the fish bowl

As I type, I see that my little digital clock to the bottom right-hand side of my computer is telling me that the current time is 12:35 a.m.  Holy crap, I am still up.  For those of you that know me as "Old Man," this will seem quite the accomplishment for me.  For everyone else, yeah, not that amazing...
     Anyways, as I am still up and trying to finish watching It's Kind of a Funny Story--if only the stream would stop freezing--I find myself wondering how close the average person comes to being institutionalized in this society.  I can't help but remember Stephen King's essay "Why We Crave Horror Movies" and how he talks about how everyone is crazy to some extent; some of us pick our noses on the bus while others chop up people and hide them in the closet.  But are there some people who are just one bad day away from padded walls and eating every meal with a spoon and strict supervision?  Could any of us be that close on a daily basis?  Personally, I don't think I am, but isn't that what every mentally unstable person would think?  Who knows?  All I am concerned about right now is tight-roping that line of sanity and enjoying the rush as I teeter back and forth between the camps.
     I really can't say how close I am to one or the other at this point.  All I know is that the simple pleasures in life have never been better for me.  I know I started my list of simple pleasures about a week or so ago, but now I feel that it may not be that good of an idea, trying to pinpoint such things and expand beyond what they may be capable of holding.  Instead, I will treat them as they are: fleeting moments to be savored for as long as they are around.  These moments are practically my safety line to the sane world (or what a majority of people consider to be so anyways).   The moments when I get to read in my hammock and smoke my pipe on a beautiful, sunny day.  Days when I don't wear my watch at all because I have nowhere to be and time is no restraint on me.  Spending hours in a used book store, getting lost among the millions of pages.  Jumping on the trampoline with my sisters and getting ice cream with the family.  There are fantastic events in everyday, no matter how small, which help ensure my sanity and that I have an appreciation for life in general.  The real problem isn't so much about having enough moments; rather, it is about recognizing those moments and being able to make the most of them as they come.  

12:57 a.m.

"Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself." -Leo Tolstoy


     Isn't that the truth?  No one really wants to even think of personal change. Changing those around them seems like a much more feasible idea.  Why is this?  Do we as individuals get so self-conscious of ourselves that we fear  changing what we have already become even if we are not happy with who we are?  Gah, I have been one of those people who think this way, and it frustrated me to no end now.  
     Falling into this cycle is no good.  If things are to change on any level, there needs to be change on a small scale first.  People say college is where people go to discover themselves, shape who they are to become.  Until my senior year, I wasn't too sure about this idea, but now it has really come into focus for me.  Once I graduate (hopefully in December), I will be certified to teach.  I definitely need to know who I am, what I believe, what my interests are by that time.  
     This spring semester, though I am only half-way into it, has been a beautiful challenge in several ways.  The best part is that I am able to move through these challenges thanks to lessons learned from past challenges. They are finally paying off: the stress, heartbreak, and sleepless nights.  All these things seemed so awful or out of place at the time, but they were really planted lessons for me to later cultivate. 
     Now that I have these lessons collected and in my storehouse, I need to apply them.  How do I more on from here?  What direction should I set for my future?  These questions and many more are all being answered in an ongoing effort right now.  Feel free to offer up some hints as I progress. Still, I need to understand and decide how I am to change myself before I can ever begin to make an impact on the world as a teacher or even just as a normal, everyday citizen of Earth.  I need to find my place.  Somewhere in which I actually fit, not where I try to fit.  If that requires as much as a drastic shift in my career orientation or as little as a hair cut, then it will be worth it.  

     Today is my first official day of Spring Break 2011.  I can honestly say that I do not have any extraordinary plans whatsoever.  In fact, all I have done so far is get a new license from the DMV.  At the other end of the spectrum, I also have my biggest plans today, too.  SIRG bout tonight.  Aside from watch girls with innuendo- and violence-based names hit each other while skating in an oval, my break is going to be pretty mellow.
     Still, I think that is probably for the best.  Life between classes is rushed and hectic in so many ways.  Being able to sit back and watch random movies or NCAA tournament games with my family is just what I need.  Whether I am camping in the living room with Savannah or going to get McFlurries with Amber, I am enjoying ever bit of life as it comes this week.  Pillow forts, literary theory in a hammock, and maybe a little pipe smoking will be glorious this week.  
     It has been really odd being away from home and my family these last 2 months.  Growing up isn't all that glorious after all.  Looking ahead, it is rather sobering to think of getting a job and staying in Jackson practically all year now.  Such is growing up and taking on more responsibility.  This gives me all the more reason to enjoy my time with my sisters, spoil them, and do everything in my power to protect them as well.  
    Time to play with Ninja Turtles and watch The Rocker.

     I watched Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind once again today, and, as always, it really made me reflect upon my life so far.  Has it been worth it?  Have the dating relationships which have crashed and burned worth just as much as the ones that peacefully dissolved?  Did I learn anything from my mistakes and relationships?  
     Personally, I am, in a way, glad for those rough times, those awful endings.  To do away with those, I would have to also do without the good and happy times connected to those endings.  The pain and trouble is worth knowing what being happy is like.  So far, I have no been able to latch onto and keep that happy state without the hurtful parting of ways.  I can live with that.  Being able to keep moving forward after the parting has made me into who I am today.  I won't try to pretend that certain instances haven't scarred me or don't stay with me, even if just in the back of my mind, because they have.  I am shaped by both the good and bad in my relationships.  The bad just shows me where I need to work harder or find someone I can easily be myself around at all times.  
     Life still hurts.  Getting hurt is just part of the journey.  Just because it complicates things, I shouldn't give up for fear of being hurt.  The last year and a half has been one extended lesson in this.  Since my "big breakup," I have had trouble really applying this lesson.  I would latch to any girl who was willing to give me attention for a period, only to have those situations to end terribly.  After, I was too scared to even put my neck out there at all.  Then I would move into a period during which I would get my hopes up quick just to have my legs kicked out from under me.  I can't quite find a happy medium any more, but isn't that life?  Finding the happy medium at which life is just right?  For this reason, I couldn't do without all of my experiences.  In no way could I begin to imagine having memories of the tough, hurtful times erased from my mind as in Eternal Sunshine.  To lose those people would mean I loose the happy times with them as well.  That, I could not do.

     Today has been quite the interesting day.  My mind felt like a boat caught in a storm at some points, but, overall, it wasn't too bad of a day at all.  Believe it or not, I am a little ahead on homework for the week.  As I write this, I can't help but laugh inside a little because I am listening to a short story podcast.  It's actually an ironic story for me today; ask me and I will tell you why.  Story podcast aside, reading has been on my mind quite a bit today for some reason.
     Lately, I have found myself longing to be able to read as fast as I did when I was younger.  My reading speed has diminished since starting college and becoming an English major.  Maybe this is my inner procrastinator rebelling against reading assignments in general, or perhaps I am just getting older.  I get the feeling both may be true to a certain extent.  Class reading has consumed my reading appetite as well as scared the fun out of reading for myself to an extent.  I cannot pick up a book with the same zeal I had in high school.  I am less focused.  Getting older and having to be responsible sucks for having fun in any way really.
     Despite not being able to read quite so rapidly, my book buying has steadily grown.  Amazon and other online used books sellers as well as the hole-in-the-wall used bookstores in Jackson or Southern Illinois have become some of my favorite things.  I get lost in trying to find a specific book or the lowest price, time seemingly disappears before I snap out of it.  I cannot help myself.  When I get a book in my mind, I buy it or find it through a friend.  Years may pass before I get the opportunity to read it, but I have it when the time comes.  The idea of my library expanding and becoming more reputable excites me possibly more than it should.  
     Now, I must get back to my own attempt at pleasure reading before my mind looses all energy.  Happy reading.

Being read to.
     Over the last few months, I have come to notice that it is usually the little, overlooked aspects of life which really makes life worth living.  The simple things that can brighten a day in more ways than expected.  As I "rediscover" them (I say rediscover because I never made an effort to properly discover and chronicle them in the first place), I want to capture them.  I will not be able to capture them exactly as they are in the moment, obviously, but I can hope for the emotions linked to them to allow these moments to transcend their chronological limitations.  
     My first chronicled simple joy is, as you may have already noticed, being read to.  When I say being read to, I do not mean a professor, pastor, speaker or whoever reading for a large group.  That is more of a necessity of the situation.  What I am talking about is much more intimate.  Someone reads a work--whether it be his or her own does not really matter, but personal work does have a better sound--to just one or a few others.  Read it with meaning, emphasis, and passion.  Now, this is something which has really become a sure way in making a day enjoyable over the last week, though, by no means is it an everyday occurrence.  Yet, the fact that it isn't meant to be everyday and just tends to happen at the best possible moments is what makes those moments so uncharacteristically beautiful to me.  I close my eyes and sink into the soft, calming sea of language and rhythm.  
     This whole concept really makes sense looking back to my downloading the New Yorker Fiction podcast last semester.  Typically, I listen to short stories read by other authors while on long drives by myself.  They are incredibly relaxing to my mind.  Sometimes music just won't cut it in those situations.  The songs make me anxious, creating a need to get wherever I may be going all the faster.  Hearing stories being read (to only me, as I like to imagine it) soothes me beyond belief.  I become invested while still being alert as I drive.  Small poetry readings at coffee shops and wineries are much the same.  close, intimate settings make the words come alive as they dance off the speaker's tongue.  
     ...forget History homework; I'm going to listen to James Thurber's "The Wood Duck."
    

     Charlotte Perkins Gilman's story "The Yellow Wallpaper" was first published in 1892.  It is an incredibly intriguing piece in my opinion.  Of course, I am sure others strongly disagree.  I must confess, I have never read this work on my own.  The 4 or 5 times I have read it have been for class reading.  Still, this is a short story in which I can always find some thing I missed before, something to think about about, something to analyze.  
     As it goes every time, I was able to find something new to analyze after reading "The Yellow Wallpaper" again last week.  Oddly enough, though, what I analyzed was not so much in the text as it was in me.  As weird as it seemed, I identified with the estranged main character who communicated with the audience by means of her sporadic, hurried journaling.  She blindly accepted what others in her life told he would be best, even if she did not trust their decisions.  Am I much different in some situations?  I hope so, because she was being seen as being close to a mental breakdown or disorder.  In fact, it is only when she does begin falling off the edge--driven there by those who advised her no less--does she begin to question and go against what they tell her.  Of course, in her circumstance she cannot outright rebel, but she acts differently.  Do I need to go crazy for change to come about that I want?  Or, am I possibly already crazy for not allowing myself the chance to change?
     What it is coming down to is that I, too, am beginning to feel trapped by my surroundings in some way, trapped by my yellow wallpaper in a way.  After two decades and change of going along with what others have presented me, is it too late to alter the course?  Maybe the time has come for me to finally bite the bedpost, tear down the cursed paper, and creep about until I find something meaningful for me.  Nothing compromised.  Nothing fake.  I want to feel infinite in life.
     Perhaps Gilman's character wasn't so crazy.  She was right, at least, writing does help to ease the mind at times.  

I realize that it has been 2011 for a little more than 2 months already, so don't call me out on it.  Until now, it hadn't really sunk in all too well.  Yes, I was aware of the calendar change, but it took a while for the full implications of the year to manifest themselves for me.  I graduate in 9 months (hopefully), I will be student teaching, I may be getting a job in Jackson, I may not go back to Illinois, I am starting to think differently from how I always have, my thesis has officially been started (almost 3 pages in so far), I try to keep a notebook nearby to write random ideas or whims which come to mind (I do occasionally have to settle for my hand), the future freaks me out more than usual... crap, so much.  
     Life is changing almost daily in some fashion.  Just because it changes doesn't mean that I can't recognize my life from week to week, but it is enough to be noticeable over time.  As much as things may become nerve-racking for me, I am beginning to embrace change the more I acknowledge it.  By no means am I allowing myself to be blown across the ground with every slight breeze that passes, nor am I trying to fight against the hurricanes of change in life out of ignorant stubbornness.  Finally, I am embracing my curiosity in life.  If something interests me, I will look into it.  Maybe I will be judged for it by some, maybe I will be embraced by others for the same thing.  Am I to determine the opinions of others in relation to me? By no means, and I do not care to try to do so at all.  I realize some movies I have watched already would not be deemed "Union appropriate" by many, but most are beautiful and imaginative.  I refuse to give up such things just because it is rated "R" for language or that there are references to drugs.  Sooner or later, the bubble will pop and some will fall violently to their awakening in life.     
     In that train of thought, I shall depart for now.  Burrito Meal calls me.  Until then...