My Week

It's so funny that I have found every way to circumvent my responsibilities. Yea, I do that. Since my friend is gone out of the city, I've had time to sleep (yea, funny) and study. I've managed to find every way to avoid doing my work. I've done all that is possible to get these things done (e.g., cutting my hours at work). What's funny is that every chance I get to do what I need to I end up short of fulfilling all my responsibilities. I am duly prepared to receive a bad grade (one of my primary responsibilities is school). I can't afford this. I need good grades.

My speech was a success. I got my 25 pts. Getting the points was easy, though. By just doing the speech gave the class the whole points. However, I did get great feedback from both the professor and the student who graded my peer evaluation. When I tallied up my score (there wasn't a solid rule as to the grading of the speech) was 85%. So I got a B. It's not great, but it's good enough for a decent grade.

Professor Slusser didn't make it to class today. —That wasn't a surprise. Some of the students made caustic statements to the absence statement on the whiteboard. It's reasonable to think that, seeing that the professor isn't acting like one. I actually talked to one of the "prodigies" of the class. She was really intelligent. She was telling her stories of childhood excellence as an intellectual and that her boyfriend is a doctor in some technical discipline. She is extremely tall. She's a critic, but optimistic at the same time. Other students in the class are seldom extinguished. I did read a story from last semester's honors class. I personally was impressed with the structure and style. Her diction was incremental. She knew a lot. What really captured my mind was the style. It was very impressionable. I know I was impressed.

Well, that's all for know. TTFN (in the words of Winnie's friend, Tigger—no I'm no fruit).

Melancholy

There is much I can say about my depression. Most of it I think was caused by issues pertaining to loneliness and past experience. Many of those experiences I think were developed in the last relationship I was in. It ended sadly, and I must conclude that many people who suffer the same dramatic end are duly depressed—sort of like I am now. This depression is so sharp that it messes with my thinking. Even now, I should be finishing my speech.

Many other people have misinterpreted my depression for a dissemination of my melancholy—that the general rule should be: "If I'm depressed, then so should everyone else." This is not the case. For me, I have reason to believe that the society in which I live produces this kind of depression, through its medium of secular philosophy and false sense of hope. The naiveté of this society in turn redounds to an optimistic vein. The problem is still there. How can the next generation survive? Its dissemination will only exacerbate the end result of previous conclusions. There isn't enough room for this in the next generation.

Another note has been solidified by previous engagements of romances. Frankly, there isn't any. In my life there isn't room for it. I wish there was—I really do! Man is a sexual being. I am a sexual being. I wish that I could enjoy the company of another's warmth. Reading with a partner is, I think, a quaint experience for me. I think it's the best. And I don't think this along with the ubiquitous depression I see can be isolated. There have been interests that would help aid my depression, but most of them became too simple and monotonous. There wasn't life in the dating. There was something missing. And what kills me most is the fact that I can see what I want, but the availability is nebulous and impossible—namely because the feelings could be misinterpreted and not mutual. This has happened more than once.

There have been concerns that I dealt with in the past. These are still alive today in my mind. The concerns that I speak of coalesce previously mentioned ones as well; however these are the more recent—love, purity, excitement and the need to enjoy another. These are so proximate to my problem, mainly because the optimism I wish to find can only be seen with the comfort of someone there. I think novels best describe this in the figurative sense. Those writers who can write and illustrate these great truths do more justice to the notions than I could in this one blog.

When the Government Gambles Your Life

So I was watching Law & Order: SVU and Grey's Anatomy last night. I got bored after a while. I checked my Facebook account to see if I had any mail—and low and behold nothing. It's OK, though. There really wasn't anything else for me to do, but homework and writing and who knows what else. In a recent post on FB, I wrote about money. I wrote a proposition to people with the acquisition of one trillion dollars: what would you do? Why do I ask? My last class, Political Science, I wrote a paper on the healthcare system. Basically, we need to trash it. Some want to renovate the kinks—so-called kinks—that are inherently seen. The system poses a problem, mainly due to disadvantaged citizens. There are over 48 million citizens, including myself, that are without healthcare insurance. This, in my most basic and pithy ways, is an egregious travesty. How could our country, in good conscience bear the band of freedom and deny the freedom to free healthcare. "—Oh goodness, no! We can't have socialized medicine," says the antagonist; it would lead to socialism. There couldn't be a more outlandish, convoluted straw man. This is merely a smokescreen to cover the truth. Now then, what would I spend the money on? I would first, get rid of all the lobbying paid to maintain the current healthcare system. Next, I would build an infrastructure for a new healthcare system—a free healthcare system. Note this. It is only the building of the infrastructure. That means that there needs to be a point when it becomes socialized and government run. There is nothing more precious than spending the money on something we truly care about—ourselves. To measure the war in Iraq and healthcare commensurate to each other is not only a disjustice to the American people, it is a contrived way for the government to the lives of its citizens in the name of justice while, at the same time, seeking their own gain. Who do you think makes them their money? Insurance companies are government friendly. My bet—and my money—are on rebuilding the healthcare system. And as Anti-Flag so scandalously put it, "Fuck the world, fuck em' all."

Tonight’s Muse Didn’t Smile

Today was an interesting day. I finished my essay. It was so dragging. It's about a ritual that I involve myself with throughout my week or everyday practice. Jared said he was going to overlook and review my essay. He's an amazing writer. I've read some of his thoughts, and they are deeply thoughtful and poignant to an intellectual degree. I've always fancied myself after the intellectuals. They bring me hope. I don't know why, but they do. Today was, as I said, dragging. The night was particularly my highlight. I was up chatting away with someone who loves the same music that I do—well, maybe not all of the music I like; but the night was still memorable. It feels good to be able to talk to someone who understands and is just there to talk to. I think that's an elemental significance that everyone needs, a need of belonging. There! I extrapolated an idea. Sweet!

There was one thing that I loved to ruminate as I sit here in front of my now warm laptop upon my lap. As I sit in my living room, in this hot night (it's been particularly hot recently), I think about the artistry of art and music. Renaissance art in particular impetuously delights my fancy now in this very moment. Certain emotions, until now, have laid dormant in my life. Audacious and impeccable delights enter the intellect. And what is it? I like to call it the emotion of life. Delectation is another word that best describes this feeling. Have you ever considered how life is better, even the air—albeit currently a horrid heat—when things seem only to work out in the mind? Ah, the mind. Only a step above the four-footed creatures and we can use rationale. I think I can describe this emotion. Have you ever enjoyed an apple? A good one, juicy and plumb? The emotion is this: you taste it. It is good. Now it's been a decade since its delectation—the time has past that engendered your taste buds to a dance of muse and rhyme. Here now you come upon the tree. It is teasing your mouth. Your mouth is bursting with questionable yet erudite—because you recognize its taste—tease. Your mouth now enjoys the ecstasy of biting into that enticing and nefarious endeavor. But there comes over you a sense of completeness. The world stops as you delight in this feat of nature. Nature. There you are. What great nebula you bring to man, to intellect. This is the joy I speak of. It is lively and vivifying. It creates a joy. What we can't explain yet enjoy is nostalgia. We love it. We bathe in it. We couldn't want it in any other way.

Enough with abstraction for now. It's late and still I can't sleep. I want to dream. I want to dream of a place where I can think and be a thought. Is there such a place? There are thoughts within thoughts. It seems the creation of this dream is impeccable, yet almost impossible. To be a thought is only a thought, howbeit. I want the reality. I want to Desire of Life. Are you there?