Rest assured, lonely blog: I have not abandoned you.
Allow me to set the scene for you, dear reader.
One Week Ago
A peaceful, unseasonably warm Saturday night. J. has come over to cook dinner for Finn and me. Finn and I play with J.'s new german shepherd puppy (so cute!), then eat. J. helps me put Finn to bed (can you see my heart melting into a disgusting puddle?). We are now on the porch; candles, wine, puppy, a few puffs...lots of great conversation. Many hours and several bottles of wine later, we move inside. I get so excited to show J. my essay for Western Political Thought (Why living adjacent to a foreign country is NOT foreign policy experience) that I open the laptop and pull up my file. As he returns from the bathroom, he says, "Honey...I think I'm getting wrinkles..."
*At this point it's all slow motion in my head, so it may help for you to imagine it that way*
I turn my body to look at him, as he has just thrust his head into my bubble-my wine glass crashes onto the keypad of my laptop...and i just watch.
Five minutes later, I've removed the battery and turned the laptop upside down, and watch, as the damn thing is BLEEDING red wine.
Luckily this story has a happy ending, and Apple was able to repair the machine under warranty, but...I felt as though I had lost a limb for about a week.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
a good day to wear orange
Today is perfect.
The morning air is crisp, bright with that purified, glowing sunlight you only see in early fall.
Finn and I wear woolly sweaters as we troop to the car. He has to wear orange; daycare is ROY G BIVing this week. Monday was red, today is orange...tomorrow we will have to find something yellow.
My trusty coffee cup fails me during the commute. As I come to a stop, it decides it no longer wants to sit nicely on the dashboard every morning.
My stereo has been drenched in some generic hazelnut blend my mother brewed and is now joining the mug in protest. No matter, I'll be fine without NPR, I think, as I remember: I listen even during the pledge drives.
I get a nostalgic feeling as I get out of the car and start traversing my small, but beautiful campus. Remembering September back and back and back, every year I ask myself: Was it this beautiful last year?
The constructions guys are already out, making the most of the cool air.
Something about autumn sun recharges me, makes me feel more connected to myself, the earth, reality. When asked, most would say spring is the season of rebirth, but for me it is autumn: time to shake off the sluggish, weighted heat of summer and pry my mind back open like that new philosophy text, just begging to be read, already asking questions I may never know the answer to.
Some time at work (assisting the amazingly indefinable English chair) goes by and I head outdoors for some Aristotle in the sun. Nothing seems to quiet and soothe my mind like reading. It helps to read something that must be read, digested, and then read a second time. I lose an hour in deep focus, forgetting even that I exist as I drink in Politics.
My favorite class begins. The subject is Western Political Thought, cross-listed as phil/poli sci.
My professor (we shall call her Eve) won me over two weeks ago during the first class. She is without a doubt the smartest and most eloquent professor (or teacher, even) that I have ever had the pleasure of learning from. Passion and intellect literally radiate off of this woman, and all I can think, as I watch her pace across the classroom, voice flaring with emotion and geniune excitement, is: This is the woman I want to become. Strong, passionate, and wise. It is obvious that she knows and loves what she is teaching, and she encourages the class to foster the same attitudes within ourselves. I am in awe.
When I find myself once again slowly packing my things up, so that I can talk to her about today's lecture, I think to myself that I CAN become like her. I'm already on the path.
Now all I need is some serious spiritual and emotional healing, and I can be like my Sister, Eve.
The morning air is crisp, bright with that purified, glowing sunlight you only see in early fall.
Finn and I wear woolly sweaters as we troop to the car. He has to wear orange; daycare is ROY G BIVing this week. Monday was red, today is orange...tomorrow we will have to find something yellow.
My trusty coffee cup fails me during the commute. As I come to a stop, it decides it no longer wants to sit nicely on the dashboard every morning.
My stereo has been drenched in some generic hazelnut blend my mother brewed and is now joining the mug in protest. No matter, I'll be fine without NPR, I think, as I remember: I listen even during the pledge drives.
I get a nostalgic feeling as I get out of the car and start traversing my small, but beautiful campus. Remembering September back and back and back, every year I ask myself: Was it this beautiful last year?
The constructions guys are already out, making the most of the cool air.
Something about autumn sun recharges me, makes me feel more connected to myself, the earth, reality. When asked, most would say spring is the season of rebirth, but for me it is autumn: time to shake off the sluggish, weighted heat of summer and pry my mind back open like that new philosophy text, just begging to be read, already asking questions I may never know the answer to.
Some time at work (assisting the amazingly indefinable English chair) goes by and I head outdoors for some Aristotle in the sun. Nothing seems to quiet and soothe my mind like reading. It helps to read something that must be read, digested, and then read a second time. I lose an hour in deep focus, forgetting even that I exist as I drink in Politics.
My favorite class begins. The subject is Western Political Thought, cross-listed as phil/poli sci.
My professor (we shall call her Eve) won me over two weeks ago during the first class. She is without a doubt the smartest and most eloquent professor (or teacher, even) that I have ever had the pleasure of learning from. Passion and intellect literally radiate off of this woman, and all I can think, as I watch her pace across the classroom, voice flaring with emotion and geniune excitement, is: This is the woman I want to become. Strong, passionate, and wise. It is obvious that she knows and loves what she is teaching, and she encourages the class to foster the same attitudes within ourselves. I am in awe.
When I find myself once again slowly packing my things up, so that I can talk to her about today's lecture, I think to myself that I CAN become like her. I'm already on the path.
Now all I need is some serious spiritual and emotional healing, and I can be like my Sister, Eve.
Monday, September 8, 2008
and i stepped into the river
so i have a blog. having, for several months, felt the urge to purge myself of feelings, questions, opinions, and a nameless something, i have decided to write letters to...somebody, anybody, to you. revealing myself may offer me some lightness, maybe some peace. i have every hope that insight, questions, comments and criticism will be given. and even if this is never read by anyone, i will at least know that it could be.
here's to my first post...
clemens
here's to my first post...
clemens
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