I remember when I was young, I ascribed feelings to inanimate objects, especially stuffed animals and toy cars. I would feel that Sammy the Cubs Bear was not getting as much time, for instance, as Arizona Bear; that RC-controlled Ferrari (because, invariably, it was broken) envied regular ol' Matchbox Corvette. I never got into Micro Machines:
but I'm sure I would have loved them. Actually, I had a slightly less tricked out version of this when I was young:
Even though I had the simplified version, it came during a Christmas that even I could identify as one of the "lean years" in my family, and I felt that it behooved me, then, to play with it all the more. Of course, anything with lots of moving parts, for kids, breaks constantly (especially with klutzy lil' me at the helm). But that toy was so expensive, at the time, that it warranted extra playtime. It would feel lonely otherwise. Nevermind the troubling implications about militarizing outer space... I guess George Lucas and Ronald Reagan kind of normalized that. Even Bush II was wetting himself with SDI until a missle shield wouldn't have stopped... Anyway.
My overarching point is that "teh internets" are littered with abandoned blogs hither and thither. That's not exactly a bad thing. How many people does it take to say, "OMG SARAH PALIN SUCKS LOL OMG" or "OMG THE PATRIOTS ARE CHEATERS" or "OMG I BROKE UP W/ MY BF TODAY :("? I think I've learned a bit more about blogging since my last posts since I've started posting a bit (under an anonymous screenname) at that craaaazy liberal blogsite, DailyKos! (I've more or less kept politics out of this post because I don't want to rub premature salt in wounds of my friends and hypothetical e-stalkers.) I have also been tweeting quite a bit.
Maybe blogs, though, have feelings too. I am looking, as I write, guiltily at my bookshelf (just as I'm typing, ashamedly, at my computer when I should be reading comps-books). Here they are, dozens with uncracked bindings, chock full of truthiness. But I have comps the week after next, so no go on those books. Then again, isn't a website with my name on it much more personal to me than, say, some English professor's terribly misguided, speculative, unmusical book of musings about jazz? Maybe they both miss me.
I just woke up in the middle of the night. I slept late this morning, napped in the afternoon, and learned a powerful lesson about "caffeine-free" tea. I suspect it still has caffeine in it somewhere...
Well, there's not time for a full life update--nor would I want to give one, in a way! I recently gave a wonky account of my current life to my alma mater's newspaper, if you feel like having this be your one-stop e-stalk.
Suffice it to say I've had a trying but hopeful year, and I seem to be in a tortuously long retransition to a... wait, no sonata form this late at night. "Things," in the general sense, though, are looking up. My future is utterly wide open, in all frightening and revelatory senses of the phrase. Physically, I've been so sluggish--comps, a recital, medieval notations, post-tonal analysis, aggh! I get tired--and suffered alot of migraines, but am getting them under control.
It's so odd to be up at this hour because for the past three weeks, the weather and stress and headaches have forced me to reckon with my schedule and become an adult: a 10:30 bedtime, and 6:30 wake time! And at least every other day, I've been in to the gym by 7:30, so things are looking up.
But maybe, just maybe, hours get lonely like people. Or like toys. 3:00 AM might have felt neglected the last month or so without me. At very least, I need to practice staying sharp at this hour in case I get a phone call.
It's funny, folks, how the present becomes the past. Clinton becomes McCain, Toy shuttles become pretentious, remaindered essay collections, and we all retransition to a recap where we've been before--except, this time, we've been here before, and know how to navigate, what to expect, and what to avoid.
It reminds me of my 2nd, 3rd....11,001st time through Super Mario Bros. 3, World One, Level One.
That game never got lonely. That I promise you.