A Barthey Kinda Day

Lately my work on my Thesis has been dwindling. I've been distracted by things going on in the "real world" (you know, I really fucking hate that phrase...anything I can physically feel or see is "real" therefore, yes, academia is the "real world." At least for me, especially because that is the Earthly-realm from which my miniscule bills get paid). I decided in order to regain control of my work, and construct a balance insuring my loved ones are cared for AND I am being productive in order to make progress on my work, it was time to revisit my old study spot at Chapman University, with my old, absolute favorite, and productive study buddy (my Egyptian mantra). Upon climbing the stairs to get to the second floor I passed my framed guardian angel, Sir Reginald, whom I used to greet everyday upon my arrival at Leatherby Library. The familiar smells of the library immediately stabbed me with old memories and anxieties from my pre-thesis world. Along with this reunion, I remembered another former memory, Roland Barthes, and swiftly made the connection with my experience with that of a punctum. Although I was able to somewhat deconstruct my feelings, the stabbing jolt in my stomach instigated by my sense of smell punctured me with familiar laughs and pains. You see, before my thesis, my life and graduate career remained up in the air, and if you know me at all, you know I hate the feeling of uncertainty. I used to anxiously walk passed Sir Reginald (a constant reminder of my medieval goals) in hopes of it being a good omen to serve me luck in my future endeavors, and today I walked passed him triumphant and relieved, knowing my goals have been met, and the rest depends on me, not on the consideration of three faculty members scrutinizing my work in a conference room. While my shoulders still remain heavy with the burden of attaining enough motivation and progress to complete this phase in my life in a timely manner, haha "as if" (Horowitz, Clueless), there is a certain ease in knowing it's all up to me. What stands out in all of this non-sense I've been jabbering about is that the same place, the same guardian angel, and the same friend, now give me a different feeling, a feeling of relief and comfort, even though we are all in the same exact place we were a year ago, a time of uncertainty, anxiety, but none-the-less laughs and productivity. 

Smooth Operator?

The best part about doing work that doesn't require too much reading (such as recording grades on a spreadsheet) is listening to music with lyrics. Hmm, that's the title of a Hugh Grant movie. How, oddly quaint. Anyway, it still has to be soft music, so today I chose Sade, naturally. She is so soothing, but I feel old when I listen to Sade at night while I'm working. Not 27 old, but 40 something old, as though I've worked all day, made dinner for my family, tucked my insolent children into bed (yes, my imaginary children are assholes), my husband is off snoring on the couch, and I'm getting some late night work in. Thankfully, I lack most of these things. Don't get me wrong, I look forward to my eminent union (heh), but he's certainly not the snoring on the couch type. You know what I'm talking about; horse-shoe balding, pot-belly, ill-fitting slacks, half undone die, one leg sprawled on the couch while the other dangles off causing his pants to hug his lack-luster ballsack. Uhhh. The other things I thankfully lack, though society looks down on me I'm sure, is a practical job, and of course, children. Don't get me wrong, kiddies are at times okay, but I simply have no room for them on my bookcase right now (or closet, in case SW is reading...don't bother, it's far too complex and inexplicable to those who don't see the reason behind owning 10 coffee machines to understand. See, it all leads into something else. Threads and threads of incomprehensible insanity. I blame the Anglo-Saxon scholars for this, especially John M. Hill - the man who wrote Beowulf).

Let's get back to what I was pondering. Why does music that I like so much, particularly at night, make me feel unlikable and old? I know I'm no teenaged spring chicky, but I'm not exactly old. In fact I can prove it - today at Trader Joe's the very nice cashier lady gave me a grape flavored sucker for going with my mommy. See?! 

Lazy 'Beans Returneth

I really need to blog more. Fuck. Shit.

I guess I'll start with a status update that caught my attention a few days ago. It stated something along these lines, "Some people come into our lives as blessings, and others as lessons." A Mother Teresa quote, apparently. I find it so odd, or perhaps uneasy, that I read it just before running into news that caught me off guard. It's amazing how we can forget about things, and somehow get over even the most deepest feelings, but how the memory of those feelings can absorb us all over again. I agree, many people in my life are blessings somehow. In fact, I don't know any person who is currently in my life that does not, or at least has not at some point, help uplift me, and in return, allowed me to uplift them. But what if those who hurt us are not lessons? What if sometimes we're simply a lesson for someone else, and if so, what do we really get out of it? I know that life throws us unexpected situations, and is hardly ever fair, but shit, there are some things that seem pointless. I'm not suggesting they are pointless altogether, just that they seem that way. At the same time, I read that quote just in time to prepare me for something that came as somewhat of a blow. The truth is I'm not effected by this person, or their news, I just feel that some things, and some people, no matter how good-hearted they may be, should stay in the past, where we chose to leave them in order to move further along our path. That's all.

In better news, I'm quite proud of myself. I have managed to eat two heart-shaped See's chocolate boxes within the last two weeks and not gain a pound. Hmm. I guess one could say I'm on a "diet."