J----

I was remembering the other day how you and I and K---- had to be involved in that silly conference and I (think I) drove us there and we stayed at my parents' lakehouse and almost got lost trying to get to the conference/rehearsal in L-something Georgia. I haven't written to you but once because I do not know what to say. I'd probably bore you. I'm a coward and I'm sorry.

The test that my graduation depended on

Just making a note to remind myself to write something about this stupid ordeal. Yes, I passed, however, this does not make me feel any better about this test existing.

Mega blarg

There's not really anything new to complain about...

I still hate this town.

I am not doing well in school. Tomorrow, I will beg for a professor's mercy.

Today, I seriously considered transferring grad schools (which can be a huge pain) or just simply dropping out. I feel like I was shoved into this decision... it doesn't feel right but, then again, it never really did feel right. Should I have taken a couple of years off from school to work? If so, where the hell would I have worked? Meh, it doesn't matter... Going to grad school or no, it seems like finding a job will be an uphill battle (if what I hear from the battlefront is correct).

I keep missing deadlines.

I do have a back-up plan (I think) if this round of grad school doesn't work out. In undergrad school, I was only one class away from getting a B. A. in Creative Writing. Maybe if this does not work out, I could go back to Georgia ______, take that crazy Sociolinguistics class, and then re-apply to graduate school--only this time, it would be for an M. F. A. Who knows how that'd go... I'd have to deal with a thousand members of the oh-so knowledgable staff at Whatev University: "Hm, no I do not know the answer to your question. Your situation is a little different from the standard. Let me transfer you to Mrs. Hellifeyeno." "No, you need to talk to the Department of We'll Get Back to You Maybe, One Day... let me just transfer you..." "Hm, it seems like you might have to walk around campus until you reach a total of walking ten miles around this campus. After that, you will probably have to send twenty e-mails, of which a few will be answered. After that you will probably be advised to smash your head against a wall." Ok, so maybe I exaggerate. If I don't ever ask or see about it then I won't ever know, blah blah blah. I know.

On a lighter side, I have rediscovered my love of cartoons--sounds silly and maybe dumb but there is so much one can do with a cartoon. Joe Murray is now a hero of mine, haha. (Joe Murray created Rocko's Modern Life as well as Camp Lazlo, however, I am not very familiar with Camp Lazlo as I have not watched it more than a couple of times.) I cannot draw but I think my humor and cynicism would fit in quite well with cartoons. Any sort of satire... I'd be interested in.


I was also thinking of creating a website. It wouldn't be for making money, obviously, as I do not have the mind to do that sort of thing (maybe one day). The website would have random things on it for random people like me... I have more in-depth ideas, of course, but if I typed those out on here then someone would obviously steal them. Why--because I'm awesome. I know I'm awesome... just not totally awesome at this point in my life. One day, I will be totally awesome again... I will be more totally awesome because this time in Milledgeville will be in my past.

light bulb

I understand why you did it, John.

light bulb

I understand why you did it, John.

already planning for the weekend...

gonna sit in the park
outside
weather permitting
hit up coffee joint(s)
movie(s)
read
walk Daz
football? dunno
Savannah? maybe alone. Sushi... unless I'm alone.
get brakes looked at
oil changed
trudge back to Milledgeville
or go back with my head held higher?
Let's hope the latter.

up, down, up, down, up, down, up?

I don't think anyone realizes how much I miss them.

"Though the mules plod in a steady and unflagging hypnosis, the vehicle does not seem to progress. It seems to hang suspended in the middle distance forever and forever, so infinitesimal is its progress, like a shabby bead upon the mild red string of road. So much so is this that in the watching of it the eye loses it as sight and sense drowsily merge and blend, like the road itself, with all the peaceful and monotonous changes between darkness and day, like already measured thread being wound onto a spool. So that at last, as though out of some trivial and unimportant region beyond even distance, the sound of it seems to come slow and terrific and without meaning, as though it were a ghost traveling a half mile ahead of its own shape." (Light... in August--Faulkner)

(I feel like that wagon sometimes.)

I'm still waiting for something more extraordinary to happen. I don't know if I'm waiting to move out of Milledgeville, for next semester, for tomorrow, for a person (I hope not, because if I'm waiting on someone, he/she is slow as hell), for the fall... I don't know what I'm waiting for. I'm tired of waiting. I want to do something, but what it is I have no clue. I wish I knew what I am waiting for, what I am waiting to do... I don't know anything, bah! I'm sick of feeling like I know nothing... Knowing nothing doesn't make me feel humbled, it makes me feel slightly annoyed.

Is what I'm doing here worth it all?

I find that I anticipate and get excited when I go back home. Then, when I do go back home, something always feels like it is missing. What's missing? Is what is missing what I'm waiting for? I don't actively look for it, is that the problem? Is there any end to my relentless questioning? Probably not... I just have to make myself stop questioning.

I don't expect anything to be different when I go back home. Maybe that's the problem?

How many times have I typed "I" in this damn entry?

Sometimes I think "If only ____, it'd be easy...". But then I think that nothing ever seems easy.

If it weren't for this cat, I would be so much more lonely.

I hope I don't grow up to be a creepy cat lady. I'm more of a dog person anyway.

Nothing extraordinary in this post; I'm appallingly so much like other people sometimes.

Random:

The pebble crept into his shoe. It grew to the size of a mountain, and the sweat from his foot eroded the rock, making crevices, and the crevices were filled with rivers of sweat. The rocky mountain stabbed his foot with every step. Soon, another pebble crept into his other shoe, and so began the formation process once again. Now, with every step he took, the rocks jammed into his feet. He tried his damnedest to keep his face calm. He did not want to give away the pain he felt. If it isn’t on your face, it isn’t there. He became an expert in this art; so much so that his friends were surprised he could keep up for so long. They hoped he would keep up, and he did. He kept up appearances.
------
I want to sing, laugh, lie down on a beach, fly, talk...

Oh, I had that flying dream again last night. Cliche yes, but I never had those dreams until this year. It's funny--to fly in my dream, I have to jump a couple of times to get it... like Mario. It's awesome.