Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs

What a cynical bastard.

yeah, ok, the first two chapters made me laugh. but a whole book of this? really?

I have spent much of my post-elementary school life perfecting my MTV avoidance skills. (I happen to hate MTV with a passion...and it all started with hatred for the Real World. See, those ridiculous supposed-to-be-sexy teen-idol TRL guys irritated me, but what made me want to throw glass bottles at every TV tuned to MTV... that was all Real World) So imagine my joy in reading about this detestable piece of television trash for an entire 13 pages!

Untitled

I have absolutely nothing to say. That may be why I hate my personal essay with a passion - I actually can't bear to reread it, although I know I'll have to eventually. Its odd because I usually have plenty to say, usually just observations about the world around me. It was nice to hear that encouraged in the last class - that we should try and "see" the world around us - because that's typically the way I see, anyways.

But I promise, you really don't want to read what I see in the world right now. I'm usually an optimist, an idealist, blah blah all those wonderful descriptors. Well, that's flown out the window. I open my pantry in the morning and see: excess. I look at the grass in my yard and oaks in the woods and see: the pavement we've used to separate ourselves from this beautiful natural world. I watch the sunset: I miss the way the sun set over the Pacific in Lima, filled with passion and drama. What the hell is this, this puny Eastern seaboard faded watercolor show?
Uh-huh, yeah, see the bright side, yadda yadda.

Maybe I'll fake it. Girls are sposed to be good at that, right? (Er...that is, if you've dated the guys my friends and I have...) From now on, pretty happy sunshiney.... fuck. Sunshiney what? Its raining today. Hell, I'm going back to bed. I'll try on those rose-colored glasses later.

"Blogging: Never Before Have So Many People with So Little to Say Said So Much to So Few."

Liar, Liar

I cannot actually remember the last time I lied. 

No, that's not a lie.

Untitled Post

I find myself to be incredibly boring. That is the main obstacle to this personal essay thing: I don't have anything of substance to write about myself. I mean not that I am bored with my life. I love my life. I have done some really amazing things and met some incredible people. I'm in a wonderful (wow listen to all of these bland, generic descriptors!) relationship that sounds more like a romantic movie than real life. But that doesn't mean anyone else wants to actually read those things. I don't even write them for myself. My own personal writing is more focused on processing the world around me - the intense experiences I have had in poverty, with refugees, in isolated rural communities and overcrowded urban slums, in extreme wealth, with abuse of all types, etc. I process those experiences, I process my intense and growing dislike and discomfort with almost all aspects of American culture. The challenges are A) to weave that into some sort of narrative about myself and B) to not rage against the US and the screwed-up-ness of the world for 15 pages.... which I could do, but it would be neither readable nor effective. Looks like it might be a long night. 

Overload

So, here's the deal. I am overworked and over-stressed. I've been trying to work on my essay for the past week, and as it turns out I can't seem to write anything that I like even a little bit. My real goal for this essay is to write something that will not make everyone else in the class reach for their pens... that is, reach for them not to edit but to stab themselves. My goal is not to induce desires of self-harm in every poor soul who must read my work.

Not that I think I'm a terrible, should-be-banned-from-purchasing-pen-and-paper, god-awful writer. Its just that, on top of this essay, I have the Borges presentation (damn you, you blind bastard), the critiques of the first four personal essays, varying degrees of busywork for other classes, and a veritable buttload of reading. 

Perhaps this is a forewarning, or an apology. Or maybe its a plea for gentleness... may my writing not come into contact with your shredders, and may I not see you walking around campus with any sort of bandage. 

And, for everyone else in the same position as I, happy writing!

Just biding my time.... (senioritis, anyone?)

Most people would agree that biding one's time is not an ideal use of time at all. This is certainly a mantra of every self-help section of every bookstore I've ever seen: live in the now, appreciate today, be present each moment. Not to say that it is incorrect, although the mere thought of those shelves of books, each proclaiming the right way to be happier now, does make me a bit ill.

Maybe its an act of belated adolescent rebellion against all wisdom, or maybe I am just sick of the now, because this semester I am doing just what I should not: I am biding my time. I'm sitting around, dragging my feet through my readings and assignments and appointments; I'm waiting for my real life to begin.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know it's not good. But it is. As a second semester senior, I have more than a vague idea that my life will really begin sometime after May. Or, the life that I choose. Sure, I chose this - I needn't be reminded. And I like learning, I really do. I will read and study and debate and learn without being enrolled in a degree program. But I'm bored, antsy, and ready to move on.

It may have something to do with the fact that I am in a long-distance relationship, and most of my fabulous future plans involve Alex. Or maybe that I can't see myself in the Carolinas long-term, which means that each subsequent week is just another week spent waiting to leave.

I don't even know what I want to do when I graduate. That's deliberate - I have never had a period of time in my life when I didn't have a plan or something upcoming. Other than the impending poverty and lack of health insurance, the terrible job market is reassuring because it means that the forthcoming rejections won't be personal, per se - its just the economy. It will be culturally sanctioned unemployment, allowing me to think about what I really want to do. 

So what do I want to do? There is a list, already long and constantly growing. Less than .01% of the ideas involve earning money; none of them have a time frame. What I know is that none of them can be done here or now, so I must sit around waiting for the here and now to end before the list can begin.

The List: Things that make me even more antsy as I bide my time
- Hike the Appalachian Trail (AT)
- Hike the Mountains-to-Sea Trail (MST)
- Hike the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT)
- Volunteer with No Mas Muertos, an organization that provides humanitarian assistance on the US-Mexico border
- Return to Peru, where I lived for the past year, with Alex, to complete the adventures we began there
- Live in the same city (!) as Alex
- Engagement and all that follows...
- Learn the United States: I have currently seen more countries in the world than states in the US
- Climb Mt. Kilimanjaro
- Work in/visit the Democratic Republic of the Congo
- Master's, PhD
- Live on the West Coast (Seattle?)
- Seminary
- Live with/near my grandparents (1month-ish) and other important friends (not in the Carolinas!)
- Play chess over breakfast, have intellectual conversations over lunch, and laugh until I gag over dinner (e.g. life with Alex...)
- Hike the Wonderland Trail (around the base of Mt. Rainier)
- Extended time in Mexico?
- Staff or participate in another Global Urban Trek
- Anthropological/Sociological research among refugees in the US and/or camps around the world
- Live in a city where I don't need a car

etc, etc, etc.....