unsympathetic.net

I think we’ve gotten to the time in the semester where I need to greatly ramp up my work production.

Just past half way, and things are definitely not down hill from here. I’ve got an essay due next week in my myth class, and I’ve only just this morning started to outline it. At first, I was going to compare Chuck Palhinuk’s Diary to Homer’s Odyssey, but according to my reference book, the plots aren’t the same. So instead, I’m comparing The Inferno to Alice in Wonderland. Because they’re the same story, if you pick them apart.

There’s a four-chapter test this Thursday in my Nutrition class, and the only upside is that it isn’t next Thursday, when I have an appointment with the councilor. The test is on metabolisim, fitness, weight management, and energy balance and body composition. It’s a very good thing we can use our notes, because she tends to pull questions for the test from our quizes. Note to self: start printing everything out so I don’t have to wake up Thursday morning to do it.

In American Lit, we’re reading The Scarlet Letter, and while I’ve read it before, it doesn’t mean I can not read it now. I’m really not a fan of Hawthorne. I also have an essay due the week of Thanksgiving (which is just a few weeks away, or so I’ve been told), and I have yet to even formulate an idea of what I’m going to write about.

And of course, Math is not so much fun. We’re back to word problems, and those just make me want to gouge my eyes out. I have to keep reminding my self that it’s only eight more weeks, until we’re done. I really can’t wait until we’re done.

Finally, on top of all this, I’m attempting to to NaNoWriMo again this year, and hopefully I won’t fail as spectacularly as last year. I’m journaling my attempt on my new LiveJournal (can you believe I never had one before?), and while I won’t be posting my story, I’ll be posting about the writing process. So if you’re interested, head on over there.

I will attempt to blog more often as well. After all, it’s easier to blog when I’ve got something to procrastinate from while I’m in front of my laptop.

And I swear, this is the last “update” post for the month. Because I realize that no one really wants to be updated on this stuff, but it’s the only stuff on my mind right now.

English majors are a shady bunch. They lurk along the edges of a party, and when you least expect it – boom: an in depth discussion about metaphysical poetry written by clergymen which is all about sex.

Okay, maybe we only do that when we’re alone. But get more than one English major in a room, and invariably someone will bring up a book, which will cause us to talk about things that no one else cares about. We can kill a conversation by bringing up “the Romantics,” or by trying to compare recent works to ancient ones. And even if you try to change the subject, we will always manage to steer it back to literature.

Of course, this will probably make ordinary people want to avoid English majors, but again, shady. We hide in plain sight, and only the most observant of people will find us.

Since I am an English major, I thought I’d share a few key things to look for, if you’re trying to spot one of us in the wild.

1. We carry more books around with us than necessary. When our backpacks gape open, one will catch site of whatever books are needed for that day’s classes (if we remember them), along with 1-3 books that are for research, for pleasure reading, or that just jumped into the bag because we can’t go a day without it. This can push our book total to between five and seven. It also doesn’t help that we add and remove books throughout the day, depending on who we run into.
2. We’re constantly pushing books on unsuspecting victims. With more tenacity than a drug dealer, we will not stop until you agree to take it from us. We will then harass you every time you appear in our line of sight, asking how the book is going and whether or not you’re enjoying it. We won’t take no for an answer. And we will want that book back sometime before the next century, because the moment we hand the book over, we suddenly want to read it again.
3. We mock all publications that aren’t up to our standards, but that won’t keep us from reading them. And we’ll be very vocal about it, to the exclusivity of all else. When we come in contact with a mocked publication, convention says that we must spend enough time mocking it to make it clear to all others around us that we’re right, and that they should see things the way we do.
4. We have a not only a favorite genre of fiction, but also a favorite time period. For some, it’s the chivalric Romances of the middle ages, others Arthurian legends. There are then the Romantics—which is different from the Romances—who espouse love for the British poets, the Modernists of the early twentieth century, and the Post-Modernists of today. And we will find a book from within our “time period” to make our point, no matter what our point happens to be.
5. English majors flock together. After all, it’s easier to have a conversation about literature with other people who have the same background of reading that you do. It’s not uncommon for us to be found in groups of two and three. And we’re quick to root out other English majors in a crowd because we’re interested in what other people have to say.

If you know someone who does more than one of the above points, they are or should be an English major, whether or not they know it. Many English majors start out in another field of study when they enter college. I was a Business major, one friend was a History major, and another a Bio major.

We didn’t switch because we thought English was easier. We switched because we couldn’t understand why we were studying something else. Poetry and stories call to us: each book read, each poem contemplated moves us further into the realm of the English Major.

And once we’re there, we don’t know how to be anything else.

I had a math test this morning.

I don’t like math tests, which isn’t surprising, since I don’t particularly like math. The only saving grace was that this test was on factoring polynomials, and I happen to be decently good at that, after all the time I spend doing it last semester.

Since today marks exactly the middle of the term, I suppose you could call this my “midterm” but it’s only on chapter 4 in our book, and our teacher only made us take the test to be sure that we all knew how to factor before we moved on to the new stuff.

So, really, we’ve been reviewing Algebra 1 material for half the semester. No wonder I thought it was easy.

We’ll be getting progress reports next week, and I’m sure half of the class will be dropping after that. After all, you can’t bring up an F with only nine weeks left. I’m hoping for a C. Because if I have a C, I won’t be paranoid that I’m failing, which is a serious problem at the moment.

I’ve been talking to my English classmates (you know, the class where everyone is an English major? That’s my favorite) and we all agree that we need “Math and Literature” as our required math class, instead of all this problem solving we keep having to do.

What would “Math and Literature” be like? Well, way easier. You’d read novels about Einstein and the ancient Greeks who discovered all the Math junk we do now. We’d never have to solve a math problem, and instead to projects on what the world would be like if no one figured this stuff out.

I can dream, right? And I dream that English majors would have “Math and Literature” as their required upper-division math class. Far better than Mathematical Theory or Stats like we have to do now.

Occasionally, people ask me why I write. And it’s never been an easy question to answer.

The simplest explanation is that I write because I feel. It seems to me that the only way I can express the way I feel is to write it. And when I encounter “writers block,” it’s because I feel to much, or too little.

And at this moment in time, I do not know what I feel, and so words are beyond me. I read Dante and Emerson, Donne and Pope, and occasionally they touch me deep enough, reach the bottom of the well of feeling, that I can turn to someone and say “there, that’s what I feel, exactly, but I didn’t know how to put the words in that order.”

There are things I want to write, and things I want to talk about, but the word selude me. They refuse to be caught and put into any semblance of order. Like stars we can see but not touch, such is the feeling that runs through me. I can feel it, but I can’t say it. I can’t explain to you in any way what it feels like to be me.

Even these words above come hesitatingly, interspersed between a discussion of Frost and literary theory in my American Literature class.

Lately, there has been no flood of words, so common until recently, that I don’t know what to do with myself. Because I don’t know if it’s because am feeling too much. Or perhaps too little. But I do not know the difference, and it scares me.

So I’m forcing myself to keep these words coming, disjointed as they are. Because one day, I’ll be able to look back and finally figure out what this feeling is.

And it could possibly help if start keeping a real journal again, something I left off when I started blogging on a regular basis. Because I miss the sound of pen on paper, sprawled out across my bed trying so hard to meet my self-imposed quota, that I truly write whatever it is that comes across my mind.

Blogging, I sit and think about what I’ll write about, having a topic in mind, and trying to get a cohesive point across. Journaling, I write to write. I write to see the pen move across the page, and write the stream of consciousness that runs through me at that moment.

So blogging is not journaling, and over the last year I seem to have forgotten that. And I mean to get back to it.

And this is the most journal-like blog post I’ve ever written. I promise it won’t happen again. I just had to tell someone. Anyone.

At the exact moment I wrote this, I was procrastinating, because I really don’t want to outline my essays, even though M is kicking my ass in the “getting things done” department. Like that’s a surprise.

And for the record, at the moment you’re reading this, you’re procrastinating, too. Because you know there is something better you could be doing, that doesn’t involve reading what I wrote at all.

Now that we have that out of the way, lets talk about what’s really on my mind: nothing.

And that’s really the problem. I’m half way through the semester, and I don’t want to even think about the essays that I have coming due. Also, I’m in the midst of trying to transfer schools for next fall, and need to start looking at financial aid, scholarships, and loans. And to top it off, I’m planning on writing a novel next month for NaNoWriMo, which I want outlined first so that I don’t crap out halfway through because I don’t know what’s going on.

So, it’s killing me that there is nothing on my mind. I’ve got no witty post lined up on the computer or in my head. I’ve got no inkling of how the rest of this week is going to go, writing-wise. All I know is that I need some index cards, a box of tacks, and probably another case of Pepsi to get myself started.

And in case you were wondering, yes. This is back to normal.

I had a “get together” this weekend. Something you might call a shindig. Can we all just pause for a moment, and reflect on the fact that I have enough friends to throw a “get together,” without falling back on having my sister show up and bring her friends?

There were five of us all together, and we played the 9os edition of Trivial Pursuit. C was the question reader, because he decided he’d rather ask the questions than be on a team with someone. Which is good, since he is so very bad at trivia.

M, a classmate came, and of course You was there. You called J, and we had our selves a right little party. And who knew you could have fun without getting drunk?

After I won the board game, we sat around and talked about video games and whatnot. Okay, so they talked about video games, and I just sat and listened, since I didn’t play very many games when we were little.

I had told M that I was throwing my party to be the antithisis of the party my sister had thrown the weekend before, seeing as she got so drunk she doesn’t remember it. So, I wanted to have just a quiet night, where I could kick people out at midnight.

I didn’t though, and I didn’t get to bed until 2:30, after taking home C, and his adorable daughter (she’s six months old, and slept half the time).

I’m hoping I can make game night an ongoing thing, because I like playing games, but I very rarely get the chance to. Of course, it means I’ll have to buy some more games.

But no Monopoly, no matter how much J wants to play. I’d have to drink to get through that.

- “Swing, Swing,” The All-American Rejects: All-American Rejects

I had some topics I was thinking about, that I wanted to write about with astounding clarity that wow you with my skill.

But that’s not going to happen today, as I’ve got bigger fish to fry.

I hate my dog.

I know what the four of you are thinking. “Hate your dog? But you go on and on about how you love her.” Well, you’d be right, but currently I really, really dislike her.

Honey’s been a good dog. Up untill yesterday. I got home to messes downstairs (she rifled through the trash, and chewed on some knitting) messes upstairs (she ate a box of chocolate, and ripped apart a few books) and messes outside.

The outside, though, is what’s killing me. I was looking for the things she’s taken: socks, knitting, stuffed animals. And when I started digging in her holes, I found what I wasn’t looking for at all.

A pair of jeans.

Which quite irritated me, because I hadn’t even noticed that she had taken large clothing items from the bedroom. I kept digging in her holes, and found my favorite tanktop that I would have been irritated if I never found it.

When I went to bed, though, is when I got really irritated. I looked next to the hamper, where most of my clothes end up, and there was nothing there. And I don’t recall picking up my clothes and putting them anywhere in the last two days. So, ergo, the dog stole them.

This morning, I found a second pair of jeans outside, but I still can’t find a few other things I am pretty sure I wore. And I’m sure that there are more missing clothes that can’t remember, as I can’t even recall what I wore on Monday.

All this really boils down to is that I need to start training her, but I don’t know how. I’ve never trained a dog before, let alone a hunting dog.

Just for reference, reading Beowulf or the Odyssey in public will get you some rather strange looks. Even if “in public” happens to be on campus.

We’re very much into the epic poems in my Mythology Literature class. So far, we’ve read some Greek myths, The Odyssey, and Beowulf. Up next is Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, and Dante’s Inferno after that.

I won’t say I didn’t like Beowulf, but our translation wasn’t that great (note to self: find the Seamus Heaney version), and I felt like I didn’t really get into it that well. And reading it in just three class periods made it feel like we were just skimming the top of the word pile.

It’s an interesting story, about the Danes and the Geats (Swedish) and a monster Grendel and his mother. Beowulf manages to kill both, and goes back to rule his own kingdom. After 50 years, a dragon has woken up and killing people, so Beowulf goes and kills it.

The general theme of the poem is reciprocity. Do something for other people, and they’ll do stuff for you. It’s the same theme as the movie “Chicago,” which we watched parts of last year, when we read parts of Beowulf in early British literature.

Are you tired of Beowulf yet? I am. I’m glad we’re done, even though I know I’ll probably have to read this poem a few times more before I finish school. After all, it is the first known epic poem in English, which is a huge deal.

So, old English? Check. Middle English is up next. I have a feeling I’ll be reading Sir Gawain out loud, to make comprehension easier on my brain.

- “Sophomore Slump or Comeback of the Year,” From Under the Cork Tree: Fall Out Boy

I realize I haven’t been around much this week, but I’ve been busy with work and school, which always sucks. I’m just about caught up with school (only part of Sir Gawain to read, and study for a Math test), but work is just a crapshoot on whether it’s going to be busy or not, and this week it’s busy.

I have comments to respond to, posts to post, and people to talk to, so hopefully I’ll get some of it done this weekend.

I promise, things should get back to normal…eventually.

– “Again I go Unnoticed,” The Swiss Army Romance: Dashboard Confessional

As you may have noticed (and if you’re in a feed reader, don’t bother), this site is looking pinkish today. Pink is not my favoritist of colors to work with, as all of the good looking pinks are not “web safe,” making the whole stylesheet tweeking much harder than usual.

I’ll be writing more about the site change up on Monday, but in a nutshell: I’ve gone pink for October. Have you?