Night Watch

I drank too much last night. Seems to be the theme, of my life, sometimes, drinking too much, eating too much, spending to much. There was a line in some Dickens novel, something like, "if a man earns thirty pounds a year, and spends thirty-one he is poor."

I agree. But I am not so much broke as I am impulsive. Why not another pasta dinner? Why not another shot? You only live once is perhaps the most moronic phrase ever uttered, an excuse to ruin everything for a second, a minute, and hour, of bliss.

I did not drink to much, actually. Only a couple of beers, but it was one more than the girl I was drinking with had. Friday I did drink too much. Maybe five shots of vodka and rum, and more maybe, because the bartender likes me. On the way back to my room, I knocked down boxes in he hall, nearly waking, I am sure, my very nice neighbor who is studying to be a doctor. Or maybe he was out later than I was.

The Light Fantastic

I am not good at emotional moments. How did I react when my friend Chrissy skype-messaged me that she wanted to talk? With dread, a twenty second pause, and a “sure, come up whenever.”

“Whenever,” in this case, proved to be twenty seconds. In about forty seconds, Chrissy was sobbing on my bed.

“Why am I not good enough?” she asked, gazing up at me tearfully.

I am paraphrasing, of course. I doubt Chrissy has ever said that exact phrase before, to me or anyone other than herself. It barely matters that Chrissy’s original problem was that another of her friends had mentioned that she had seen Chrissy’s ex-boyfriend at some festival. The problem was that Chrissy’s ex-boyfriend had only a week ago informed her that he could see himself falling in love with another girl. Someone he had just met.

I never know what to say. Don’t base your self-worth on someone else’s perception of you? Impossible, illogical even, and a little too Oprah-esque. And she wasn’t “enough” for this relationship. Neither was he. It doesn’t mean that they are failures as humans.

Most of this, of course, I couldn’t say. I sat with her, I offered ice-cream, and I thought of the novel waiting for me on my desk. There was a metal ball in my stomach that the interaction couldn’t touch. That is what it feels like, like there is some sort of hard, cool element in me that I can’t make human enough to empathize with the emotions of others. Only sometimes, though.

I wish I could say this anecdote related to anything I could express simply. The girl at the table on graduation night would have handled it better. I can guarantee you all I will do better next time.

But, today I went to brunch. I had rolls, and cheese, and quark, and orange juice, and felt that metal ball soften, just a little. I sat with a friend, and I talked, and I still didn’t like the person who I was, but I repp’d that person, you know? I was a brunch-loving, cold-hearted me to the hilt, as they say.

I actually don’t know where they use that expression.


Did I mention I read The Light Fantastic? I liked it. I’ve liked all of Terry Pratchett’s novels thus far. Today, though, will hopefully be V-P Day (Victory over Plato day, of course). For all of you who have never read Terry Pratchett, I would suggest you do so.

I refuse however to leave some sot of over-punctuated order, oh, say, in the vein of ‘do itttttt!!!!!’ Far too much bother, and to be honest, you might not like Terry Pratchett. Tastes vary.

I am perfectly certain that, no matter how old I get, I will always love brunch.

Anansi Boys

I have a confession to make. My original intention yesterday was to read Plato's The Republic, write a blog post, and thus spend today with my smugness wrapped around me like a blanket. Obviously, my day did not go as planned.

Which is not to say yesterday was a truly bad day, it was just not one of my favorite days. I had decided that I needed to begin work on several papers, and that, in order to start my papers, I needed to visit the public library. Unfortunately, I had forgotten about the horde of student strikers marching down the city's main streets. The Aforementioned Streets, of course, border the library.

My feet are not good. Not in a "stealing lipgloss from department stores" way, but in a way that makes long walks, and runs, on particular days, and on certain surfaces, very unpleasant. Due to the strikers, My Very Flay Feet were forced to walk the mile and a half from the library to the student center, instead of sensibly taking the bus. On this particular day, walking on concrete for an extended period of time proved to be very unpleasant.

The library, though it didn't know it yet, made up for the later foot pain. I found quite a few Terry Pratchett novels I had never read, several books pertaining to one of my papers, and Anansi Boys, by Neil Gaiman.

The book that I couldn't resist, and, right after I got home, started to read.

Thoughts: Neil Gaiman is brilliant. The novel, thank God, had a fairly unpredictable and comprehensible plot. The characters, as I have come to expect from him, are well-developed.

What do I want from future books? Not what I got from Anansi Boys. I am the epitome of the escapist; to be honest (as I most often am here), I shouldn't read books that allow me to feel like the status quo of my life is okay. And here I am, sitting at the computer, and staring, and remembering, and feeling dread bubbles pop in my stomach, because nothing is changing and nothing will change unless I change it. Sometimes, most times, I want to grab my life by the throat and shake, and shake, and shake.

First

You know what I really want?

I am sitting here, at a fairly large desk (more of a table, really), in a fairly small room, and I think I have figured it out. Quite some time ago, my mother decided to give me some career advice.

"Decide your career," she said, staring at me intently, "not on what you want now, but on what you want your life to be like when you are my age."

My mother is fifty-one. I am barely twenty-one, have never been in a serious relationship, and have yet to finish college. Trying to plan thirty years into the future seems to be dependent on my goals and values being the same at fifty-one as they are at twenty-one. After this leap of logic, I realized that I don't want to be the same person in thirty years; I want to be different. Cue the lights and cameras and action and blog...

Baby steps, you understand, readers? I could make all sorts of metaphors about Rome and time and candles and darkness, but I hate bumper-stickers. What I have decided to want, right now, is to be an Informed Human Being (this is, shall we say, the Overall Goal).

My first small goal, which will be detailed on this blog, will be to read a book a day for the next six months. You know what else I want?

Just outside my Very Small College Town, there is a restaurant. Whenever my parents come to visit me, that is where we go. The restaurant not only serves amazing Italian comfort food, but also is one of those places you could imagine spending significant periods of your life in. You know the type of place. Lots of wine, perfect lighting, not too formal...

You know what I want to be doing in a year?

I want to be holding a class of wine. I want to be looking at my family. I want to feel accomplished, and proud, and happy. This is the Secret Goal.