Grade Anxiety

My 80 year old prof in his raspy old-man voice was talking to us about grades today: 


"I should tell you all about the time a student approached me, and said... 'I have problems.'"
[laughter] 
"I'm serious! That's not all. Then she said 'I'm bipolar.'"
[more hesitant laughter] 
"Then she said 'I have a drinking problem.'"
[astounded at this point] 
"And finally she said 'I'm suicidal and if you fail me it'll be your fault that I kill myself.'"
[buh...?! what did you say? we asked]
[innocently] "I didn't say anything." 


Oh Dr. Hitchcock, such a sweetie...

Day 3/4: Family

Dear Mom,

I love it when we’re both pretty cheery (for us) and just have fun hanging out. Sometimes you get on my nerves, not gonna lie. But I love you, forevsies.

Love, Me

Dear Dad,

I have you to thank for my tendency to laugh crack up at jokes that... well, aren’t that funny, but are, kinda. It’s my sincerest hope that you and I always laugh at stuff that makes Mom roll her eyes.

Love, Me

Dear Johnny,

You are too smart, little brother. I have a feeling you will outdo me in many things (grades, annual salary, general nerdy knowledge) but you know I love ya for it. Try to keep warm up there in Canada Ithaca and don’t party too hard.

Love, Me

Dear Sophie,

Last but certainly not least. You used to annoy me A Lot, but now it’s more like just Medium. I think it’s cool that you’re good at stuff that Johnny and I are pretty much tards at, but please stop taking clothes from my room when I’m not home, kthx.

Love, Me

Day 2: Your Crush

Dear Crush,

It pains me for us to be apart. I miss you like the sun misses the flower in the depths of winter... or something like that. There is a gaping hole in my life without you. The taste of you when my lips move against you... the sweet release when I feel you inside me. I don’t know how much longer I can take this, this life without the bubbly euphoria that blossoms whenever our paths cross.

But I know, I was the one who decided we needed a break. My lifestyle is better, more healthy without you. The rational part of me knows this. It doesn’t make this any easier.

We might be going it alone, but I still think of you often. One day, maybe, things will change and I’ll give in to my palatal desires. Maybe we’ll decide to be friends with benefits, which I think I wouldn’t mind, as long as you don’t mind. 

Until I meet your orangey deliciousness once more,

Alex

Like those surveys on Facebook, but spanning 30 entries of indeterminate length.

Stealing Borrowing this from my friend Lauren, who, incidentally, I write about today. If you want to see the other 29 topics of letters, or just to read general awesomeness, check out her blog! (echo, echo, echo...)

Day 1: Best Friend

Dear Lauren,

I fondly remember the years and memories shared between us, from the time that we met at the tender age of... well, was it 13 for me and 11 for you? to the time we live in now, when our adventures are more sparsely scattered but no less important to me.

We became closer friends in high school, supporting each other while we navigated the unfamiliar territory and inhabitants of South Carroll. We were adopted into the best group people we could have hoped for. Oftentimes we were the only Westminsterians, but this suited fine for planning outings to see plays in town, or carpooling to the coffee house. (I never begrudge you the 3457458 times I drove and the 0 times you did. That’s just how we roll.)

Our teachers... goodness, our teachers. Crazy Wilson and his ramblins (accidentally left the g out, think I’ll leave it), literary or not, and his mysterious disappearance; the “ding” of Santana’s microwave, drawing overhead cartoons, Otto von Bismarck; Lois, Susan, Cynthia, Gary... you made me realize how hilarious and disturbing it is to refer to teachers by their first names.

Books. ‘Nough said.

We love to laugh with each other and at each other, and I hope we never give that up. BFFs forevsies! I love you doll face. Let’s keep this thing we’ve got. You know, the thing, this clandestine love affair that we’ll reveal to world when it’s ready to accept us for who we are... Or, you know, the thing that, well, means we’re, like, friends forever. Yeah. Cool.

Love,

Alex

(P.S. - I do realize that your mum drove us places a few times over the years, for which I am grateful, but including this earlier would have messed up my rhythm, so here it be.) 

P.S. to whoever reads this blog - tumblr may join the graveyard of journals I have left behind over the years. Maybe if I knew more people that have one... it would be more fun.

tumblr

In my younger days I used to start new journals regularly, write one entry, forget about it... repeat.

Here we are, again:

annainn.tumblr.com

Might be pointless, or the perfect solution for a lazy blogger. Who knows.

Words Cannot Describe

>>>The Balcony, The Rumour Said Fire

Unsolicited Advice

Try it for yourself. What is It? Anything. Everything. I am of the opinion that you should never decide not to do something because someone told you not to (the obvious exclusions here being not killing people/yourself and things of that nature).

It really gets to me when I hear/see someone saying "Oh so-and-so said that book was terrible, I guess I won't read it" or "I was going to see that movie but I've heard it's awful so now I don't think I will even rent it on DVD". TRY THINKING FOR YOURSELF, PEOPLE. Ultimately it's up to you to make your own decisions, but I still can't ignore my desire to scream LEMMING in your faces regardless.

On a completely different note, my dear friend recently blogged about a book having to do with mix tapes and playlists and things, so here's what I've been listening to recently >>>

If anyone has suggestions for good tracks to add, I welcome them!

Advice For the Crowds of Stuffed Animals in the Audience in My Head

1. Do not take summer classes. They add habanero to the weather.

2. Do not take foreign language classes in the summer. They make your head spin.

3. Sleep and read. For me.




itcaughtmyeyeandicouldntresistbuyingit: "I Like You So Much Better When You're Naked" by Ida Maria

...

Oh make it last

The mere smell of spring through my window was enough to clear some of the cloud that has hovered around me since November. I can feel the beginning of a lift, and already feel better.

:)

>>soundtrack of (500) Days of Summer

Library of Congress

I'm dumping some of my journal for the class into here - it is less research related than an actual thoughts-and-feelings sort of diary entry, but I don't want to just eliminate it altogether:


I have now made two successful trips to the Library of Congress. The first trip was obviously more orientation and less research; hoards of information and directions and policies being stuffed into my brain until I thought it would come out of my ears. Needless to say, a bit overwhelming. But by 2 o’clock or so, when we finally sat down with a few books to start reading, I felt much more comfortable. The simple and pleasurable act of reading a book does that.

I think in my head I always think I’m completely incapable of independently traveling to new places, sort of the same way that when I’m sleepily sitting at my desk in the evening I can’t fathom how I ever gather the alertness necessary to drive a vehicle. But once you’re actually moving, you instinctively remember where you’re going, you recognize landmarks. The only wrong turns I took once in the Library were in the sub-basement or whatever it is - at first nothing looking familiar, but once you start seeing “Jefferson” signs (or “Madison” signs on the way back; I decided it was best to go out that way instead of walking more outside in the cold February wind) you get your bearings and follow these courteous bread crumbs. Considering my greatest hesitation revolved around actually going to and from the Library by myself, I think I managed very well and the next time I won’t feel so nervous to get on the Metro alone.

The second week tested my ability to go from campus to the Library and back on my own and I succeeded (miraculously). I didn’t get lost, didn’t need to ask for directions. The Library itself... I feel like I’m inside a large, intricately designed organism. Each part hums along, working like clockwork without bothering about my presence. Help is available, and though I may not need it most of the time it’s good to know it’s there. The other researchers there are absorbed in their work as I soon will be. Walking to the shelf that’s reserved for holding our books (it’s at three o’clock in the room, though I forget the “alcove number”) I feel like I’ve done this thousands of times, sure, I’m a regular, I belong. Sign in to make sure our books don’t disappear, carry them out to a desk in the no-laptop section. And I read for a couple of hours. Strangely it doesn’t feel like research (yet); I spent most of my time reading one book that followed the progress of several authors and their works from their first publication in the early Soviet regime to their later transformations. I found it unexpectedly fascinating.

Russian INVASION

So half of my classes (2) are Russian this semester, a lang. and a lit. They will all probably be Russian next semester... YES. But anyway. I wrote this earlier this afternoon.

On my mind is the dual effect of learning something, or seeing something in a new way: on the one hand you feel relieved to know that there is this explanation (or at least pseudo-explanation) existing in the world, and you feel closer to humanity knowing someone else articulated it first. On the other, you’re devastated to know that it’s true.

Today in my Soviet Lit. class the terms “consciousness” and “spontaneity” came up in discussing the Cossack-Jewish dichotomy in Red Cavalry by Isaac Babel. The Cossacks are the über-military sort, but in the warrior-brotherhood sort of way. They’re large, intimidating examples of such virile manhood that the part of my mind that envisions any possible situation quakes at the mere thought of being transported in time and space to stumble across such a band of pillagers. Their existence consists of war and reaping the benefits thereof. They kill the men, rape the women, drink the vodka, and look forward to their next conquest. They are the “spontaneity” in the equation of opposing forces - instinctual, emotional.

The “consciousness” are the Jews, or more broadly the intelligentsia. These are the people that, in the Party’s scheme of things, don’t immediately fit into the scenario (capitalist bourgeoisie being overtaken by the industrial yet class-conscious proletariat). They represent the consciousness without being the workers, they were the writers, the artists, wondering “What is my role, what is my place?” So people like Babel sign up as propagandists to travel with the armies, selling the Revolution to anyone who can read while witnessing the ravages of the war that will supposedly take them to a new world order. In the course of the stories (Red Cavalry is presented as a collection of nouvelles or really short stories, vignettes) the narrator Lyutov (a jew) obviously desires to be included in the brotherhood of the Cossacks, not really for the raping and killing but for that idealized vision of camaraderie, companionship. But when it does come to actually being a Cossack, i.e. raping and killing, he can’t pull the trigger. Like the Revolution he is trying to unite these disparate forces, the spontaneous workers and the conscious intellectuals, but can’t.

I am the consciousness side, obviously. This holds true for the way that I live and participate in life, the universe and everything - I can’t get over my brain. I don’t do spontaneous. I analyze everything and I’m always thinking. About anything. The part of me that wants to emulate that spunky devil-may-care heroine of teen movies, the one that all the guys fall for because she’s wild and adventurous and can let the world spin without thinking how or why - that part is so entrenched in my consciousness of existence that I’m barely aware that it’s there at all. Surface thinking is where I imagine that I desire to be more like her, and there it remains as an idea, a moving picture that paints a desirable reality rather than the actual one. I just can’t bring myself to pull the trigger. (Bad comparison on that last bit? Well, maybe. Just think metaphor, it’s a metaphor people...)


That's my layman's understanding of this history stuff, or at least where the discussion went today. I feel like if I add/change some stuff it might be more concise and/or readable, but... you'll manage. I can feel it.

muzyka>> Bobby Long, assorted unreleased tracks (especially "Dead and Done": My body's out of work 'cause my mind's in town.)

Low, low, hellow

Have you ever felt so emotionless that you wonder if you would feel anything after murdering someone? Not actually considered following through, but just having that thought. What is it going to take, to wake me up? I haven't cried in months, not even teared up a little bit. I feel like I don't genuinely care about anything.

Now I know why they tell freshmen to "get involved" - so this doesn't happen. So that you don't fall into a hole where you don't feel anything, the world is up up up above you and there is no sound. There is no sound. And you want connection but simply don't have the energy to make it happen. Depression? Who knows. I get out of bed everyday, if somewhat on the edge of being late. But I still go. Go to class, go eat. Sleep. Class, eat, sleep, repeat.

Where is the passion? Where is the awe and intrigue and jubilation? Tell me where, and I will be indebted forever. Or at least a long time. Maybe.

>> A Larum, Johnny Flynn

I need to try harder.

Seriously.



tooons>> A Rush of Blood to the Head (Coldplay) and Lungs (Florence + the Machine)

Unreal, surreal, even fur'real, whatever. Will not accept without suffixes.

Drinking some Orange-Strawberry-Banana juice. So hsbdgaiurghkjsdt-ing good.

I'm waiting. I feel like I am always waiting. Is my life going to kick-start itself? Am I going to have the sudden revelation that I know exactly what I want to do with my next twenty years? The first twenty were just so fleeting, so simple and structured. I knew what I was doing year to year: School. When that stops...

And I don't want to be one of those perpetual students. Ugh. If this is what is in store for the rest of my time here. No.

But what! I can't just close my eyes and point at what I want, arbitrarily. Am I a fool for wanting more ready-made options? Most of the "adults" I know didn't decide on their current employment when they were twenty, why should I? Then again, should I model my own actions on theirs, if their unpreparedness at my age led them to a mediocre occupation? What to do, what to do.

Can't I just be a kid, like, forever? It's my favorite. That's what I want to be... when I grow up.

See, this is why I can't let go of that dream, maybe the only dream I've ever had. I have that one thing I know I'd like to do. But if I can't get it going now, when I'm young and supposedly without "adult" responsibilities (and adult sensibilities[=oxymoron]), who's to say I can get it going with contracts, deadlines, criticisms? Hell, that's all beyond the first elimination round. And what are the chances I'll make it past that. (No "?" because I don't need a reality check right now, just the ability to pour out my stagnant soul into this internet-box and ask rhetorical questions of blog-ghostland.)

As a wise young eight year old once asked: "Is this real life?"


Sound bites to inspire>>> Scratch My Back (Peter Gabriel) and Songs (Regina Spektor)

UHH

Miss having two rooms. Makes me forget that I have too much stuff. Should get on fixing that, definitely. I don't need half of what I own. Ownership, no; doesn't feel like mine at all. LET GO.

Stuff. stuffstuffstuffstuff

Now that everyone's gone to sleep I want to clean my room. My circadian rhythm is shot. Or probably not, I'm just using crazy-specific-scientific-smart-sounding words to make myself look good to the more ignorant, a fool to those that know. You know.

Literally done nothing but internets and reading today. Still tired. Add to list: start taking vitamins again.

>>Music rec: the XX, XX (so creative... good though)

On Whether a Fresh Start Exists

I have wanted to do the blog thing (again) for quite some time now. My delay had something to do, perhaps, with remembering the last one (xanga) and how very silly it all seemed. But that's a lie; I really liked posting blatherings about my life to not necessarily anyone. It's a small thrill, to send out soul-words to apparently no one. But, maybe someone.

In a bit less than a week I'll be braving whatever weather Maryland has in store for me (cold, rain, wind, sunshine, all possible) to begin what I feel is Round 4 of college. The fourth time I have taken my slow life of home to that place where I can feel the line pulling me up but no, my natural instinct is to resist, pull back. I am miserable without purpose but still lack the drive to take one on, i.e. "higher" education.

Somehow every time I'm on holiday from school I feel the need to justify (to myself) in personal journal entries just why I persist in lazying about the house and accomplishing next to nothing. Not really making dates with friends much, hardly making a dent in my List of Books to Read, opening files of my personal writing and closing them again without adding new material. There's no reason I shouldn't be actively pursuing all of these things - their only enemy most of the time is School, and take that out of the equation, voilà, right?

Ugh.

So I'll sit and tell myself (honestly, who else is listening) that maybe once I do something extraordinary, or something extraordinary happens to me, maybe then life will start and the constant "get on with it" will reach some part of my brain. Hoping it's a productive part.

The only time I feel right these days is losing myself in books or songs... other people's products of genius. It feels good at first, but then self-reflection chastises me for not aiming higher than this stuff, that which gets me going. I want to get Them going, and You too.

The elusive How...

Maybe this time. All the other beginnings weren't right, and this is the One. For sure. Yes. Maybe.

>>Music recs: Mumford & Sons, Sigh No More; The Replacements, Tim