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mayerman1886
Jan. 7th, 2006
01:30 am
I initially wanted to write the thoughts that follow at 3 in the morning the last night I spent in Nashvillle before break. A paragraph or so into it, I deleted it and decided that the time was not right knowing that I had three hours to sleep before work and fearing that the alcohol and the boone would slur the overall picture of last semester. Perhaps tonight's not the right night either, already I have distanced myself from the past semester, and eargly, possibly too much, began to consider the next. However, it is my last chance. I know that after tonight that those feelings, sentiments, lessons from last semester will not be pertitent enough to sit down and write.
Today I revisited one of my favorite articles, "The Futile Pursuit of Happiness." I guess now that I have done it thrice before returning back to college it has become a ritual for me. The main thesis of the article is that we have the tendency to be plagued with a skewed understanding of what makes us happy, thus lead our lives suffering from the tendency to "miswant." The thesis is backed by the research of four independent pscyhologists that found humans seems to over estimate what will make them happy and what will make them unhappy (i.e. a new BMW will actually have less of an effect on overall happiness, when at the time of purchase may seem the key to utopia. On the other hand, a break-up or death will initially seem to be the end of existence, but will ultimately have a singificanly lesser impact.) I guess this article serves as a nice check to my eternal optimist nature becuase as much as I hate to admit it, the words resonate with truth and paint an accurate description of 2005 for me.
At this moment, two in the morning, its difficult to recall much of what I learned this past semester. Classes, while they were interesting and actually ended up going well, didnt seem significant. Instead, I guess I spent my time learning all the words to Rent, Evita, Wicked, Avenue Q and a slew of other musicals. I discovered a love for musicals, that I guess I was witholding for some reason. Now that I think about it, it seems to be a taylored fit for me. As my facebook wife told me several times, I speak in extremes too much, and unfortunately live my life the same way. Though I am trying hard to resist this mindset, I still find life either so amazing or so depressing that the notion of a hypothetical "song"seems appropriate.
The morning I left, I reached for the bottle of tylenol and realized that it was shockingly empty. Even though I was running late, I took the time to count the remaining pills and found that out of 150 seven remained. I used 143 tylenols in a semester. Thats shocking to me, I used maybe 5 all of last year. I drank considerably less this past semster, but always felt hungover. I worked less, but always felt tired. I slept about the same or maybe even more this year than lest year, yet always felt tired. I took better care of myself, yet always seemed to ache. I guess I know the causation or the combination of factors for this, yet I think most of them have resolved themselves. I refuse to buy another bottle, I think those seven should be ample for the upcoming semester.
I spent considerably less time by myself last semester. I used to savor, actually require my alone time. I remember locking my door at night, ingnoring phone calls and either reading or watching a movie nightly. I grew out of that habbit this semester, and found myslef seeking company at night. I havent decided if I like this new development or not. I guess more to come later.
Well, I have started this, and am now going to back out half way through. I should get to bed, my father has planned an 8 in the morning farewell breakfast that should be entertaining.
Jan. 4th, 2006
03:40 pm - To smoke, or not to smoke?
Looking back on 2005, I was disapointed by the dearth of my writing. I am earnestly going to attempt to at least write a little every day in 2006. Its shocking that you have to force yourself to do something, you enjoy doing.
Today I finally awoke, showered, and left the house by one. I had several errands to run and knew that my course would require me to travel past two tobacco specialty stores. Having smoked the last clove last night, I knew this was going to be a risky endeavour. My lack of will power astonished me, I didnt even make it past the first store before I made a sudden jerk into the shopping center's turning lane.
The store was by far one of the dankest establishments I have ever been into. They had the cloves lined up in a glass case right at the front. I had flashbacks of when my mother would take me to the toy store and I would spend hours walking up and down the aisles of video games deciding which title would be best. Pathetically, all the varieties looked very tempting. I finally decided on the vanilla flavored ones, they had the classiest box.
Of course, I didnt have a lighter on me. I am at the point where I am in denial about actually, hopefully temporarily, being a smoker, and thus refuse to grab a lighter in the morning when I reach for my wallet. This denial has forced me on several occassions to make quick stops to gas stations and pick one up: sadly, on my dresser lies a colorful pile of a menagerie of cheap lighters.
Is this going to be a get through the holidays/ Birmingham habbit, like previously planned? I don't know. In the mornings I hate the way I smell and feel. At that point smoking seems such a crude, and tactless proposition.
Yet at night, akrasia sets in, and I simply ignore the vivid memories of the morning, put my jacket on, go outside and light up. Every smoker I have ever met, clings to the notion that smoking is sexy; almost every non-smoker i know, including myslef at one time, regards that idea as complete shit. It has been on my nightly trips outside, that I have discovered the truth in the smoker mantra.
Outside the weather has been perfect, there is a tranquil silence broken only by the intermitent car passing by, and for the first time in my life, I have taken the time to notice the stars. I sit out there smoke, then buzzed sit out there for as long as I choose. I absorb the atmosphere, and think--which sounds cliche to me as I type, but maybe my words will never be able to describe how impactful, helpful this experience has been to me the past two weeks.
I have no clue why I just wrote this. Maybe years later I will look back at this and understand the reasoning of why I did such a stupid thing for whatever time period it lasts. Hopefully. Theres a very scary alternative. Years later I will look back on this, and understand how it started.
Jan. 3rd, 2006
01:21 pm
I don't intend for this journal to become an outlet for detialing the ways of my extended family, but I received too much personal enjoyment from our trip to Arkansas to keep this a private entry.
The trip was made special through the presence of my uncle, his fifty year-old girl friend who informed me she wears exclusively American Eagle (and from the frequent cameos of her underwear I would assume the ultra low rise vairety of jean), and his nine year old son who's eating habits justify such a movie as Super Size Me. They reside in Jamestown, Kentucky, the before mentioned city in a previous journal entry. To summarize, the only portals the tiny town seem to have with the outside world are months old US weekly magazines--poor souls, probablby think that Nick and Jessica are still together.
Never have I heard the red neck call to arms, "Git 'er done (sp?)" actually spoken in passing conversation; prior to this weekend that special motivational catch phrase had been reserved for t-shirts and cups that I saw in the gas station souveneir sections of our Fall Break road trip. Cherri, the girl friend, was able to bring this special phrase to life for me. She must have exclaimed the mentioned phrase at least fifteen times in the two and a half days that we were there. My favortite usage had to be "That'll git 'er done," as in reference to a Christmas present that she imagined would be uselful.
A constant battle throughout the quaint get together was determining a meal that Dakota would eat. He has a diet of his choosing that stipulates he can only eat dairy products, bread, proccessed sugar items, and on occassions meat. He has adopting something that appears to be the antithesis of the Atkins diet. Naturally, all his hard work has paid nicely, and at age 9 weighs 40 pounds more than I. The rest of the family doesn't seem to be that concerned about the child; however, once when he reached for a third or fourth Pepsi they promptly encouraged him to opt for the diet one instead.
At least they are trying.
My uncle spent the better portion of the weekend trying to chug a beer in between his child's absences. I assume that the copious amount of beer imbibed blended nicely with the Loratabb he was able to snag through a crafty ploy he bragged to me about which involved a local Hooters girl securing him a pad of subscriptions from her husband. Needless to say, we almost bonded over that special uncle nephew moment. As I said my good byes to him, he expressed deep interest in visting me at college this semester. He has dreams of getting wasted and seeing "them pretty Vandy girls dance for him," he added that he knows what college is all about, and proclaimed me to be a lucky bastard.
My mom and I hotboxed it back to Birmingham. Pot is almost necessary when you realize that you are driving seven hours to travel to a city the likes of Birmingham. However, we listened to the complete collection of Fleetwood Mac the entire way home, so it was fabulous.
On a completely different note, while my mom and I were gone my brother and his best friend decided to view Rent. Their reasoning: they had heard me play the "minute" song on my laptop and liked the message behind it. I wonder how many other messages of Rent they enjoyed, I bet not many.
Ready to be back to Vanderbilt.
Dec. 30th, 2005
06:35 pm
Trip to the movies the other night—what do I see? King Kong and Munich were both playing at eight. I chose what I thought would be the less serious picture, which surprised me. A year ago, that would have been the exact opposite.
Maybe I was just in a the right mood, maybe it was the three and a half hour running time, or maybe it was just that the movie was excellent despite the CGI hype and subject matter.
Perhaps the greatest thing about that film is that it epitomizes what a movie should be. It captures and delivers every essence of what has driven us to the theaters for the past seventy years: the required willing suspension of disbelief, the glamorous costumes, the constant struggle, the over delivered themes, and most importantly, the escape it provides from the mundane lives of our own.
Half way through the film, I had that typical Eureka moment, when I realize too late that one of the “good guys” is actually the one whom should be draped in black and cackling. I am always left with such an idiotic feeling after that experience—why didn’t I see it coming before, why am I such a sucker to think that everyone who is supposed to be your ally will play that role?
I never was quick on picking up on this plot development twist, and now I realize, too late, that this is not a twist reserved for the silver screen.
Eureka. I feel stupid. I should have picked up on him earlier.
One of the main themes, while not the most original but without a doubt the most important and precise, casts the two main characters acting solely on the basis that they love. They surrender their motives, inhibitions, themselves to act in response to the most powerful, consuming force in their lives. I have spent countless nights reading, watching this ultimate surrender, and have desperately wished myself to be absorbed by those feelings I found in novels and pictures, and luckily I have been acquainted with that situation.
I left the theater depressed that I don’t have that sensation at the moment. I further self-fulfilled my notion that I have felt numb the past semester. As I pulled out of the parking lot, and checked my voice mail to find several messages, text messages, and missed calls.
While the movies have given me so much, I have bought into Hollywood’s popular notion that love exists in a single race: romantic. I don’t really feel numb, and haven’t been numb for quite some time. I love more now, than ever before.
Eureka. I feel stupid.
Nov. 23rd, 2005
10:45 pm
In the middle of nowhere, there exists a place called Jamestown Kentucky. Its the time of place that inspired Mayfield or that you read about in a Fannie Flag novel. They used to have a thriving Fruit of the Loom factory, but the labor was outsourced several years ago to Mexico. This left the city with its McDonalds, K-Mart, and abundance of churches. Its an unsually simple lifestyle, they have no clue what wireless internet is and just recently was a cell phone tower built close enough for its denziens experience cell phones.
Growing up I used to love to visit my grandparents and uncle there--Summer was synonymous with lazy afternoons on lake Cumberland, there was no greater joy than watching the Fourth of July parade roll down Main Street, which included practically every car in the city, and the Apple Festival complete with bad food, carnies, and unsafe rides was the perfect end to a hot, long summer.
Tonight my grandpa, his fourth wife, and my cousin arrived to spend Thanksgiving with us. My cousin who at the age of 8 weighs more than me has yet to do anything but finish off an entire pizza and plop himself in front of the TV. Oh wait, he did manage to tell me this riveting story about how he won a monkey out of one those "claw" game machines. He recounted every single grab that it took to capture the prized primate, all eight of them. I could understand the possible excitment associated with this event if it had maybe happened today, but to my surprise it happened a month and a half ago. It actually, must have been the most exciting thing that has happened to him since then.
My grandpa has asked me three times in the course of two hours if I had a girlfriend. When that question didnt produce a response to his liking he asked me about which sports I was currently playing. lol. After little conversation, he turned on the Baptist channel and proceeded to watch Benny Hinn. He asked me if I watched that program much. The same answer was given as the previous two questions.
I miss Vanderbilt.
Nov. 8th, 2005
12:28 am - A depressing entry.
I watched Moulin Rouge last week, and for the first time in as long as I can remember I didnt have anyone in mind or hoped to cast for the part of Satine. It hurt more to watch it that way. While not having someone reciprocate is an awful feeling, the feeling of having no one you feel that way for feels even worse.
On another note, I hate myself right now. I am such an arrogant bastard, and wish that I wasn't so quick to judge. Was I always like this? Yeah, I was just probably better at masking it. Its a problem I dont know how to work on.
I have been listening to Avenue Q all day long today, its amazing how every song has so much truth in it and so powerfully reverberates that message. Yeah, its true we are probably all racist, we probably all judge too. It could be wishful thinking though, I just may not want to be in this boat alone.
Anyways, its movie night--I am going to make it through Dr. Strangelove tonight and sleep until 1 tomorrow.
Nov. 5th, 2005
02:41 am - Smiling
Its not a party if it happens every night. Theres more if you exit the door. Why does food taste better when accompanied by great company and even better conversation? Is it exciting becuase its new, or exciting becuase its right?
Lots of question asked, many theories suggested, and no answers offered--and thats okay.
Tomorrow I get to do it all again, and thats a happy thought to sleep on.
Oct. 31st, 2005
11:12 pm - It's been a while
Maybe it was the three hour nap I took this afternoon. Maybe it was the great conversation with my mother. Maybe it was the excitement I feel from three budding friendships. Maybe it was the fact that John Mayer's "Your Body is a Wonderland" and Tracy Chapman's "Fast Car" randomly came on right after another on my iPod, but for the first time in two weeks, I felt myself again. I found my unidentifiable Carrie necklace. It feels good.
Fall Break: nothing I could write would give that trip the justice it deserves. Quite possibly, it was the greatest trip I have ever been on. London, India, the Hawaiian Islands, nothing can compare the econo lodge in podunk South Carolina. It was certainly a trip of memories, and hopefully I will always remember the ridiculous/adorable things that Jen said, the group panic attack on a dark, rainy, almost out of gas trip through the Smokey Mountains, the whole in the bathroom door, the ciggy in the bath tub. The trip was made by the company, not the cities or the booze and boone. And without a doubt that is why it was remarkable.
It was refreshing to see American cities that had character other than the local rendition of the Gap, P.F. Changs, and the rest of mainstream Americana. I was actually shocked to visit cities such as Savannah, Charleston, and Asheville and see that they actually had their own unique character, charm, ambience. Just when you are ready to write this country off as a Wal-Mart and McDonalds sanctuary...
We listened to a lot of music on the trip. Actually, I have been listening to a lot of music lately. Expanding my horizons, listening to stuff that I would have never listened to previously. I have heard so many songs, and the thing I have noticed is that so many sondgs are pure garbage. Yeah, they may have a catchy beat, addictive lyrics, but a vast majority of them will only last a few weeks, before we move on to the next catchy beat or addictive lyric. Yet, there are some songs, that capture us. Put into words so perfectly, that it kills us that we didnt think of that exact wording ourselves. The first time we hear that song, and I mean really "hear" that song, it seals that moment in time, and everytime we hear it afterwords we are subject to returning to that moment. Somewhere between Macon, GA and Savannah, I found a song. Unforgetable.
Lately, I have been thinking alot about the titles and importance we give people. I don't know, it seems like titles hang us up, make something that may just be temporary, something permenant. I am slow to switch titles, and often hang on to them becuase they are convenient, comfortable, easy. Maybe thats not fair to people that deserve them now, and too good to people who no longer warrant their merits.
I am tired of selling myself short. Accepting less than I deserve, jumping for something just becuase its available. Tonight, in a semi-tipsy, stance, I vow not to keep doing this; however who knows if that will stand past tonight. For an hour, my iTunes has been looping "I can do better than that" from The Last Five Years. I think its appropriate.
Oct. 9th, 2005
12:47 am
Tonight I realized that I really appreciate the way my parents raised me. Perhaps the best thing they could have ever instilled in me was to never feel entitled to anything, earn it yourself. Its funny which ones of those little childhood lessons I remember and heeded.
Tonight I honestly believe and don't expect anything in my life. I, and I alone, will have to earn everything. Nothing is given, and no one owes me anything. And likewise, no one is entitled to anything with me. It is inevitably earned.
In a perfect relationship/friendship/world, everyone would act because they feel the desire to do so, not because the "owe" it to someone. To paraphrase Rent, there is no past, there is no future, theres only now, and in that moment I should act.
As pessimistic as it sounds, you can have the most amazing friends(which I do) and still find yourself alone in your room on a Saturday night (which I am), and that has to be fine. I think you have to be able to do that. How much time do we spend with ourselves? probably not enough. Maybe I should devote a little more time to that relationship, I think it could be pretty fucking amazing.
Oct. 3rd, 2005
04:34 pm - Resiliency
Today a thought crossed my mind: how remarkable we truly are. We hurt, we love, we hate, we cry, we laugh, we dance, we mope, we heal. We do it everyday, and usually we are in the process of feeling a multiple if not all of those emotions at one time. Our lives are too complicated, too full, and maybe too complete to be devoted to just one emotion. I like the fact that I can laugh and cry within two minutes. I like the fact that I am no longer sated with just a one man show.
I remember spending entire summers with my mom and brother. I was stuck in a bubble or maybe a safety net that was our home. The distinguishing aspect of those days were the one-tracked mentality I had. All that I thought cared about existed within those walls, all my problems, happiness, hopes was in a way contained controlled by my mom and brother. Would she take us to McDonalds so that we could get that last toy in the series of 8? Would he leave me alone so I could watch the Facts of Life in peace?
I wonder when my life became multi-faceted? When I could no longer count the sources of my pain/happiness with two fingers. Sure, life was boring and insignificant during those summer days, but I certainly was happy. And in truth, I will look back on this time in my life years from now, with the same nostalgic undertone and admit that I today I am happy too.
Lets talk about conservative America. I don't think we realize how conservative we have become. It seems that we all start out as risk takers--devote ourselves entirely to one cause or venture. We realize that we get the biggest payoff this way if we make the right bet, but we are blinded by the cost associated with this option. We learn the hard way that if you bet wrongly, which happens often, that you lose everything. Typically we get burnt once and then switch parties. To go through that loss again would be too much. Conservatively, you can devote yourself to many relationships, acitivities, goals so that if one fails, then the other ones are still there to hedge the loss.
Have Americans been programmed to believe that not having choices is not a choice? Don't go to a small grocery store becuase they wont have the variety of brands. Seek solace in knowing that there is an aisle of a 100 different cereals. Dont settle for the basic 75 cable startions, go for digital so you can have a thousand choices, which still wont produce something gripping enough to watch. Local radio--6 or 7 channels, no longer has to be tolerated; install a satellite radio with a channel for practically every individual listener. Get wireless internet, studying in a single setting is so cliche. 350 Facebook friends, not enough, make more, they may come in handy soon. Pick a major during freshman year, change it every semester afterwards (its too hard to say what will interest you for more than a week, much less the rest of your life). In fact don't only change your major, just keep adding more and maybe a minor or two too. Tired or your spouse, divorce him or her, afterall, its hard to find everything you need in a single place, and start the search for the next choice. In fact, do that several times.
One just doesnt seem to be enough anymore. Maybe it never was, but it just wasnt an option.
Oct. 2nd, 2005
06:11 pm
As much as I have been against the whole typical college scene lately, sometimes there is nothing better than dancing to Pussy Cat Doll's "Don't Cha" while completely wasted and wearing a Mickey Mouse ears hat with new and old friends.
Last night I lived.
Sep. 29th, 2005
01:16 am - Love Version 19.6.8
Robert Fulghum claims that every year he writes down his thoughts on life, and finds it interesting to see how they have changed over the years.
I wish I had a transcript of everything that I ever said I thought I knew about life, or maybe just love, and could compare it to how I feel today.
The only real record I have since I started this journal came in January when I professed that love was caring more for someone/ something than you do yourself. That definition doesn't hold, because it doesnt allow for a love of self.
For some reason, I find myself on this constant search to define love, and that sounds ridiculous even as I type it. Maybe it can be defined, but at the expense of sounding like a Plato dialogue, there seems that there must be some kind of form.
Latest theory: To love is to live for.
Recent conversations have brought the whole question of the point of validation back to mind: Do we need to hear someone say it back, or even more troubling, do we need to have someone feel the same way back? Its probably a universal desire for man to know that he is loved.
Is this a want or a need?
Also, is it selfish or generous to have this desire? I have been in situations where I have felt both ways. There have been times when someone has given me so much, and I am overcome with a desire of indebtedness that I want to be able to repay. Also, I have been in circumstances where I simply wanted to know that I was needed or important.
But the more I think about it, the whole issue is pointless. Whether I get validation or not, regardless of what others think or feel for me, it will not change how I feel about them. I will not love any less, if they dont love me back. It can't be controlled that way. I will not love any more, if they love me more. It cant be controlled that way.
Damien Rice's "What you mean to me, is not what I am to you" applies to every relationship, and the trick to avoiding this catch is to be selfish about it. Follow Epictetus, and realize that I can only control how I feel.
In the past two weeks, I have felt two instances of great love. And in both very different situations, the mere act of saying "I love you" was almost meaningless. I almost wish that it hadnt been said, becuase it didn't need to be spoken.
Have we cheapened the phrase "I love you?" I would say yes, we worry about the sanctity of marriage, but what about the sanctity of love? After a couple of glasses, and sometimes completely sober, I will say I love someone for something as stupid as a compliment or having the same preferences. Do I mean it? Of course not, but its stil said.
But maybe the phrase itself was always a pointless expression. How can such a powerful emotion be expressed in a few words. I dont think its possible.
An emotion so powerful, its the only thing other than bodily harm that can bring us to tears. Bring us to act differently, to stay up late, to abandon rational thought.
Sep. 19th, 2005
10:54 pm - Streaming
I find it odd, that all semester long I have been wanting some free time, and when I finally get it, I have no desire to do much of anything, or have much of anything to do. Why are we always wrong about what we want?
Yesterday on the way to Cafe Coco, a man asks Keith and I for some spare change, Keith gives him whatever he has, and then the man has the audacity to ask if he could spare two dollars. God, I hate entitlement.
Today in Intro to American government, the discussion was on federalism, and we eventually reached the topic of where does the government draw the line in its responsibility. Most of the class was of the opinion that the federal government was not doing enough to aid New Orleans, the nation's school systems, the hungry, the uninsured and the list went on. I know that most of our government's problems would be solved if we realized that it can't and is not responsible for everything that happens in the nation. What about social responsibility? We bitch all day about how we hate that there is genocide still in this world, how the AIDS epidemic spreads exponentially in Africa, how women are still oppressed, yet we never offer any solutions, lets just pass that debacle onto the government.
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I started this journal entry five hours ago, and now i don't feel like finishing it. Different perspective, different mood, different sobriety.
"Everything looks perfect from far away"
Sep. 18th, 2005
02:12 am - Change of Season
Tonight the air was crisp enough for the first time to merit wearing a jacket, and by donning a second layer I said goodbye to summer and welcomed fall. The change of season was sudden and unexpected, but isn't all change that way? One day summer, the next Autumn. One day a high school senior, the next day a college freshman.
I always ignore the subtle signs that transcendence is upon me, and always find myself caught off guard when I wake up to a new season, a new school, a new me.
Its always hard to pack away my summer clothes, not knowing when they will be worn again, even with the excitement of the prospect of sweaters, long sleeves, and jackets. Maybe thats why its so hard to accept that we have changed as well. We surround ourselves with relics from the past--photos being the most prevalent, but also the seashells from a special beach trip, quotes we used to find meaning in, songs that remind us of that junior year in high school, or the drawers, memory chests, and glove compartments full of trinkets we can't stand to get rid off, because to do so would to be achkowledging that we won't be going back to that place again.
I think there's probably a reason why "Yesterday" is the most played song in the history of radio, it strikes a chord we all know way to well.
It truly is frightening how much we change, and even more disturbing how little attention we pay to that fact.
Sep. 14th, 2005
02:46 am - Empty Handed
Growing up, my mom would sometimes offer to take me to Toys-R-Us to pick out any toy I wanted for doing some menial task as getting all "O's" on my report card or going to the doctor without crying. On the drive to the toy store all I would focus on was the toy of the moment that I thought I couldnt live without a second longer. Maybe it was something I saw on a television ad or an item one of my friends had, but for one reason or another I would set my mind on bringing home that toy that day. I would get to the store, and see the aisles of possibilites and somehow forget the predestined game plan. I would wonder down the the different sections until my mom would finally get upset with the production and challenge me to pick one in the next five minutes or we would go home with nothing. My stomach would get woozy, its an awful feeling to realize that you do not know what you want. In that moment of pressure, I would cop out, and ask her if I could take a rain check and come back another day when we had more time.
Sep. 10th, 2005
10:34 pm - Everything Eventually Ends
"Where do you think that you will be after college?" my mother asks me rather unexpectedly this afternoon after work.
A question that I have no basis to find a response. So I tell her that, "I honestly have no clue, but chances are that its not going to be Birmingham."
I wondered where this conversation was headed, but it took a very surprising turn when my mother announced that she was thinking about putting the house up for sale in the spring. The minute she said those words, tears filled my eyes, in the same way that I always expected they would when I thought about how I would respond to death of a loved one. (Maybe its weird that I think about how I would respond to such morbid news, but I do. Does anyone else?) So many thoughts filled my head. So many memories; it is Christmas morning, Summer days at the pool, staying up all night with Patrick watching Game show network.
She asked me what I thought about the notion. How do I respond I thought to myself, trying to make sure my silent tears remained unnoticed. I had roughly thirty seconds to decide a response, and had to chose between two mindsets. Logically, I know that it is the right decision--the house is too big and too hard for her to maintain by herself. Sentimentally, I know that it will be just as difficult, if not more, for her to leave that house. By giving it up, we will be symbolically acknowledging the end of an era, and I fail to see how we'll leave that house without feeling we are leaving a part of us with it. Someone else will move in, and someone else will fight with their brother, someone else will make a batcave in the basement, someone else will learn how to swim for the first time in the backyard, and its something I dont even want to think about.
I chose to be logical, even though I didnt want to. I told her that I thought it was a good idea, trying so hard just to stay on the road, and hide the tremble in my voice. She needed to hear that from me. Of course, she got upset, she thought that the house meant nothing to me, and said that she would think more about it. I feel that it is inevitable, it has to be.
But as much as I am trying to avoid thinking about the house situation and the inevitability of it, I can't help but think about the clash between the logical and sentimental mindset. Which is more important, why is always so much more acceptable to be logical than to think with our heart. Its actually seen as a sign of maturity to be able to make a decision without being emotional. Maybe it would be easier to move to a more manageable house, but maybe it would be more satisfactory to work a little harder in a house that has seen so much. Maybe it would be easier to pursue a career which proves to be quite profitable, but maybe it would be more satisfactory to be a struggling writer.
Why does logic always win?
Sep. 7th, 2005
06:28 pm - What would you do if I sang you song?
Spent most of the day alone today in my room just listening to music, something I did all the time this summer. Even though I know how awful my voice is, and how ignorant I am about everything music, I cannot help myself from just singing. Most of the time, I dont even know the lyrics, I just fudge them or make up similar ones. The only way I can stand to drive anymore is turn the music up and sing and dance. The sad thing is that as far off key I am when I sing, I am even further off rhythm when I dance.
I wonder if it would be as much fun if I were actually good? Probably not, but then again, its not like I am going to find out anytime soon.
Sep. 5th, 2005
08:28 pm - Two Songs
There is so much I want to write right now, but at the same time I am not in the mood.
I cannot stop listening to two songs, because of a single lyric in each of them:
"What have I become my sweetest friend?" --Hurt.
"Where are we, what the hell is going on?"--Hide and Seek, Imogen Heap.
Two great questions.
Sep. 2nd, 2005
07:35 pm - Impetus
This about fifth time since the last update that I have come to this web site in attempt to write something. I always type a sentence, then decide I don't have that much to say, despite everything that is going on.
I guess now, its the impetus of watching the first episode of Six Feet Under. I still haven't completely been able to get the images/messages of the final episode out of my mind, and that was two weeks ago. Its moments, like these, moments when I am so engulfed in another's work whether it be a movie, book, or tv show, that I know what I truly want to accomplish in my life. At this moment I couldn't care less about economics, going to law or business school. I dont want to make a fortune or live a life of luxury. I just want to create something that makes another think, interpret, and possibly provide the inspiration to create as well.
Maybe one day I will. Lets hope so.
![[mood icon]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/mood/punquinheads/blue/silly.gif){kind=small}
weirdAug. 25th, 2005
11:03 am
Its interesting because I am probably one of the most optimistic people I know, but yet I still have accepted an unspoken truth that I probably would never be as happy as I would like to. There's an episode of SATC in which Carrie has reached the pinnacle of her career, has her amazing friends, yet she can't stop thinking about the one thing she didn't have, which prompts her question, "Can we have it all?" Ask ten people that question, I am sure at least nine would laugh and say no.
We seemed to think happy ending are reserved for movies, and even those are becoming rarer and rarer. Afterall, a movie with out a happily ever after seems more "true to life." No wonder we are jaded.
And so when things finally take a turn for the better, it seems unbelievable. This can't be happening to me I think to my self, afraid that I will wake up soon and no matter how hard I try to go back to sleepto recatch the memory it'll be gone.
Its interesting, as much time as I have spent wondering why it isn't happening to me, now for some reason I can't help but ask "why me?"
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