Teef

I present ACH.














vampire?

perhaps.

Battery pills

it's up to 1500!

loose threads

We went to Sesame Street Live yesterday. It was fun to watch The Little Boy adopt the pose that my mother has described me taking when rapt: eyes wide open, one hand on each leg, ramrod straight back. He didn't miss a thing. I thought Grover looked all wrong--his head was too big. Big Bird, on the other hand, looked just right.

***
To go to Starbucks and not be able to order coffee: makes one feel very much like a loser. The hot chocolate was alright, I suppose. I'd like to know, though, what the difference is between "Hot Chocolate" and "Signature Hot Chocolate." other than 60 cents, I mean.

***
I got crowded out of the bed last night. Apparently, The Little Boy was not satisfied with his trundle bed. Good thing there have been naps these past few days, because nights have certainly not been restful.

It was a wild scene around here with three little boys. Got a little loud at moments, as one might guess.

***
From the department of unfortunate gifts--seen in a sales circular--"The Mangroomer," a do-it-yourself electric back hair shaver. It had a picture of a man using it--a man who clearly never had a bit of back hair in his life.

I suppose there are things it would be nice to receive for Christmas--no actual wants come to mind, however, other than that book on Martin Marprelate. I've got several things I want to give, though.

***
Last week, during my visit with the doctor, I was telling him about how I have always tried to take the surest and most "correct" course of action. He looked at me with a wry grin, and said, "so, you didn't really have to learn many things the hard way." That should be a good thing, shouldn't it? Why does that seem so sad to me?

What I have noticed, in addition to being quite distracted the past ten days or so, is that I am withdrawn, abstracted from myself and from the things going on around me. I observe, note, act as I need to--but I feel like it's all taking place through the wrong end of a telescope.

The last week of classes coming up; it'll be hard for everyone.

***
Tonight's movie, at the request of The Little Boy: Lady & the Tramp. Probably a better show than the Notre Dame - USC game, anyway.

Vade Mecum

I want the scissors to be sharp
and the table to be perfectly level
when you cut me out of my life
and paste me in that book you always carry.

(Billy Collins, 1991)

post-feast feast

To my mind, after the initial Turkey & dressing & sweet potatoes, etc., after the dessert, after the course of Detroit and Dallas football games, after the nap, the most important part of Thanksgiving Day arrives:

The turkey sammich. And don't stint on the mayo.

Danke

For the chance to catch my breath.
For happy, healthy children.
For my job & my house.
For the Two in Chicago.
For you.

That I'm still alive.

Days

Each one is a gift, no doubt,
mysteriously placed in your waking hand
Or set upon your forehead
Moments before you open your eyes.

(Billy Collins)

For all those who snicker when Piers says he's colorblind

(BTW, I'm pretty sure this isn't what the photographer had in mind. . . it just seemed apt)

Lux Libertas

I opened up my latest copy of the Carolina Alumni Review today (it's got next year's calendar too, ftw!). It's a bittersweet experience. I miss the place so badly, so badly. Those were great years, and it truly is one of the best places on earth. I didn't know what I was getting into when I accepted their offer of admission. One might almost think of it as an argument for Providence.

Still, it tugs at my heart.

Merely Perspective.

They talk about how 'old' Kerry Collins is. Hell, I've called him old.

He was evidently born in 1973.

Don't know what to think about all that, except that it doesn't quite seem so old all of a sudden.

I'd like to grow a grizzled beard like that, though. That would be awesome.

Not Ironic

No more turn aside and brood

Song VII

Underneath an abject willow,
Lover, sulk no more:
Act from thought should quickly follow.
What is thinking for?
Your unique and moping station
Proves you cold;
Stand up and fold
Your map of desolation

Bells that toll across the meadows
From the sombre spire
Toll for these unloving shadows
Love does not require.
All that lives may love; why longer
Bow to loss
With arms across?
Strike and you shall conquer.

Geese in flocks above you flying,
Their direction know,
Icy brooks beneath you flowing,
To their ocean go.
Dark and dull is your distraction:
Walk then, come,
No longer numb
Into your satisfaction.

(Auden, 1936)

Still Breathing

It was a cold day to be outside watching football. Heartbreaking loss by the home team.

***
Came home for the weekend without much in the way of work. Which means the Master Chief and I can have our meetings guilt-free.

Hell, who am I justifying myself to? If I want to play a bleedin' video game, then that's what I'll do. Why should I have not ever figured out that sometimes it's okay just to enjoy oneself?

***
Friday was a good day--really the only 'good' day of the week. Even if I was a bit fatigued. I knew I was tired because I was extra-scatterbrained during class.

Still can't concentrate on my work, though. And I'm noticing that the tremors are worse. The other side-effects are much milder now that I'm off coffee. Blast. I've not done too badly in terms of missing the coffee itself--but I did so enjoy it. This drug regimen isn't forever.

***
Still thinking a lot about the past--high school, college, the choices that landed me where I am.

***
Meh. Not much to say late this Saturday night.

(The above is not a depressing picture.)

Leap Before You Look

The sense of danger must not disappear:
The way is certainly both short and steep,
However gradual it looks from here;
Look if you like, but you will have to leap.

Tough minded men get mushy in their sleep
And break the by-laws any fool can keep;
It is not the convention but the fear
That has a tendency to disappear.

The worried efforts of the busy heap,
The dirt, the imprecision, and the beer
Produce a few smart wisecracks every year;
Laugh if you can, but you will have to leap.

The clothes that are considered right to wear
Will not be either sensible or cheap,
So long as we consent to live like sheep
And never mention those who disappear.

Much can be said for social savoir-fairs,
But to rejoice when no one else is there
Is even harder than it is to weep;
No one is watching, but you have to leap.

A solitude ten thousand fathoms deep
Sustains the bed on which we lie, my dear:
Although I love you, you will have to leap;
Our dream of safety has to disappear.

(Auden, 1945)

This quintessence of dust

the map of my world gets smaller as I sit here, pulling at the loose threads--

Why have I tried so hard for so long? I thought maybe that it would make me loved. It didn't help--people love for their own reasons, not mine. And they love in their own ways, not mine. It probably would have been just as well for me to not worry so much and just enjoy the moments as they came. Alas, I'm apparently not wired that way. I kept looking forward to the future, checking up on how well I was pleasing, making the "right" choices as part of the old guarantee: you make the right choices now, and you'll reap the benefits when you're older. Banking virtue for the future, I guess. Here's the thing: all that striving for perfection, all that careful attention to what's Right And Good: and I've found myself in the position, in the fall of 2008, at 35, of wanting to permanently erase my map.

I need a new map, a new script. I have looked longingly at pictures of faraway places, wanting to just disappear, reinvent myself, work as an English Language teacher in some faraway Asian location where they eat fish & noodles. That's no solution, but it does speak to my desire for freedom--not from the people that love me & need me, but from myself. Therein lies the rub, of course: it's myself I need an escape from, and there's no getting away from me. Hamlet knew it: "I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams."

I need new dreams, new wishes. I won't blame myself, because this has been the only road I know, the only wishes I know to have. It's been the only life I know how to live. It's now time, however, to forsake the old map and the bad dreams.

But how does one rebuild a life?

To review

Heard & thought these last few days:

"You might try being merciful to yourself, rather than trying to drive yourself with anger."

"There are six driving statements. You may be subjecting yourself to all six."

**

"Mommmeee, I'm not thrilled with this pizza."

**

I have sat at my computer the last couple of days, and been able to do absolutely nothing.

Could everyone take down the campaign signs & stickers & what-not? It's done.

I handed back graded exams today. It was not the most happy occasion.

I love my car. I know it's an itty-bitty hatchback, but that little thing will move.

**

I will walk with my back straight, thankful for what I have.

Twelfth Night

VIOLA
If I did love you in my master's flame,
With such a suffering, such a deadly life,
In your denial I would find no sense;
I would not understand it.

OLIVIA
Why, what would you?

VIOLA
Make me a willow cabin at your gate,
And call upon my soul within the house;
Write loyal cantons of contemned love
And sing them loud even in the dead of night;
Halloo your name to the reverberate hills
And make the babbling gossip of the air
Cry out 'Olivia!' O, You should not rest
Between the elements of air and earth,
But you should pity me!

OLIVIA
You might do much.
What is your parentage?

VIOLA
Above my fortunes, yet my state is well:
I am a gentleman.

(watched the movie last night; enjoyed it)

Work.

It's been the pole star for my life: no matter what the challenge, attack it with hard work. Those who know how to work hard will get ahead. Brains are nothing without hard work. When in doubt, work harder.

Schoolwork. Sports. Piety. Friendship. Parenthood.

Now, here's the reality: sometimes, even (especially?) with what matters the most, no amount of hard work makes the least difference.

Woodsmoke

Now that the weather has actually started to get cool (might be flurries tonight), I sometimes get a whiff of smoke from somebody's chimney. There's something about smells that seems to be especially powerful for me--a perfume will remind me of a girl I dated in high school, for instance, or certain smells remind me of the woman I love. And then there's this smell of wood smoke that always takes me back to the guest units at the Baptist Seminary in Baguio City, where we used to vacation. The picture above, actually, is from the top of the hill where those guest units were located. One of my favorite parts of staying there: the big ol' fires dad used to build. We sometimes toasted marshmallows on the ends of unbent coat hangers. Was it actually cold enough for a fire? Probably not most of the time. But we loved it.

I'm not sure why these things are coming up--maybe because I'm spending so much time examining everything about the past 30 years.

Life's Like a Movie, Write your own ending

Just got back from watching The Muppet Movie at the Belcourt Theater in Nashville. It was a 'kid's screening,' which meant that it was a rowdy audience, haha.

One of my favorite parts:

Rowlf: Listen, when you've been tickling the ivories as long as I have, you've seen a broken heart for every drop of rain, a shattered dream for every fallen star!
Kermit: Exactly. She just walked out on me.
Rowlf: Ah, typical. That's why I live alone.
Kermit: You do, huh?
Rowlf: (starts the song's intro) Yep. I finish work, go home, read a book, have a couple of beers, take myself for a walk and go to bed.
Kermit: Nice and simple.
Rowlf: Stay away from women. That's my motto.
Kermit: But I can't.
Rowlf: Neither can I. That's my trouble...

Rowlf:
You can't live with 'em, you can't live without 'em.
There's somethin' irresistabullish about 'em.
We grin and bear it 'cause the nights are long.
I hope that somethin' better comes along.

Kermit: (spoken): Yeah, I know what you mean...

Kermit:
It's no good complainin' and pointless to holler.
Rowlf:
If she's a beauty she'll get under your collar.
Kermit:
She made a monkey out of old King Kong,
Both:
I hope that somethin' better comes along.

Rowlf has always been one of my favorites.

A hearty "thank you" to the Singular Person who clued me into the showing.

Alas.

thanks to the cocktail of drugs that I'm on right now, I may have to quit drinking coffee--it's just making certain side-effects worse. Hmmmmmm. Coffee, or mental health? That's a hard choice!

Funny Faces

Words to live by

The doctor today:

When you talk about not being around in a decade, maybe you could think about it along these lines: what you mean is that without some change in the way you're doing things, you don't expect that you'll live out the decade.

You need to start doing it differently, because doing it the way you've been doing it is going to kill you.

In which Piers observes students flirting

In my 11:00 class, watching one of the young men in a group right up at the front of the room. We're getting warmed up, nothing serious. He props one leg in one young woman's lap, and on the other side, starts writing on the other young woman's paper.

I'm just amazed at the audacity. Neither of the young women seemed to mind, and in fact, they were returning his attentions with gusto.

Ah, to be 19 again. I was too strait-laced as a freshman at SU.

Do Not Blink. Look at it fully.

"He who would preserve the supremacy of natural feelings in social life knows not what he asks. Ever at war with himself, hesitating between his wishes and his duties, he will be neither a man nor a citizen. He will be of no use to himself nor to others."

***

"Our inner conflicts are caused by these contradictions. Drawn this way by nature and that way by man, compelled to yield to both forces, we make a compromise and reach neither goal. We go through life, struggling and hesitating, and die before we have found peace, useless alike to ourselves and to others."

Remember.

(no, this isn't about me)

(yes, you)

(picture from PostSecret)

The Quest

XIV

Fresh addenda are published every day
To the encyclopedia of the Way.

Linguistic notes and scientific explanations,
And texts for schools with modernised spelling and illustrations.

Now everyone knows the hero must choose the old horse,
Abstain from liquor and sexual intercourse,

And look out for a stranded fish to be kind to:
Now everyone thinks he could find, had he a mind to,

The way through the waste to the chapel in the rock
For a vision of the Triple Rainbow or the Astral Clock,

Forgetting his information comes mostly from married men
Who liked fishing and a flutter on the horses now and then.

And how reliable can any truth be that is got
By observing oneself and then just inserting a Not?

(Auden, 1940)

picture: "Red Cross Knight and Una," George Frederic Watts

Can we just skip ahead a bit?

Here's what you can do.

Show me.

Show me that there's reason to keep trying.

Show me that there's beauty left.

It is what it is.

From a cell window

There are, apparently, persons who are deeply afraid of their own emotions, particularly the painful ones. Grief, regret, sadness. Sadness especially, perhaps. Dolores describes these persons as afraid of obliteration, emotional engulfment. As if something truly and thoroughly felt would have no end or bottom. Would become infinite and engulf them.

***

My point here is that certain types of persons are terrified even to poke a big toe into genuinely felt regret or sadness, or to get angry. This means they are afraid to live. The are imprisoned in something, I think. Frozen inside, emotionally. Why is this. No one knows . . . . There may be some persons who are born imprisoned. The irony, of course, being that the very imprisonment that prohibits sadness's expression must itself feel intensely sad and painful. For the hypothetical person in question.

(DFW, Infinite Jest, pp. 765-67)

A glimpse

The sky could be blue--
I don't mind--
Without you it's a waste of time.

Advice from a Caterpillar

The Caterpillar and Alice looked at each other for some time in silence: at last the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, and addressed her in a languid, sleepy voice.

“Who are you?” said the Caterpillar.

This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, “I—I hardly know, Sir, just at present—at least I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have changed several times since then.”

“What do you mean by that?” said the Caterpillar, sternly. “Explain yourself!”

“I can’t explain myself, I’m afraid, Sir,” said Alice, “because I’m not myself, you see.”

“I don’t see,” said the Caterpillar.

“I’m afraid I can’t put it more clearly,” Alice replied, very politely, “for I can’t understand it myself, to begin with; and being so many different sizes in a day is very confusing.”

“It isn’t,” said the Caterpillar.

(--Lewis Carroll)

These Things Will Not Bite You

Who the **** are you?

The doctor, with whom I spoke on Friday, asked me this question at the end of our session:

Who taught you that it's not okay to be you?

I don't have an answer to that question yet. I'm not even sure I have an answer to the question of who I am. I have spent most of my life this way: tell me what you want me to be, what you want me to do, and I'll deliver, without fail. Evidently, that's not working anymore.

Fragments Concerning the Life and Death of a Popular Writer

From This Recent Rolling Stone Article.

You are the sickness yourself.... You realize all this...when you look at the black hole and it's wearing your face. That's when the Bad Thing just absolutely eats you up, or rather when you just eat yourself up. When you kill yourself. All this business about people committing suicide when they're "severely depressed;" we say, "Holy cow, we must do something to stop them from killing themselves!" That's wrong. Because all these people have, you see, by this time already killed themselves, where it really counts.... When they "commit suicide," they're just being orderly.

***

"Basically it was the same symptoms all along: this incredible sense of inadequacy, panic. He once said to me that he wanted to write to shut up the babble in his head. He said when you're writing well, you establish a voice in your head, and it shuts up the other voices. The ones that are saying, 'You're not good enough, you're a fraud.' "

***

"You know, this kind of very American sports training — I will fix this by taking radical action." Schwarzenegger voice: "If there's a problem, I will train myself out of it. I will work harder."

***

"It may have been what in the old days was called a spiritual crisis," he said. "It was just feeling as though every axiom of your life turned out to be false. And there was nothing, and you were nothing — it was all a delusion. But you were better than everyone else because you saw that it was a delusion, and yet you were worse because you couldn't function."

***

They would talk about lots of Wallace's ideas, which could abruptly sharpen into self-criticism. "I remember this being a frequent topic of conversation," Franzen says, "his notion of not having an authentic self. Of being just quick enough to construct a pleasing self for whomever he was talking to. I see now he wasn't just being funny — there was something genuinely compromised in David. At the time I thought, 'Wow, he's even more self-conscious than I am.' "

***

He talked about a kind of shyness that turned social life impossibly complicated. "I think being shy basically means being self-absorbed to the point that it makes it difficult to be around other people. For instance, if I'm hanging out with you, I can't even tell whether I like you or not because I'm too worried about whether you like me."

***

"My big worry," he said, "is that this will just up my expectations for myself. And expectations are a very fine line. Up to a certain point they can be motivating, can be kind of a flamethrower held to your ass. Past that point they're toxic and paralyzing. I'm scared that I'll fuck up and plunge into a compressed version of what I went through before."

***

"I think whatever the pull is for me is largely composed of wanting the Big Yes, of wanting someone else to want you (Cheap Trick lives). . . . So now I don't know what to do. Probably nothing, which seems to be the Sign that the universe or its CEO is sending me."

***

In late 2001, Costello called Wallace. "He was talking about how hard the writing was. And I said, lightheartedly, 'Dave, you're a genius.' Meaning, people aren't going to forget about you. You're not going to wind up in a Wendy's. He said, 'All that makes me think is that I've fooled you, too.'"