modest Mouse

Have a good un!

An Ode to Bob Dylan and the Fat Haynes Guy in the Tuxedo

Why is it that when I have the most to do is, I think of all of these deep, soul searching things to discuss?

Just as I discussed death yesterday, today I will discuss life and love, a subject that, if you think about it, is much scarier than death ever thought of being. There is no real choice in death, yet in life, you are inundated with choice after choice, and as soon as you think you have made one, you are forced to reevaluate it. It can be maddening.

Case in point: yesterday this guy who I have two classes with does his presentation in Southern Writers about the blues. It is breathtaking. I mean, the sheer passion that he used in talking about this subject was addictive and just so totally delicious that I felt I could just sit there all day with him talking and me listening with a strange look on my face. He played music, and was knowledgeable, and then (gasp, gasp, faint) he brings out his Fender strat and demonstrates how to play a blues cord. Stick a fork in me guys, I was through. I mean, nothing tickles me more than a man with a guitar. Seriously. If Osama Bin Laden had one and came to me at the right time, he could (possibly) get some play. So I stare and smile and try not to look like I am obsessing over this guy and that I have at least some intelligent thing to say, something that does not include the words "wow" or "dear God" or "Baby, come and see me sometime." It is hard.

Then I leave class and drive home. On my way there, as if to add to my questioning, I am listening to Bob Dylan. "Tangled Up in Blue" comes on, which is an awesome song, and the whole time I'm thinking, "What if ole Bob is right? What if the meaning of life lies not in academia and War and Peace, but rather in love and spontaneity (I know that is not spelled right) and reading Italian poetry by the light of a topless bar?" That's when I realize that it's not this random guy that I think is cool, rather, it's what he stands for. There is a certain lawlessness in this guy, a feeling that he could be your Dean Moriarty if you so desired, that you could wake up in a strange Western hotel room with him and have no clue about anything but what kind of beer you smell on his breath. But he's also blazingly smart, which is definitely cool. It's all very Beat, I guess.

I come home and make a lovely Greek dinner for my lovely boyfriend, and then we go to Target and argue over money. This is definitely not what I need. It feels suffocating and just so inherently wrong. As I finish my Pope paper, I watch him sleep and feel no romantic love, just a hatred for the fact that he didn't load this dishwasher after dinner, and now I'm going to have to do it.

And then this morning I wake up and look over at him. There he is, bathed in the blue light of the dawn, and it's magical. Enchanting. Just to see him there, looking too angelic for me, yet somehow just right. It's weird, but it feels good, like something out of a Kubrick film. I watch him sleep and just feel suddenly that I want him to be there forever, just laying beside me, wearing the scant light like a blanket. I can't help but to kiss his forehead, where it is soft and smooth. He keeps sleeping, and I go back to sleep, feeling warm and perfect.

So this is my question. Is this how you know? Are these moments what tell you that you are doing something right, or is there something else, something that would eradicate all the Kerouac daydreams from my head, that I'm just not getting? Am I ok? Will I wake up someday, damning myself for falling for the dawn and the comfort, wishing that I had driven across the country armed with only my books and a loving, beer drinking, musician? Will I ever find myself married to some guy who I would have made fun of at 21, some guy like that fat guy in the tuxedo on all the Haynes commercials? Is there any way to know the future, any way to tell if what you are doing is right or wrong? No. No there's not. And I think that's the only sure thing in this world. That you will never know.

And on that note, I will retire. I must go to class and be intelligent and consider a world without love, a world full of the dry husks of academia, with a spattering of politics in truth folded in like a chocolate stripe in a vanilla cake batter. Ho hum. To Pope.

Hurried Existential Meanderings

This should be just a quick check-in, because I have soooo much shit to do, but I fear it might go on too long. Sorry. I guess it's related mildly to my academic work. Let's pretend that it is.

So I'm finishing up W&P. It's sad, you know, like saying goodbye to some good friends. And my favorite character dies. He just sloughs off his mortal coil, and as he dies (this is how you can tell Tolstoy is a totally rockin' writer), his death becomes something more, becomes a sort of cause of renewed questioning for me. All through the book, this is the guy who recognizes the chaos of the world, and sees it for what it is: he delves into his self and his family, just trying to make things work on his own. And then at the end, he sees that it's not enough, that he needs some sort of belief system to base it all on. It's your classic death bed conversion type thing, except he's really thinking things through, doing it real cerebral-like. And what he's saying makes sense. That is scary.

So I'm driving through the murky fog after class, listening to Modest Mouse and thinking of death. What is scary is that thinking everything out, dissecting details, all that stuff that I do too much of lately might not be enough. And I think that is what Tolstoy is trying to say. He's critiquing Andrew for thinking this crap and not having any beliefs to back it up. Which I mean, makes sense, because Tolstoy was a bit of a religious freak. But it also makes sense if you really think about it in an un-freak-like manner. What if none of this is enough, that when push comes to shove, your piddly little existentialist thoughts are just that--piddly. And stupid. What if thinking is wrong if it is thought for the sake of thought and not thought for the sake of belief? I know this makes no sense. But it's just scary thinking that tthe things you chcoose to hang onto in this chaotic world may not be that strong after all.

So that's where I stand right now. I am questioning things in the time in between my finishing up War and Peace and writing about Pope. So basically I'm not thinking this out in the way that it should be thought out. I don't know.

As I go, I will leave you a list of the things that I am currently obsessed with, for this week at least.
1) Michael Stipe. I think that I should be obsessed with a bald man at all times. It keeps the planets in alignment.
2) Getting a publishing job in NY next year. Need money. Need job. One track mind. (This will almost certainly fade.)
3) Fall. I am certainly feeling very fall-like. Matt and I are (cheesily) going to a pumpkin farm this weekend as a study break. We are going to drink apple cider and buy some homemade apple butter and some pie pumpkins.
4) The Rape of the Lock. This is a necessity as I want to get an A on my paper.
5) My three new favorite movies--Saved!, Goodbye Lenin, and Eternal Sunshine (esp. Eternal Sunshine). I have been telling everyone about them, even my mother, who was a little shocked by my excitedness.

On that note, I will retire. I need to read some Welty before class today, and the Pope looms over me like an aura of death. Ho hum. Have a good un.

Breathe, Morgan, Breathe

Oh Lord. I just realized that this next week and a half are going to be sheer academic Hell. I have about 5 papers due, a midterm, oh dear God this is wretched. I mean, I don't worry that I will not get it done. I will as I always have. I do, however, worry that it will be real shitty work and that I will be a real shitty person while doing it. Am I above asking for an extension? Probably yes. Am I above bitching about it for the time being? Hell no.

So if my posts are shorter and less thought out in the coming days, don't worry. I am otherwise occupied with the chores of academia. If I am hateful, seem as if I have my head in a cloud, etc., this is the reason, and don't worry, I'm being hateful to everyone. Just a bit of a disclaimer.

Why, you ask, did you put all this off if you knew you had to do it during fall break? The truth is, I hadn't thought about how much I have to do until this morning when it hit me like a large, gas guzzling SUV. And now I am borderline frantic. Oh well. At least I had a few days of freedom from worry.

And now before I go tackle Pope (you know, physically tackling a hunchback is always a good way to get rid of stress), I will tell you about this awesome movie I saw last night. Yes, Matt and I are 3 for 3 on picking good movies lately. Our latest conquest: Saved!. We watched it for two reasons: 1)We like anything that critiques an American ideal. 2) It was produced by Michael Stipe, who I am currently obsessing over. It was awesome, and while offering a critique, it managed to give a positive, thought-provoking ending. The characters were very excellently drawn I thought. And being from a place with more churches than people, I am able to say that many of the critiques, while they may seem outlandish, ring true.

I would like to write more about the movie, and I might later, but now I need to get to Pope. Have a good un, and think of me. Having a nervous breakdown. And laughing about it.

Verbatim quote from my boyfriend (I know it is verbatim because I wrote it down right after he said it): "You know why you're cool? Because since we've lived together, you've probably made over 300 meals, and not one of them has been meat loaf."

It's funny because it's true. I am cool. And I have never made any sort of non-bread product with the word "loaf" in the title.

Today is turning out nicely. I am going to bake an apple pie today I think. And Matt and I are making Russian food for supper. It promises to be fun. Plus I am going to finish my decidedly unacademic book before I dive back into W&P. Then there's Law and Order: SVU tonight. All new. I can't think of anything more deliciously titillating (please note that I am not being sarcastic).

I have determined due to recent desires, pleasures, and ideas that I am a very private homebody. If you're reading this, and you know me, you're probably thinking, "No shit, Morgan. It took you that long to figure this out?" It's true. I have tried all through my life to be more outwardly motivated, to get involved in various social and economic pursuits, only for them to be sadly unfulfilling and dangerously unexciting. I am beginning to realize that I am only at my best when I am here, surrounded by my books and my awesome collection of spices (seriously, you should see my spice rack--you would be jealous/think I am crazy). Having digital cable helps too. I don't think I am going to turn into one of those crazy eccentrics who never leave their apartments, but I have to say, sometimes it is tempting. But then I think of the fajita/margarita combo at Tequila Rose, and I put on my shoes and head out the door. Not even the best book could keep me from the divine goodness that is Mexican food.

Matt and I watched the Vote for Change concert on Sundance last night since we are trying to save money and didn't buy tickets. It was cool. What is it about Michael Stipe that I like so much? It's so weird. Tiny bald men should not excite me so much. Especially when they are fairly old and wear white suits. It's strange. And then there's Dave Matthews, whose voice is like Dimetapp and whose dancing is like straight cocaine. Another man who exerts strange powers over me, despite musical ability or current tastes.

Well, that's it for now. I recently came across a hugely long survey that I might indulge myself with later. But then again, I might not. My sweet tooth is calling, so I better get into the kitchen and whip up something. Have a good un!

Sleepin', Readin', Repeatin'

Laziness is wonderful. Sublime. Perfect. Excellent. I am sitting here in a very ugly excercise-type outfit, watching The Golden Girls and thinking about getting some socks to cover my cold toes. It is fun. If anyone saw me like this, it would not be fun, but for the time being, it is cool.

This weekend went pretty much as planned. I did manage to get my closet cleaned out, and my apartment picked up. I also read a lot and watched a couple of movies. Matt and I watched Goodbye Lenin, a German movie about the fall of Communism. It rocked. I would definitely recommend it even if you don't usually like to read your movies as it is fun and very well written. To keep with the European theme, last night I made liege waffles which we ate with a goodly amount of whipped cream and fruit. They were divine, if I do say so myself. Very European. They passed the global test, if you know what I'm saying.

Today promises to be fun as well. I think I will balance my reading and sleeping with some worthless TV. Matt and I bought some steaks so we are going to have those tonight with some french onion soup and pomme frites. We are going to pretend we are in Paris. I might shuck the heinous exercise outfit by then and try to get some action. Bwah hah hah.

Now for the bad news. Yesterday I talked to my father, just called him to say hello and remind him to cash in some savings bonds he had promised to give me for school (or some new pants, either/or). I didn't get to. My dad is sick with some mystery ailment--he is really dizzy and drowsy and his heart is racing. He's telling me about this in this really tiny voice, something I had never heard him do. I really didn't know what to say. I just sat there, muttering little niceties and such, really staring more than anything. It's just so weird hearing someone who is normally so strong and powerful sounding so small and powerless. I wanted to be able to say something that would make him feel better, would show him that I think he is a great guy, but I couldn't. So we hung up quickly and I stared at the floor. I hate these times, when words are not enough, when something as tenuous as a relationship hangs in the balance and you just sit there not knowing what to do or say. And it's scary that something horrible could happen, and he would never know that I sat on a Sunday afternoon, thinking of him and chewing on my fingernails with worry.

It is sad. Maybe I will call him at work in a few minutes (I know he is there--he might need to be scraped off of the pavement, but he will still be at work) and try to say something caring yet witty, something fun yet loving. I don't know. Probably not. I'll probably just sit here and think about it and eat Jelly Belly's until my stomach hurts. Sadness.

And on that note, I will retire. I miss Bob. I miss talking to him and getting his opinions and listening to power ballads. Ho hum. More sadness. Now I am really sad. Oh well. Maybe I will find time in the midst of my reading and sleeping to go and get some Ben and Jerry's. Very possible. Very, very possible.

With a Rebel Yell

FALL BREAK TIME KIDDIES!!! Yes, today is the last day of classes before two rollicking days off. This is how you can tell: lots of people walking around campus with really awesome plans for the 5 days of freedom and an overwhelming urge to tell you about them. So my inadequacies of not having anything to do next year are suddenly eclipsed by those inadequacies brought by my lack of anything to do for the break. But never fear...to prove how totally rocking awesome said break will be (despite lack of plane tickets or tiki lights), I will provide here a list of my activities, divided by day. Yes, it's probably more for me than you, but what the hell, you know you like it.

Friday Night
1. Make hamburgers with Matt. Grill to desired doneness.
2. Make several cups of Jack and Coke.
3. Watch debate. Drink every time the words "economy", "record" or "Medicare" are said.
4. Discuss debate.
5. Have sloppy sex. Pass out.

Saturday
1. Sleep late.
2. Clean out closets, putting away summer things and bringing out winter things. Deem winter clothes too ugly for public viewing. Sigh loudly.
3. Call father.
4. Read something decidedly un-academic. Giggle.
5. Eat ice-cream.

Sunday
1. Read Sunday paper.
2. Catch up on unread chapter of War and Peace. Read ahead if desired.
3. Grocery shopping.
4. Work on some stories. Frustratedly go to Starbucks. Drink more espresso con panna. Write. Sigh. Repeat. Return home, deem writing career hopeless/so-fucking-promising.
5. Put on blue sweatpants, white tank top and flip flops. Watch Adult Swim. Giggle.

Monday
1. Sleep.
2. Read.
3. Repeat.

Tuesday
1. Persuade Matt to go in late/skip work.
2. Go somewhere for lunch.
3. Work on catching up in 331. Start paper.
4. Law and Order: SVU. Look angrily at boyfriend. Eat garlic raw so he stays away.

Do you feel voyeuristic? You should. You now know everything that I will do for the next five days. Frightening? I think so. And I brought it on myself. Aah, damn.

I know that my whole planning my fall break is fairly ironic, given my worldview as of late. Oh well. Irony is always fun.

And on that note, I will retire for the day. I am feeling slightly more joyous today--wearing bright green shirt and socks covered with frogs. If that doesn't say eccentric/crazy aunt who summers in Florida, I don't know what does. And that's just the look I'm going for.

Second post of the day...back in black

Suddenly life does not have the whipped cream induced fluffiness it had before. Just got first major paper back in Southern Writers. B+. What the fuck? And it gets worse. She writes this whole diatribe about it on how it is "witty" and such, but is full of gross generalities and empty phrases. Ho hum. And I thought it was a rockin' effort. Oh well. She says I can correct it to get my A, but who has the energy? Oh, who am I kidding? You know I'll do it.

Which brings me to my point. Why do I care? What is there in me that makes me care about these arbitrary markers of intelligence, these seemingly random notes of the worth of ones thoughts on a particular narrow subject? I don't know. It's weird. It's like that my striving for these grades, for whatever, is my own bit of holding on to something in this (here it comes) chaotic world. So I wonder what I'll do next year when there's nothing to grade, when there's no one to impress, when there are no deadlines to fulfill. Maybe this is why people go to grad school. So they'll have someone who can see how smart (or dumb or crazy) they are. God, I'm going to miss this. Just that moment of when the professor has the papers ready to hand out and you're sitting there wondering what you got...It's cool. And I'm going to miss it. A lot. Oh well.

In other frustrating news, the rental office at my apartment complex forgot to count that I paid my rent (on time, mind you), so they sent me this nasty note about paying it. So I had to call and clear that up, all the time knowing that they think I am a few french fries short of a Happy Meal. Is there an unwritten law that says that if you are in college you are automatically deemed stupid by the general public? If there is, can we appeal it?

Matt is taking me out to dinner since I "had a bad day." Yea.

Which reminds me: I am looking for information about the Communist Party in the South during the late 70's-early 80's. I am writing a story about this subject, as I know of at least two instancs/uprisings and I find it uber interesting. Plus, it fits really well in my vignette collection. If anyone who is reading this knows anything about it, personal experience or not, please post a comment to me. There was actually a small commune that my parents visited a couple of times in rolicking old Southwest VA, but that's another story for another time.

Have a good un. I will be trying to rewrite that paper and reading Tolstoy if you need me. And I remain evilly yours.

The Devil Went Down to Starbucks

I'm a bad bad girl. I feel seriously bad for calling John Edwards's wife fat. I apologize. It was mean, and ill-conceived. I repent.

I am sorry because immediately after publishing my blog for the day, I googled the words "John Edwards's wife." For those of you who are curious about the results of this, you get an article about the $3.9 million dollars Edwards and his wife grossed in 2003 (depressing?), the couple's official website/blog, and a website entitled "John Edwards's Wife is Fat." Seriously. I mean, first off, the woman's name is Elizabeth. Second, a whole website? This is crazy. Poor woman. Poor man. I am evil.

So enough of that. However, I have still more evidence that I am evil. The other day I felt the terrible, overwhelming urge to write, so I naughtily skipped class and went to Starbucks where I could obey the powers within without the temptation of true crime drama beckoning me. So I found myself a nice table, sat down, and started writing. Then, I felt the urge for caffeine, so I went to the dreaded Starbucks counter and thought about what to get. Wanting to get something a little different, I thought about this video I saw in Spanish class about Cubans in Florida and how they drink strong espresso with whipped cream. So I ordered that. It was good and it hyped me up, so I was able to finish my fourth vignette in my short story collection (YEA Morgan!). So I decide that this is going to be my drink from now on, as it is lucky, creative, and enticing. But then yesterday I am reading the wonderful blog of an ex co-worker, and read a very interesting informal survey entitled "If the devil came into the cafe, what would he order?" Sure enough, another co-worker had answered that if the devil did come in for a coffee break, he would order an ESPRESSO WITH WHIPPED CREAM! So either the devil is Cuban, or he's ME!!! AAAGGGH!

As a matter of fact, I am feeling a bit naughty today. I am wearing black, and I did naughty things to entice my boyfriend this morning, who unfortunately, went on to work. I am also drinking a coke and eating some wonderful havarti cheese as I write this, a combination that is very sinful. And I cursed this morning when I realized that SOMEONE ate all of the good flavored Jelly Belly's, so now all that is left is Lemon Drop and Root Beer. Ooh, I am mean. Stay away, gentle readers, stay away.

I had a dream last night about Chechan militants. I wonder what that means?

Well, I should go. I have naughty things to do. I am going to read some Eudora Welty. Ooooo. Then I am going to eat some pasta with feta cheese on top. Aaaaa. Then (here's the kicker) I am going to go to class and say nerdy things!!! Frightening. Yes, the devil's going down to William and Mary. I've got some knowledge to steal (ok, ok. That's too corny even for me).

Imitations on Politics, Power and Fat Women

So I am starting today's entry with no real plan in mind. Sounds awful doesn't it? Hey, at least I'm not starting a whole war with no plan in mind (SMACK!). Yes, you guessed it. I watched the debate last night. Yeah, I guess it was ok. I mean, if you drink everytime they say "War on Terror" you can be feeling right nice by the time the thing is over. Plus it's a good way of getting into the mind of an evil warlord/corporate CEO. Oh well. Ok, it wasn't that great. I regret spending my Tuesday night doing it. But it did give me something interesting to discuss (see, I just thought of a point. Happy now?).

John Edwards has a fat wife. Seriously. Did you see her? I mean, she's chunky. And he looks like a Ken doll. Seriously. I mean, he's a kind of golden boy, with this sweet accent (I want to commend this guy for using the sound "aye" as it is the only true way to say I), he's a politician, yada, yada, yada. And he's going to be VP. So he's powerful. But he has this fat wife. Which leads me to look at Matt and say, somewhat drunkenly, "I don't know if I trust him. I mean, you know he's got mistresses. Plural." Matt asks how I arrive at this stunning thought. I say, "Well, you can't be a Ken doll look-a-like, live in Washington part of the time, be powerful and rich and such, and not have a mistress. Especially if you have a fat wife." Matt sort of halfway agrees, which does not bode well for our great heroine if you really think about it, and we continue to watch CNN's breathtaking coverage. And the whole time I'm thinking that yes, this is disturbing. Really disturbing. Just the thought that you have to be skinny and cute forever or your husband will have a mistress, and it's just, you know, accepted, is disturbing. I mean, I'm sure power figures in Mr. Mattel's case, but still, men do it all the time. Powerful or not. And this is frightening. Even beyond politics, there's the strange and mysterious case of my professor, mentioned in a previous post, who cheated on his wife with a student. And I've seen the wife. She's pretty (not fat), smart (Ph.d) and such. So what went wrong?

I guess it all goes back to this chaotic world that I have been talking about lately. You can't control what's going to happen. I mean, you could go on all the diets in the world, but he still might cheat on you. And he might not. You never know. You have no real control. It's just like a war. You can plan all of this crazy shit like "shock and awe" and such, and then these insurgents spring up and your whole plan has gone to pot. Life and war (or War and Peace if you are so inclined) are actually so similar to each other. Frightening, huh?

This is kind of disturbing, so I am going to shut up, and list the frivolous, crazy things that I am currently obsessed with for two reasons: 1) I like lists, 2) You need to know in case you want to have a discussion with me that does not have something to do with the world "chaos".
1. Jelly Belly's. Still. Ours is a lasting love.
2. Robert Johnson and other "bluesmen". Just the thought that someone would sell their soul to play guitar tickles me.
3. Law and Order, the new season. Need I say more? Two hours tonight. Don't call me.
4. My marinara sauce. I am trying to perfect my recipe. My kitchen is now dotted with orange. It's all very mod.
5. The song "Under Pressure" with David Bowie and Freddie Mercury. I listen to it just for those few seconds at the beginning when I say "What the hell? Who put Vanilla Ice in my changer? Bastards!". Then I say, "Oh well," when I realize what it is, and smile at my ignorance. Seriously. I do it everytime.

On that note, I will retire. Have a wondrous day, my gentle readers. And don't eat too much. Oh, and somebody find out. Maybe that's not his wife. Is it a sister? Could be. Could be. Oh, and you know when I said "don't eat too much." Fuck that. Let him cheat. There are cream puffs in the world. You'll survive.

So right now I am watching the E! True Hollywood Story of Courtney Love and thinking about men. Yup. Men. And not just any men. Men who I have known (no, not in the biblical sense) and talked to and thought about and such. It's wierd. My relationship with Matt is better now than it probably ever has been, but for some reason I continue to think about these people who I knew at some point. And not even in a sexual way (or even an admiring way). Just a dull wondering, with a bit of nostalgia and romanticism thrown in.

It's just this understanding, that, you know, people's lives go on. My life definitely moves on--I mean, everyday I'm doing something different, thinking different things, whatever. It's just weird that other people's lives move on. Without you. I mean, it is quite possible that I am a huge egoist, but it remains strange to me that people keep moving on even when you don't think about them anymore. I know this seems like a simple concept, but I mean, seriously. Think about it. People who were once so important to you, your raison d'etre if you will, now go through their days without ever thinking of that time you talked about Mili Vanilli or that time you took that acting class together. Isn't that weird? Things that used to be so important are now moot points, just little stopping points you made on the way to becoming who "you really are". It's just weird.

Take for instance my first real boyfriend, a total bastard. I don't miss this guy in the least, I mean, he was a bastard. But at one time, I thought this guy was it, that he was the "Kurt to my Courtney" (seriously, I used to think this way. I blame the liberal media.). And he thought the same about me. We talked about going to New York and living where I could (get this) act, and he could be in a band. Oh, our whole relationship was atrocious. But I swear, I think of him sometimes, and wonder what he's doing, if he's high right now, if he has a guitar in his hand, if he's listening to Nirvana. And it's weird. We're totally different now. We've moved on. And he probably never thinks about me, or that time that we went to go hear a band called Magnesium Mama and pondered about the possibilities of overdosing on Tylenol. But sometimes I think of him. Is this good or bad? Should I do that? I don't know. Maybe I'm strange. I just don't know.

I guess if I were smart, I would start a whole discussion here about memory and the formation of it, and love, and why we love certain people, and so forth. I'm not going to. Truth be told, I am going to watch this thing about Robert Johnson (who I am beginning to be obsessed with), and fold some towels. Fun, huh? I wonder if my former flames think of me doing shit like this, like folding towels and wiping the dried pasta sauce off the kitchen counter. Maybe they imagine me sitting in some light filled room, writing about them. Or maybe they don't imagine me at all. I prefer to think that they do, even if they imagine me doing ordinary things. Because you know, it's better to be thought of unfavorably than none at all (an awkward sentence I know, but you get the point).

In Defense of Laziness

So I survived the family weekend. These are the things I have to show for it:
1. One piece of chocolate chunk cheesecake, a small one, that no one seemed to want, ESPECIALLY AFTER THEY DEVOURED THE WHOLE REST OF THE CAKE!!!
2. A moderately clean house, except for my bedroom, which is where I stuffed all the unsightlies
3. Two plates of homemade mints, that again, no one touched.
4. One GladWare container of Spinach-Artichoke dip that Matt dared me to touch.
5. A big fat zero on a homework assignment that I forgot about in Tolstoy, choosing instead to bat my eyes repeatedly at (cute) professor, saying "Oh, didn't you get it?" and cursing myself for not wearing make-up.
6. A tired feeling, and a sort of mini headache that is more annoying than anything. Ho hum.

So, yes. I made it. People laughed and enjoyed theirselves, and I sent two of my cousin's kids home with sick stomachs after the mass consumption of chocolate frosted cupcakes. However, I feel that although I am still alive, I missed something. I missed my normal weekends, with all their reading and sleeping and rambling and yes, Dukes of Hazzard reruns. Because I was so busy being sociable and cute, I missed all the great Morgan and Matt things (although we did make a quick trip to CW for Jelly Belly's--$12 worth of jelly beans is a wonderful, frivolous, devine thing) that usually dot my weekend. So today in this blog, I am opining for the weekend lost, the thing that I won't have for another...hmmm..five days I guess. I am opining for pajamas and MovieScene and sugar cookie baking. I am opining for those carefree times when one can learn for learning's sake, enjoy for enjoyment's sake, and love for all of love's sake.

And in this opining, I think of my father. My dad is great, or at least, my memories of him are pretty great. This is a guy who always laughs, can make anyone laugh, can fart on command, tells great stories, and is always ready with something to say. At least, this is how I remember him. I don't see him that much anymore, but when I do see him, he is always worn out, or as he would say it, "busted." Why? Because he works 16 hours a day, 6 days a week, supervising coal production at a mine in West Virginia. And for a while, I admired this about him. I would talk about how hardworking he is, about all the junk he does, blah blah blah. I guess I still do admire it, but now I see it for what it is: pointless. My dad does this for no reason--he doesn't need the money as all of his kids/stepkids are grown and out of the house and he is definitely not paying anything on my school bills. He is just allowing himself to get totally wed to his job and whatever sense of security it provides. I mean, I love my dad, but not this zombie-like shell I see on his infrequent visits. I love that dad I used to have, who played the air saxophone and called himself "The Crusher" and went around trying to wrestle with everyone. I miss him. I wish that he would realize that he doesn't have to do all that, and that life out here in the la-la-lazy world is pretty awesome.

Don't think I am dismissing economic necessity. No, I don't think everyone should be 100% lazy all the time. I mean, we as a people need to work and put our talents out for the good of ourselves and our families. However, there is a line. I personally think that people should do as little as possible. It makes us all better and cuter, and well, just better. I mean, we eat better, we're happier, and, what's better than that?

I'm going to end on that note. I know probably sounds stupid and utopian, and all that, but I'm serious and I think that laziness is beneficial. Hey, if you have time you'll cook good food, and then you won't be eating McDonald's and slurping down coffee drinks. And what could be better than having time to eat? Nothing, my friends. Nothing at all.