Impulse Buy-- try to restrain yourself....

Just because you saw it, touched it, pictured what it could be like (picked out the flooring), doesn't mean you have to buy it. Look at the numbers. They are dreadful! Even if the seller would take that offering price, the money it needs just to get it running would buy one already spruced up. Why not get one of those? The joy of doing it yourself? The satisfaction of labor, a job well-done? How much does that cost? It looks like it costs several thousands of dollars. No, don't do it. Find one that was someone else's money pit. Use your money and your labor to tweak it slightly. Trust me.
But the impulse is so strong...

Moving

I have moved into my third home in Indiana. Each of the three I have lived in have had their quirks, and obviously, I felt two of those places had quirks beyond my tolerance. It is painful to move, expensive, time consuming, mentally debilitating. And yet I do. I have. I will. I know I will again. It is a rental after all, and although this very cluster of buildings has faculty from my own institution who have lived here for decades, I am not that kind of pessimist. I want to find a home base I can call my own, my own to invest in, my own to destroy. Yes, destroy. Part of creating a home is its very destruction and rebuilding. Over and over.

Somehow, in moving, I made the poor choice of packing a library book that had been sitting on my desk, into a box I assumed I would be quickly opening again. The box and book have vanished, and the urgent emails from the library remind me it is time to return it. Part of being a faculty-person is having the elite position that a librarian wouldn't dare charge a fine for a late book, and procrastination and laziness are making me take advantage of this perk. If that weren't enough, somehow the other two books I checked out at the same time, that sat all through the holiday on my desk in my office, suddenly vanished. I cannot recall if I 'put them away,' or returned them (thus having them mis-shelved or whatnot). In total, three books missing, and not the faintest idea where they went to. It is a problem I can ignore, but it also fills me with such anxiety, I can't tell you how I cope. I go to my office and stare at my bookshelves, expecting the missing tombs to suddenly leap to my eyes, at which time I will laugh and announce the cliché, "at least a snake would've bitten me!" It hasn't happened yet.

I just emptied three and a half boxes in my extra bedroom. There were a number of boxes moved into that room when I wasn't looking. I don't really know what-all is there. I did find my missing harddrive, my tax receipts, a number of lost ideas and doodles on paper. But no books. Where have they gone? With the missing socks? (I haven't had any go missing lately.) With the lost ideas, the wasted days, the used kitty litter? How does my life so quickly descend into a chaos, bathing in unintended neglect, denial of adulthood (while everyday firmly asserts I am there)?

Rethinking

I know it is Wednesday at 11 o'clock in the morning. It is the one time the whole town knows, because they are testing the tornado warning siren. I never know what time it is by the sun. The sun rises after 7:30 and sets before 5:30. It is always partially dark when I am outside. Most days are bleak and overcast-- constant cloud cover. On Monday, the day looked so beautiful, I walked to work. I realized it was because it was sunny-- 36 degrees and sunny, so I walked. Today is cloudy and 50 degrees, and I could barely drive my car to work.

When I need a mental break, I look at sail boats online. This morning, I found a blog of a young couple who sailed a boat (one of the ones I am looking at) across the Pacific ocean. The photos are amazing. (I feel like I haven't seen anything amazing in a while.)

The most I can do right now is book my holiday flight to California. It looks similar to those pictures, though the water was never that blue, and it is very cold. I wonder if I will wear shorts there?

In somnia

It is 12:45 AM... I have been in bed an hour with my eyes wide open, my mind racing. I was tired earlier, but I had some files to prepare for class tomorrow, and that seems to have woken me up. It is very dark. The house is cold. I am downstairs because poor J can do nothing but snore right now, and I am liable to smother him (even though I would be wide awake without the noise too). The cats are here, sleeping in the living room. I like to sleep here sometimes, so maybe it will help. I don't know why: I have the most uncomfortable couch.

Why am I awake? Is it simply the perils of doing work before bed? Am I more nervous about my show than I let on? How about that crazy article about me on the website?

There are all these details I am fixing in my head. "What about this?" my left brain asks. "That is the best suggestion so far!" my right brain squeals. Then, "you should talk to so-n-so tomorrow about this other thing." "Oh, you're right! I hope I don't forget!!" Then my other brain, possibly the hippocampus? pips up and says, "none of this will matter if you get no sleep and are a zombie tomorrow! I won't remember anything then!!"

I set my phone alarm, in case I fall asleep before returning to bed. I have a terrible headache too.

Snowball full of turds

A tragedy occurred on our campus recently, and it has affected segments of our community in a variety of ways. Some feel their mortality, the fragility of their perceived youthful power and vitality. Some feel ambivalent, as the victim seems to have been a loner, an angry person, a self-destructive lost soul (all rumors). Many are afraid. Fingers are being pointed by everyone, at everyone. Who's fault is it? Who will take the fall? Is it because of this tradition or that precedent? This can be changed, but that cannot because it will infuriate the donors/alumni. It seems all of the outcomes involve innocent people getting hurt and blamed.

All of it is very frustrating. I have my own opinions too, of course, but what good are they? I remember my own college experience as being safer, more open minded, more intelligent, more diverse, but it cannot be replicated here.

There is also the economy (another terrible debacle of 'what happened' and 'who's fault is it') and the upcoming presidential election (that seems to have brought out the very worst in everyone).

These are the three most common conversations right now. At the same time, we have just finished the theatrical production of "The Inspector General," a story of greed, corruption, selfishness, and finger pointing, as well as alcohol abuse. I don't know if I am the only one who saw it as hitting too close to home in the current climate.

My head is floating above my body

Remember the show, Ally McBeal? Toward the end, there was an episode in which she was "walking on air" next to her love interest. That's me, but not over a love interest, and really it's only my head. Picture it. My head floating like a little balloon over my body.

It isn't just I feel disconnected and over-caffeinated, but I just placed my photographic order for my exhibition. The price will be something like three thousand dollars, and I get a little tight chested at the investment!

My first museum group show is opening this weekend (reception next) in San Bernardino. I am sad I won't get to see it.

we are all just prisoners here, of our own device

Today was one of those days that I should label "bad," but in the grand scheme of things, it is not really bad. I can't call it bad at all-- no one died, there were no car accidents, lay-offs, diseases, disasters, tragedies. In the vast landscape of days before and following today, this one is destined to fade from memory completely (unless, of course, I read this).

So while it was not what I would call a bad day, it is one I am glad to have over, glad to be rid of, glad to come home to a person and two cats who love me. A pox on your existence, August 29th. Good riddance.

Last night, I thought to myself, gosh, I don't think I have cried in months. I can't remember the last time I did. That's good, right? OK, movies don't count. Listening to Hilary talking up Barack and trying to brush off her disappointment brought tears to my eyes. (No, I am not talking about politics, I am talking about empathy for that bitter disappointment.)

Moving on. I thought this last night, then thought, "I wonder if that is why I have so many hives and allergic reactions right now." You know, the tears allow you to vent, or you bottle it up and it sneaks out through your pores. I know I know. New Age bullshit. But when you are this itchy, you resort to crazy thoughts.

This morning, I had an upsetting dream. The content wasn't significantly bad, but I was very upset in the dream, and when I woke up, I started crying just thinking of it. When I remembered the thought I mentioned above, I felt relief ("Oh good, now I've cried.") and instantly stopped crying ("Darn, that's probably not enough."). Even though it was a short cry, I did become melancholy most of the morning.

It was in this mood that my boss accidentally slammed my finger in the door.

I wasn't going to make a big deal of it-- I want them to hire me. But as soon as he left, my lip began shaking and I wanted to cry. I go to my office-- and there is someone in there using the printer. And they need help. For the rest of the day. And interrupted me while I tried to work. So I didn't get my work done. And I left late, ruining my Friday night plans.

Later, I'm in my office, alone briefly, and a man wanders in (who looks homeless). He asks if I have seen the other professor, and explains he was this man's student thirty years ago. I say no, he doesn't come in on Friday. The man asked if he could leave him a message. I said, you could, if you would like, you can use my phone. He starts leaving his message, explaining who he is, and "your secretary says you aren't in..." to which I interrupt, "I am not a secretary." He turned back to the phone and said, "she says she's not your secretary." He hemmed and hawed and then asked where the bathroom was. Anything to get him the heck out of my office.

The icing on the cake of the day: yesterday, four guys wanted to add my class, today, none of them do, and someone dropped my other class. Normally, I am happy to have a smaller class, but short of getting the Dean to run me over to give me a pity-job, I am convinced I need to show my worthiness and usefulness in all these imperceptible ways. (Yes, tricky, I know; see above about the hives.)

I walked home at 6:30 (I got to work at nine, had a work-related lunch, so didn't leave the building that whole time. Apparently, it rained at some point.), during which I called the Illinois auction house (I couldn't go to, from having left so late) to make an absentee bid, and buy myself a quirky, arty present. Assuming I win the auction. This would be the highlight of the day, by the way.

As I turned onto my street, I see the local pedophile, standing legs-straddled over the sidewalk, staring in my direction. I don't know if I have mentioned him here before or not, but he is my direct-next-door neighbor. I usually avoid eye-contact, but the last time I saw him as I left home, our eyes did meet, so I felt obligated to say hello. He continued to stare at me in his creepy, menacing way, and neither smiled not responded. Hence, when I saw his opposing stance down the street, I decided to take the alley instead. That would never have been true in California.

I came home to discover my sweetheart had reinstalled my computer without my asking, knowing, or backing up of data first. Everything is fine (I think), but I don't even step on cracks or walk under ladders this close to three major exhibitions (of which the work is not printed or burned into a DVD yet).

Basically, I am having trouble with folks of the opposite gender right now, and I am trying not to feel paranoid that I also work at an all-male college.

And that was my day. Should be bad, but really, I did my job, even if it was inefficient. I will have good classes this fall, even if not as full as I'd like. And nothing terrible happened. That's what I keep telling myself.

Blog Guilt

I had meant to never let more than two days go by without making a performance for this site. (I didn't want a whole line of graves stone posts. People will get the wrong idea.) Let's say I have been reserving my performances for private audiences! But I didn't mean to let so much time pass! My excuses are quite real (lame)-- I finally took pictures to create an entry, but didn't have the upload cord with me. I had to write a job description for my fall student assistant. I had to run auditions. I had to go to that bar. I had to go see that naked play (Some Men). Eventually, I will find that cord and get that post up about small town cuteness. I promise. I don't know how many more graves will go by before you see it, but it will happen.

My favorite albums I am listening to around town are MGMT and the Moods. I am late to the party on MGMT (click here to see the HD music video-- it made me buy the album. Warning: long time to load and some hedonistic activities), as many of my favorite Internet personalities wrote about them months ago. But at least I have learned the error of my ways. The Moods are friends of mine in LA, and I am happy to say I was one of the first to that party, hearing their early practice sessions on an iPod, seeing most of their first shows, and I got the CD before it was released. Yes, that's how connected I am.

I only mention the albums for something to post, but there are days when I feel like good music gets me through the day. It's probably why I was so excited by this little "Mix Tape" thing in my sidebar over to the right. I can find any song I never owned and make fabulous music. People have been doing this on MySpace forever, I know, with weird little box-MP3 player things. But this actually makes it seem like a mixed tape, referencing the fine art of selecting songs and orders and the tone of the whole tape. I was never good at these things, because I would slap together an odd mix of music that made me feel certain ways (just for the glory of these songs making me feel things on command) and I tended to put contrasting emotions right next to each other. Offspring's Smash right next to Coldplay's Yellow followed by Madonna. I'll have to find that tape and try to recreate it one of these days. After I find a tape player.