Perhaps we can say I've developed Stockholm Syndrome from being a student for so long. What is it Dear Old Wiki says towards the end of the page? You become dependent blah blah blah? This would be why liberation takes me kicking and screaming.
There's a lot about S.S. that can fodder some good pondering.
Note: tis two ante meridiem and I am not falling asleep.
Showing posts with label universitio. Show all posts
Showing posts with label universitio. Show all posts
20 November 2010
17 November 2010
no more.....school?
I'm scared.
I only have two more weeks of classes and then I am done.
One week of Thanksgiving and no classes.
Two weeks of classes.
Then finals.
And then,
I'm done.
It is good and this is life and I don't really need to be afraid and I don't want you to comfort me. Don't tell me anything.
Just listen:
I'm scared.
I only have two more weeks of classes and then I am done.
One week of Thanksgiving and no classes.
Two weeks of classes.
Then finals.
And then,
I'm done.
It is good and this is life and I don't really need to be afraid and I don't want you to comfort me. Don't tell me anything.
Just listen:
I'm scared.
23 August 2010
now taking...
...ludicrous ideas I can tell people when they ask about my post graduation plans.
Am I excited to graduate? Would you be excited to graduate if your film department loved you as much as mine seems to love me?
People keep asking me what I'm going to do. I need to come up with some flippant answer because "I don't know" isn't getting the message across. The one I thought up today was, "Well, I've always been curious to see what it would be like to move up to northern Idaho and not pay taxes and sit on my porch with a rifle for anyone who dares trespass on my property. Maybe I'll make a documentary about it." People will think I'm joking until I get to the documentary part. Then they won't know anymore. I've played this game before, people sometimes have trouble deciphering when I'm joking. Maybe it's because I don't like to rule out any possibilities. I mean, I say tax evasion as a joke now but maybe when December comes it really will seem like a good idea.
Gee, I hope not.
Part of me is looking for a big change. I could stay here, I've got a lot going for me here. But, ummm, I feel like I have a lot going for me anywhere. I mean that humbly, because I feel like everyone has got it made if they would only realize it. I would also like to point out I'm the baby of the family (but not for much longer). Sometimes I wonder if the other shoe will ever drop and crush my little baby toes.
Hmmm...nope, I really don't think that shoe is ever going to crush me too much. Nothing can stop me because I won't let anything stop me. I don't know what I am going to do because there is an entire world out there!! And I'm going to see it all.
Am I excited to graduate? Would you be excited to graduate if your film department loved you as much as mine seems to love me?
People keep asking me what I'm going to do. I need to come up with some flippant answer because "I don't know" isn't getting the message across. The one I thought up today was, "Well, I've always been curious to see what it would be like to move up to northern Idaho and not pay taxes and sit on my porch with a rifle for anyone who dares trespass on my property. Maybe I'll make a documentary about it." People will think I'm joking until I get to the documentary part. Then they won't know anymore. I've played this game before, people sometimes have trouble deciphering when I'm joking. Maybe it's because I don't like to rule out any possibilities. I mean, I say tax evasion as a joke now but maybe when December comes it really will seem like a good idea.
Gee, I hope not.
Part of me is looking for a big change. I could stay here, I've got a lot going for me here. But, ummm, I feel like I have a lot going for me anywhere. I mean that humbly, because I feel like everyone has got it made if they would only realize it. I would also like to point out I'm the baby of the family (but not for much longer). Sometimes I wonder if the other shoe will ever drop and crush my little baby toes.
Hmmm...nope, I really don't think that shoe is ever going to crush me too much. Nothing can stop me because I won't let anything stop me. I don't know what I am going to do because there is an entire world out there!! And I'm going to see it all.
02 August 2010
a tissue of hellenistic anecdotes
I'm in denial that all these things are ending:
1. Relationships spreading over the globe like fiber optic lines bleeping their pulses across land and sea. I look out over all this vast kingdom and think, "Oh! Hey! Gee! What a friendship smattering!"
2. University dreamland that is only marred by the occasional general class that's shoved down my throat. I'm not actually graduating this December, am I?
3. Warm, sunny weather. Despite the fact that I don't ever seem to have a wardrobe that fits these hot days and I let my fingertips dance across my piles of sweaters everytime I languish in my closet--I will soon be dying in the cold. Emotionally. My solar panel soul will begin to choke on cool white skies soon enough.
I'm not worried about what will happen. What I want to have happen will happen. Is it strange that I am always certain of that? I think the trick is that I just dream the right dreams. (I wonder what my wake-up call will be like.) The only problem is deciding which direction to go.
Sometimes traveling seems real and staying in one spot seems like a game.
Sometimes I stick pokey, glow-in-the-dark gauges in my ears. Maybe.
1. Relationships spreading over the globe like fiber optic lines bleeping their pulses across land and sea. I look out over all this vast kingdom and think, "Oh! Hey! Gee! What a friendship smattering!"
2. University dreamland that is only marred by the occasional general class that's shoved down my throat. I'm not actually graduating this December, am I?
3. Warm, sunny weather. Despite the fact that I don't ever seem to have a wardrobe that fits these hot days and I let my fingertips dance across my piles of sweaters everytime I languish in my closet--I will soon be dying in the cold. Emotionally. My solar panel soul will begin to choke on cool white skies soon enough.
I'm not worried about what will happen. What I want to have happen will happen. Is it strange that I am always certain of that? I think the trick is that I just dream the right dreams. (I wonder what my wake-up call will be like.) The only problem is deciding which direction to go.
Sometimes traveling seems real and staying in one spot seems like a game.
Sometimes I stick pokey, glow-in-the-dark gauges in my ears. Maybe.
12 January 2010
no bjork left behind
Part of me wants to support compliments on my intellect. You know, invite them and then roll around in them as if I was in one of those plexiglass chambers where you're covered in honey and dollar bills are blowing around as you try to grab as many as you can. But (1) I have a strong aversion to game show reminiscent things like hordes of people, men with orange tan skin, and fake audience applause, and (2) I am afraid I'm actually perpetuating an Ellsworth Toohey society of mediocrity by trumpeting my habit of abstruse communication all over the internet. Speaking of which, the two fictional characters from literature I think about the most are Toohey and Miss Havisham. That might say something about me.
Back to my intellect, I was raised by a professor and a teacher/librarian. My close relatives are all professors and teachers. My sister is getting her masters and teaching art. I was certain from early childhood that I would get a doctorate. In fact, I had dreams of being one of those people with multiple doctorates from multiple countries. Maybe I have senioritis, or more appropriately, super-senioritis, but I feel like I'm the apple leaping from the tree. Sometimes when I sit in classes that aren't film classes I imagine poking my eyeballs out with a fork and about how I could teach myself the same stuff from a book without having to sit in restrictive classrooms and jumping through hoops. Then I look back on my ancestry steeped in degrees (like tea but with glasses and theses) and I wonder how I could turn into such a snot-nosed kid who doesn't know what's good for her. I wasn't raised to be the bored, unengaged student in the corner! Why am I the thing that's not like the others? Then I want to poke my eyeballs out even more.
The earth may shatter after I type this, but my interest in intellectual pursuits is waning and my support of trade schools is growing. Rapidly. I don't know what this means.
help!
. . . _ _ _ . . .
Back to my intellect, I was raised by a professor and a teacher/librarian. My close relatives are all professors and teachers. My sister is getting her masters and teaching art. I was certain from early childhood that I would get a doctorate. In fact, I had dreams of being one of those people with multiple doctorates from multiple countries. Maybe I have senioritis, or more appropriately, super-senioritis, but I feel like I'm the apple leaping from the tree. Sometimes when I sit in classes that aren't film classes I imagine poking my eyeballs out with a fork and about how I could teach myself the same stuff from a book without having to sit in restrictive classrooms and jumping through hoops. Then I look back on my ancestry steeped in degrees (like tea but with glasses and theses) and I wonder how I could turn into such a snot-nosed kid who doesn't know what's good for her. I wasn't raised to be the bored, unengaged student in the corner! Why am I the thing that's not like the others? Then I want to poke my eyeballs out even more.
The earth may shatter after I type this, but my interest in intellectual pursuits is waning and my support of trade schools is growing. Rapidly. I don't know what this means.
help!
. . . _ _ _ . . .
16 December 2009
i always have ulcers at finals
and it's not because I care so much about them.
It's because by December I've lost patience with my migraines. So tonight it was two mt. dews, four pills from a bottle that said headache, and crackers for dinner. And maybe I shouldn't still be up at 1:07 a.m. to be experiencing this, but I'm getting the shakes, there's an uncomfortable hole being dug in my stomach, and the headache is coming back. I promise I normally take better care of myself.
I'm going to do nothing but do yoga and listen to vinyl all Christmas break. La la la, here I come The Byrds.
I.
If I could make this finals week last forever, I would. On Saturday my best friend, JG moves home and I'm trying not to think about it. And in April, E graduates and moves away, too. My biggest motivation to graduate is that in five months these, my closest dears, will all be gone and I'm going to want to bust this town. The thought of this impending depression spurs me to set goals. Goals like a December 2010 graduation (and I will not be walking. gross.) and internships. I just emailed Radiolab about internship possibilities with them. I'm also looking into the This American Life int. even though I think the staff and I would kill each other because of how FORMULAIC they are. Clever and lovely, but formulaic. You see, if I worked at TAL I could get a job anywhere I wanted. It would only mean loss of soul but growth of character and curriculum vitae for 60 hours/week for 6 months.
II.
I have a claymation set in my living room that I try to cover with a blanket when guests come over because I get embarrassed when people ask about it. Their reaction of awe makes me feel so awkward. And the plasticine kindergarten children are out of their crayon-colored cardboard chairs and are all in the fetal position on the plywood kindergarten floor. They look like casualties of nuclear fall-out.
III.
How, at 22 years old, do you make sure that your loved ones know they're loved? How do you have Christmas heart at the "selfish" time of life? I'm loss of words'd when it comes time to say you made my life, my soul is like claymation clay and you've become a permanent, vibrant strip in its plasticine pattern, you've got super8 mm style nostalgia written all over you, we're bound by yarn rope, you warm my heart more than a yarn pet or than the hallmark commercial from the 90s where the little boy is digging for a toy under his bed.
I learned from accidentally leaving my horrible and emotional teenage angst creative writing papers lying around the house that it was OK to say things in a fairly butchered way as long as you said them. So I probably won't be able to say these thing to you in person but I'm writing you all secret love notes (in a teenage angst way?).
I have almost used as many adjectives in this post as a certain S. Meyers uses.
Love you.
M
It's because by December I've lost patience with my migraines. So tonight it was two mt. dews, four pills from a bottle that said headache, and crackers for dinner. And maybe I shouldn't still be up at 1:07 a.m. to be experiencing this, but I'm getting the shakes, there's an uncomfortable hole being dug in my stomach, and the headache is coming back. I promise I normally take better care of myself.
I'm going to do nothing but do yoga and listen to vinyl all Christmas break. La la la, here I come The Byrds.
I.
If I could make this finals week last forever, I would. On Saturday my best friend, JG moves home and I'm trying not to think about it. And in April, E graduates and moves away, too. My biggest motivation to graduate is that in five months these, my closest dears, will all be gone and I'm going to want to bust this town. The thought of this impending depression spurs me to set goals. Goals like a December 2010 graduation (and I will not be walking. gross.) and internships. I just emailed Radiolab about internship possibilities with them. I'm also looking into the This American Life int. even though I think the staff and I would kill each other because of how FORMULAIC they are. Clever and lovely, but formulaic. You see, if I worked at TAL I could get a job anywhere I wanted. It would only mean loss of soul but growth of character and curriculum vitae for 60 hours/week for 6 months.
II.
I have a claymation set in my living room that I try to cover with a blanket when guests come over because I get embarrassed when people ask about it. Their reaction of awe makes me feel so awkward. And the plasticine kindergarten children are out of their crayon-colored cardboard chairs and are all in the fetal position on the plywood kindergarten floor. They look like casualties of nuclear fall-out.
III.
How, at 22 years old, do you make sure that your loved ones know they're loved? How do you have Christmas heart at the "selfish" time of life? I'm loss of words'd when it comes time to say you made my life, my soul is like claymation clay and you've become a permanent, vibrant strip in its plasticine pattern, you've got super8 mm style nostalgia written all over you, we're bound by yarn rope, you warm my heart more than a yarn pet or than the hallmark commercial from the 90s where the little boy is digging for a toy under his bed.
I learned from accidentally leaving my horrible and emotional teenage angst creative writing papers lying around the house that it was OK to say things in a fairly butchered way as long as you said them. So I probably won't be able to say these thing to you in person but I'm writing you all secret love notes (in a teenage angst way?).
I have almost used as many adjectives in this post as a certain S. Meyers uses.
Love you.
M
30 April 2009
free as the wind and the demise of my french academia
Hey guys, I'm back to a good academic standing! I got cleared this morning.
I worked really hard both times in that Advanced French Composition class. At least I passed this time.
16 April 2009
it is determined that we are two separate feathers in two separate wings
(I'm in the F wing)
I was at this evening of poetry tonight at another's little home, the stock of university kid's dwellings kind of place (though of the artsy's nicely decorated variety), and I had to use the upstairs bathroom because the downstairs with the women's sign on it also had a sign that said "out of order, go upstairs" scribbled on purple construction paper. So I headed up the steep flight of steps and there crammed into a corner was a crooked shaped bathroom with the toilet stuck in the eaves and a door for a crawl space to my left hand and a pile of rolls of toilet paper to my right. All I can think is, why would I want this to ever end? Why would I ever want a million dollars and your newly constructed condominium? Why would I want your plastic picket fence? I'm living in charm. I'm living in quirks. I'm living in revolution. I'm living in poetry.
And it was great to have a discussion of poems and ideas this noche because my body has been going through some sort of spring reworking. I go to sleep at 12:30 and wake up at 6am and have nothing to do but read e e cummings and Gwendolyn Brooks.
I was at this evening of poetry tonight at another's little home, the stock of university kid's dwellings kind of place (though of the artsy's nicely decorated variety), and I had to use the upstairs bathroom because the downstairs with the women's sign on it also had a sign that said "out of order, go upstairs" scribbled on purple construction paper. So I headed up the steep flight of steps and there crammed into a corner was a crooked shaped bathroom with the toilet stuck in the eaves and a door for a crawl space to my left hand and a pile of rolls of toilet paper to my right. All I can think is, why would I want this to ever end? Why would I ever want a million dollars and your newly constructed condominium? Why would I want your plastic picket fence? I'm living in charm. I'm living in quirks. I'm living in revolution. I'm living in poetry.
And it was great to have a discussion of poems and ideas this noche because my body has been going through some sort of spring reworking. I go to sleep at 12:30 and wake up at 6am and have nothing to do but read e e cummings and Gwendolyn Brooks.
16 September 2008
Ahab, your professor clips his heals together
The add/drop deadline for mi universitio being yesterday kind of makes me feel doomed. Doomed-io. Ooohhhh France, WHY?!?! Why have you drawn apart all of the grey squishy curls of my brain, drawn them all apart to different points on different maps. Your syntax is a confusing fog blown into, through, and clogging up my ears. I hear no evil, see no evil, and taste no french pastries. French leeches are sucking out my blood. My heart is faint.
Monstor Dos that I love little dearly every afternoon is trying to defy gravity. We have been conducting scientific experiments. If he climbs up on to another precarious perch while I'm not looking, will he fall this time? Yes, I say to you. He will. Again and again. I've never seen him fall so many times in one day. He screams, I pick him up, he pushes away from me to start climbing again. He is one determined person. And we must respect him, for defying gravity is a very noble aim.
He is also trying to create space. If he shoves a thirteen inch wide kitchen chair into a two inch spot, it will fit, right? Where there's a will there's a way, isn't there? Monstro Dos carries around a heavy aura of frustration. There's some more doomed-io-ness.
Monstor Dos that I love little dearly every afternoon is trying to defy gravity. We have been conducting scientific experiments. If he climbs up on to another precarious perch while I'm not looking, will he fall this time? Yes, I say to you. He will. Again and again. I've never seen him fall so many times in one day. He screams, I pick him up, he pushes away from me to start climbing again. He is one determined person. And we must respect him, for defying gravity is a very noble aim.
He is also trying to create space. If he shoves a thirteen inch wide kitchen chair into a two inch spot, it will fit, right? Where there's a will there's a way, isn't there? Monstro Dos carries around a heavy aura of frustration. There's some more doomed-io-ness.
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