So I feel like it's getting harder and harder for me to function in the real world. I remembered, at 2:45 today, that I was supposed to take my philosophy make-up exam sometime between 11 and 3. Luckily he was really nice and let me take it anyway.... And then I forgot about going to layout (and it was pizza night too!) and went to an art league halloween party instead, dressed up as a tree. Oh, and I completely forgot when student advising night was and totally freaked out, because what if that was today and then I couldn't register? Horrible feeling. Ironically enough, as it gets harder and harder to actually function, I care less and less about not functioning. I'm just sort of like, 'Oh well.' Or maybe it's not that I don't care, it's just that I'm so snowed under with work and worry that I don't feel anything anymore, except a sort of giddy desire to sleep away the rest of my life.

I just can't forget to show up to work again, or I think I might actually get fired. Heaven help me when I have to get a real job.

Tomorrow will be the start of the twelfth month of my blog. Fear my wordliness. I feel sort of like I should have a birthday party for it. But what would I do? "Oh yes, let's make another demented birthday cake for my blog." The only thing weirder would be having a festival to celebrate the gold rush taking place somewhere else. Crazy Albertans.

I decided sometime yesterday that I really wanted to dress up as Crystal Downing for halloween (I mean heck, she's the scariest person I know), but that didn't quite work out. I thought about trying to get a stalkerlink picture of her blown up so I could make it into a mask for tonight's art league party, but there were difficulties, and I didn't think art majors would know who she was anyway. But next year, look out.

Speaking of Crystal Downing, I got my paper back today. She said really really complimentary things in the paper about sophisticated engagement and "sometimes brilliant insight" and stuff, and then handed down an 88.... So ironic. So so ironic. Anyway, she definitely thinks I'm in the right major, so that's good. I sort of wish I could get that kind of validation from an art professor. Good thing about that paper is that the revision is worth twice as much as the actual paper, so I could definitely end up with a decent grade, although I am over the cut-off line where she requires a revision. I just want more than a B+ you know? I need all the help I can get when it comes to bouying up my art grades.

Speaking of which, I am totally freaking out when it comes to this next project. So few rules, and historically I just do badly without rules. I've got myself psyched out enough that I'm afraid to start. And if I don't start, I definitely won't do well. So yes, prayers would be appreciated....

Happy hallowe'en to all I suppose, although I don't usually celebrate that.

Chicken Noodle Soup

Chicken Noodle Soup for the Upset Mind. Ever wonder why they don't title a book that way? They have Chicken Noodle Soup for the Mothers, Children, Couples, Soccer players, Artists, Musicians, and Waste Management Technicians of this world, so why not Chicken Noodle Soup for the Disturbed Mind, or for the Psychotic Soul, or even just the Upset Mind? Chicken noodle soup stays well on upset stomachs, I mean, isn't that why it was invented? So why not Chicken Noodle Soup for the Upset Mind - something bland and distracting that would sooth the restless beast.

So I had a sort of bad last couple of days. Then I had a couple of really good moments, and then some really bad moments, and then some more really good moments. And while the good moments are good, I feel like all of life is good. And when the bad moments are bad, I feel like life is crashing around my ears - or possibly trying to chop down the tree I'm in, while singing "Fifteen birds in an evergreen tree" (or whatever it is that the ogres sang while Bilbo, Gandalf, and the dwarves were up those trees. I'm trying to draw a parallel between life and an ogre here. Pretend that it worked.). But I suppose that's nothing new. Except that sometimes it's easier to see that bad moments don't last forever. Of course, it's also easier to see that the good moments won't last forever, but if you're balanced enough to realize that, then you're balanced enough to enjoy them while they do last.

In conclusion:

1) Edmonton holds a yearly festival to celebrate the gold rush taking place somewhere else. (Courtesy of Jenn, and roundaboutly Jill and the Internationals that happened to be held at Calgary)

and 2) "Chin up. I spend most of my days in a basement wondering if anyone will ever even see what I'm painting." - Daniel Finch

Oh, and the project that resulted in my damaged finger? Good grade. Heck yes.

I feel like I should have something terribly poetic and profound to say tonight. I think it's a combination of the rain, the dark, and the stress that makes me feel slightly melancholy and slightly writer-ish. I feel like rain ought to be inspiring rather than just plain annoying, and that melancholy ought to be good for something (like motivation to write). All week I've been scrambling to get things done the day before they're due, and that never makes for happiness. I'm much better if I can plan a couple days ahead, or snatch a few minutes' free time, even if I never end up doing anything with it.

The finger is probably doing better today. Anyway, I'm typing with it and it doesn't hurt, so that's a good sign, right?

Mandatory floor meeting tonight - yippee doo-dah day. RA evaluation forms, which I think is kind of ridiculous, because we've only had them for half a semester so far. How are we to know if they really are good RAs or not? They might suddenly become totally awesome next week, and the RA forms would totally fail to reflect that. But then, if you're a lousy RA, I suppose you know by halfway through a semester. Funny, though, I don't remember filling one of these out last year. Heh.

My gloss at least is done for tomorrow - that's the one I thought would be like pulling teeth. Optimistically I'm hoping I only have an hour's worth of Color & Design to do by tomorrow, and that the floor meeting will take 15 minutes tops. And, again optimistically, I think my theology midterm went well. Especially considering that I only spent maybe two hours studying for it. I figure that because I heard the material in two classes, in multiple seperate lectures, and because I could fill out the study sheet without too much trouble, that my level of confidence is reasonable.

Now if only my assignments were. = D

Creativity Takes a Terrible Toll.

"It makes us egocentric, selfish, competitive, anxious, desperate, and terrified. Creativity does not respect time or place or schedules. It demands that we focus on ourselves, often to the neglect of other responsibilities, sometimes to the exclusion of those who love us. We are never satisfied: we constantly examine our work and ourselves for flaws - and we always find them. The world acclaims us when we succeed, pities us when we fail, ignores us much of the time, and never really understands. Who would willingly take up such a double-edged sword? But who can put it down?"
Gutsy opening to a publication aimed at prospective students. And, I think, only half right.

Finding it hard to type without the use of my left index finger, which has recently been sliced open (anyone want to see a picture? If I'm going to hurt, I might as well get the most gross mileage possible out of it) so this is a short one. But I'm alive and other than the finger and a large amount of stress, doing well.

-The Subtle Wounded Nut

Fallingwater

So, here is the wonderful amazing fantabulous post about Fallingwater.

It began on a dark and cold morning, a Thursday morning to be exact. Knowing that I would not actually want to get out of bed, however much I wanted to see Fallingwater, I set two alarms - the one I normally use and the one with a stentorian roar (which also happened to be plugged in across the room, so I'd actually have to get up out of bed to stop the shrieking). I was sorely, sorely tempted to just crawl back into bed and forget the whole trip. Going out in the dark and the cold to get the car? Driving three hours by myself?

Well, all said, I talked myself into going down to get the car, checking the oil, swinging by the ATM to get some cash, and started on my way... probably one of the bravest things I've ever done. Once I got in the car, though, I felt more in control. The weather I can't change, nor can I change my fears; but the music, or my cruising speed, yes I can.

I only got one little bit of lost, but that wasn't my fault. There was no road sign. But, when I turned around and came back the other way, wonder of wonders! The road was marked. So I got there after all.

And it was beautiful. I'm not sure that I really know how to articulate what it was like at the actual house. It really surprised me to be there and be grown up and by myself. It really surprised me how differently I ended up thinking about the house. I remember pretty clearly our first visit there. Mostly there were lots of old people there touring the house in large groups. There were a couple of college students there though. Art students, judging by their sketch books and assiduous use of them. The tour took a little longer than I remembered, and we didn't get done until close to 2 p.m. So I went to the cafe and decided to splurge a little bit on a hot bowl of split pea soup. It was heaven compared to Lottie pea soup. Little chunks of ham and carrot and very hot and not all soupy.

The trip home was much the same as the trip there - except that I was sort of sleepy and had to stop for coffee, and didn't get lost. And I got to use the cell phone for the first time, so that was pretty exciting too.

Definitely a sacred day. Or maybe I mean holy day. Anyway. A set apart day. A not normal in any sense day. On the trip out, I felt like all the rough waves and conflicting currents had suddenly flowed into this gentle eddy, leaving me floating slowly, looking up at a blue blue sky and thinking, "Oh! How did this happen? I like it." I feel more renewed, and a tad bit readier to face the start of school again. Maybe I won't be able to throw myself back into it, but maybe I can keep my head above water. I realized that what I've been designing in my head as my future ideal studio bears some uncanny resemblances to Mrs. Kauffman's room at Fallingwater. Haha. Well, can't go wrong if it's the same basic shape as a FLW room, right? = D

Eh, that's enough of that. I think most of what I learned will just have to stay with me. Nobody, I think, will care too much about the little glimpses of vision I had, or those sort of weird internal revolutions that, I suspect, only matter to those subject to them. It was good, though, very good.

I will, I swear, write soon about my trip to Fallingwater. I will write about being on campus over break, and about how my room exploded. I will write about canvases, and movies, and why the heck I have to get up at 5:45 tomorrow morning. I will write about all the ingenius ways there are to make yourself get out of bed when face it - you really don't want to. But, alas, all of that must wait until later. Because now, well, absolutely nothing calls me - it calls me with desperation that makes me want to go and do absolutely nothing.

A Day of Poetry

Well, as we all know, English 108 Intro to English Studies (also known affectionately - to Crystal Downing - as Heteroglossia: the Interpretation of Tongues) has eaten my soul. So, in honor of the soul eating, and as a reaction against national chemistry week, I decided to make today a day of poetry. Some of the ones I'm going to put in are famous, but I hope that I am not such an idiot as to dislike a good poem just because it also happens to be famous. All of the poems are from my English 108 textbook.

Milton:

When I consider how my light is spent,
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest He returning chide;
"Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?"
I fondly* ask. But Patience, to prevent
That murmer, soon replies, "God doth not need
Either man's work or His own gifts. Who best
Bear His mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is kingly: thousands at His bidding speed,
And post o'er land and ocean without rest;
They also serve who only stand and wait."

[*fondly in this time period meant foolishly]

A. E. Stallings:

Sine Qua Non

Your absence, father, is nothing. It is nought -
The factor by which nothing will multiply,
The gap of a dropped stitch, the needle's eye
Weeping its black thread. It is the spot
Blindly spreading behind the looking glass.
It is the startled silences that come
When the refrigerator stops its hum,
And crickets pause to let the winter pass.

Your absence, father, is nothing - for it is
Omega's long last O, memory's elision,
The fraction of impossible division,
The element I move through, emptiness,
The void stars hang in, the interstice of lace,
The zero that still holds the sum in place.

[That's the one I did my paper on]

Donne:

A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning

As virtuous men pass mildly away,
And whisper to their souls to go,
Whilst some of their sad friends do say
The breath goes now, and some say no:

So let us melt, and make no noise,
No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move;
'Twere profanation of our joys
To tell the laity our love.

Moving of the earth brings harms and fears;
Men reckon what it did and meant;
But trepidation of the spheres,
Though greater far, is innocent.

Dull sublunary lovers' love
(Whose soul is sense) cannot admit
Absence, because it doth remove
Those things which elemented it.

But we, by a love so much refined
That ourselves know not what it is,
Inter-assured of the mind,
Care less, eyes, lips, and hands to miss.

Our two souls, therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to airy thinness beat.

If they be two, they are two so
As stiff twin compasses are two:
Thy soul, the fixed foot, makes no show
To move, but doth, if th'other do.

And though it in the center sit,
Yet when the other far doth roam,
It leans and harkens after it,
And grows erect as that comes home.

Such wilt though be to me, who must,
Like tho'other foot, obliquely run;
They firmness makes my circle just,
And makes me end where I begun.

Batter my heart three-personed God

Batter my heart, three-personed God, for You
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend.
That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurped town to another due,
Labor to admit You, but Oh! to no end.
Reason, Your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love You, and would be loved fain,
But am betrothed unto Your enemy;
Divorce me, untie or break that knot again;
Take me to You, imprison me, for I,
Except You enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except You ravish me.

Frost:

Acquainted with the Night

I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain - and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
One luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right
I have been one acquainted with the night.

And, the last one I promise, Shakespeare:

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or one, or few do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by-and-by black night doth take away,
Death's second self that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the deathbed whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourished by.
This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

Even a 3-day weekend

isn't quite enough time to relax. Especially not since every class has something due during the three days of next week.

Life has been like a dream recently, and not in a oh-how-wonderful-and-relaxing way either. It's more like I feel like I'm sleep walking through all of it. Now, this could be due to the disruption of my sleep habits the past few nights. Whatever it is, I wish it'd stop. I want things to be perfectly normal and I want to feel perfectly stable for ever and ever amen. But, barring that, I'd like to be ridiculously happy for ever and ever amen. Or barring that, I'd like to be a ridiculous genius for ever and ever amen. Or....

Right. This is me being whiny. Feel free to give me a slap. Life, all in all, is good. Just a couple days of fighting being either really foolish and giddy or really out-of-sorts is getting a little bit old. It was probably a mistake to read those Dorothy Sayers books - all the characters end being so "shatteringly happy" that one feels quite hollow. Of course, they are fictional characters. And people are always being killed, otherwise they wouldn't all be so happy, but still. Maybe I should take up detection and investigate murders. = D

This is me being foolish. And to stop this foolish trend, I think I'll go back to my room and do homework. Because, after all, that's what weekends are for: homework. Lots of lots of it. And a little bit of running randomly around. But mostly homework.

Au revoir....

Woa-woa-woa-woah.... (je te plumerai)

I can feel....

I can feel myself stretching and growing and feeling deeper... which is wonderful and absolutely terrifying. I love to see progress - as someone told someone who told me, "That girl wants to have already arrived." Well, it's true. I do want to have already arrived. I just wish that this sudden mini-arrival was less disconcerting.

I seem to have discovered a knack for surprising myself lately. Both in writing, and in art, and in what I say without thinking about it. And in what I do without thinking about it. A lot of the things I pretended at last year are coming to fruition, at least it seems like they are. I've written something I'm actually proud of (at least for now - but it's been about two days, so who knows? I may be proud of it for a week), my work ethic has grown tremendously, I again trust (about 90% of the time) my instincts and analyzations of art and writing (I can predict my grades to within 3 points in Color & Design), learned how to revise, and learned how to study. Slacking off, well, I do that too. = D Especially this week. But I needed some time to just... I dunno, breathe again. Heaven knows those moments are so rare.

I can't believe we're halfway through the semester. Time dragged and flew all at the same time. I was reading a book the other day for Philosophy, memoirs from a concentration camp, and that's what it said too - in the concentration camp a day seems like weeks and weeks go by in a flash. Not to draw too much of a parallel between concentration camps and college; there's a world of difference. For instance, I can now use semi-colons, which they decidedly do not teach you in concentration camps.

I hope that when I grow up and am an artist I'm not one of those people who is so much in love with the idea of being an artist that they don't live in the reality of being an artist. I say this because Breon Gilleran, the author of the exhibit no art major really liked, is one of those people, and I was sorely disappointed in her explanations of herself. Mostly because she didn't really give an explanation for herself. She didn't know what she was doing - said some feminist things to excuse her concept for the show, and honestly I think her amateurish materials and crafstmanship were not intentionally that way, but because she knew no other way to make them. I also feel very strongly that you don't become an artist because you like the company, and you don't become a sculptor because there are so few females in the field and you want to change that. You become an artist because you've got a passion for it and you sculpt because you've got a passion for it. But maybe I'm being hard on her. It just seemed to me that she was much more caught up in the community of artists than in art, and in the idea of art than the art itself. She loves the thought of having a studio so much that what comes out of it matters less. I feel like (and maybe that's just me) but that's inexcusable. So I hope to goodness I don't fall into that trap, because I'd have to endure severe self-censure.

I went to talk to Professor Perrin today, and she really liked the one poem I brought to her. The one that I didn't know what to do with, so I guess I gathered up all that courage for nothing, because it was good after all and I didn't have to face failure. I did, however, submit it to the Minnemingo (today was the deadline so it was a do-or-die sort of reckless submission) so I may still have to face rejection. Anyway, I have a clear picture of what I need to do to revise it, even if I don't know exactly the means to reach my end, and I was able to defend most of it when she cross-questioned me, and it was all very good. I felt very happy, if very tired (mustering courage takes a lot of energy, as does combatting the cold. Brr!!). I cut out a few lines and changed a word and now I think I'll be able to defend it all - I just need to elaborate a few lines more, perhaps. And I'm thinking that I should try to get published this year, so maybe that's a poem to begin with....

I stopped by the library today to get a bunch of books. More than a three-day-weekend will allow, but there is fall break coming up as well, so maybe they'll tide me over till then. I'm looking forward with both anticipation and dread of so many empty, class-less hours. I'm thinking it will be an exploration weekend, and maybe a catch-up weekend, depending on how the week goes.

And now, dear friends, work is calling.... I just felt that I should ramble. Hopefully I didn't come across as an arrogant ranting perfectionist, although that may be what I am. = D

Mackenzie

Mood Ring, O Mood Ring

O tell me, will you bring the key?
To unlock this mystery....

In other words, I got a mood ring while at the Renaissance Faire... Mwahahaha! Fear the mood ring!

The ren fair was fun - super fun. Super exciting fun. It rained and was windy and freezing, but that really only got annoying towards the end of the day. At first it was just absurd. Lucy and I were the only ones who showed up for "Will Shakespeare's Auditions" so... we were the auditions. It was amazing. Especially since Lucy would quote all the lines of a conversation when he was only going to give her half of them, and then he would hop up and down and say, "Abriding! We're abriding!" And we got the long-lost "autograph" of "Will Shakespeare." Haha.

And there was a gorgeous piratical coat... which Lucy swears will soon become part of her arsenal as a professor coat. And by arsenal I mean wardrobe. = )

[yawn]

I should go do homework. So I am. Because I don't want to get saddled with a ton of stuff tomorrow.

Alas, Alack, and Lackaday.

I won't, under any circumstances, say that I'm done with my color & design homework. If I did, we all know I'd be up until 2 am finishing it. And the professor thinks I'm some sort of crazy perfectionist... whatever gave him that idea?

I am, however, done with the weaving part of my weaving project. I can say that, because I already cut it off the loom, and even if I were to decide it wasn't done yet, I couldn't do anything about it. I just have to finish off the edges, wash, and press. Coupla hours' work, and I'm done.

Saturday will be a day of adventuring to the Renaissance Faire with Lucy. Haha! Take that, thou foul feind! Avast! I'll split thee from nave to crown! Thou black-hearted varlet!

Hahaha... I make me laugh sometimes. And then I wonder why.

Romeo and Juliet, well, we'll stop there. Say no more, say no more. It is what it is and let it be done. Thankfully we're over halfway there. Only all the melodrama of dying and discovery left. Thank goodness my family life isn't that screwed up!

Writer's Cookout went well, I guess. As well as could be expected when there were crowds of people there I didn't know. And by crowds I mean about sixteen or so. I probably made an idiot of myself ten times over, and I felt quite socially unacceptable by the time I left, but ah well, such is life.... I think that if I had a male version he would be a hermit. Or surprisingly adept at social things, and I can't decide which I would hate him for more. But, "that is purely metaphysical speculation, and, like all metaphysical speculation, is profitless." Only I don't remember if the exact quote is "profitless" or not. I feel like "profitless" is much too intellectual for that character, but I forget.

Off to more Romeo and Juliet, anon dear friends, we shall meet again in peace after the suicides....