Midnight Worries

Another night that I can't sleep all of the way through. This time, I am pretty sure I was awakened by the sound of my glasses hitting the floor, and the initial grogginess I felt wore off after a few minutes of searching for them under the bed. The culprit, as if I didn't know immediately when I heard the report of the frames bouncing on the ground, was one of the four cats living in my room at the moment. You know, cats are great in small doses, but for extended periods of time, they become like pebbles in your shoe: an irritant.

As for the Court I attended the other day (mentioned in my previous post), although it was very interesting, ultimately, it was also very disappointing. I discovered halfway through this process, that thanks to the State Legislature, if one gets a fine within a school zone, it cannot be reduced by the judge at all, which of course meant that I had to pay the full amount of the ticket, $206. The judge noted my driving record was immaculate up until the school zone ticket, further noted that my violation wasn't all that extreme anyway, and expressed his own frustration at not being able to reduce fines for cases like mine. (However, I'm not entirely sure if he was really frustrated, or if he was just putting on the show for the others in the courtroom and saying that he was frustrated to make me feel better for not reducing the ticket.) Overall, I did worse than the elderly lady who forgot her disability permit to park in a disabled space--a potential high dollar fine of which she only had to pay $20--and I did much, much better than the Mexican guy who, because of previous fines and violations, is likely to spend some time in jail. I felt bad for him because he seemed very worried.

School is going okay at the moment, but to be perfectly honest, I think I am feeling the wear of the appearance of not making any progress. It is like the hope and optimism I had for a comfortable future is being ground into a fine powder against the twin rocks of debt and my previous failure to complete graduate school as I would have liked. At this point in my life, mid-thirties, I imagined that I would be in a decent paying career, have health insurance, a nice apartment, and have a healthy savings account. Of course, I am still grateful for the continuing support that I have to actually pursue a new school path, a place where I am trying to build new hope as an artist rather than an instructor. However, all I have to do is think about the talented art students in my current drawing classes and see the evidence of even more talented students who have already completed the program to feel a lot of trepidation about the future viability of this new path. My talent for art maybe nothing more than a mediocre skill easily attained by others who have more energy and devotion. And in the highly competitive art job market, competitive as all jobs in the humanities are, you have to really stand out above the rest. I think my best hope for a career most likely lies in the ability to learn how to operate software like Photoshop, and not in the ability to create a work of art with the lyricism of craft. And as fast as computers change these days, my meager skills with Photoshop can disappear with the advent a new software standard, or more profoundly, a new technology.

I think about all the kids who wanted to be in the NBA compared the minuscule amount of kids who actually made it. Hoop Dreams, anyone? Or, I think about all of the kids I've met in the college who want to become famous movie directors. Their hopes far exceed their potential, but they don't know it yet. The film students who have any kind of experience in film making, however modest it may be, tend to keep these hopes secret knowing what an embarrassment that their foolish hopes can be. In the Literature world, it is like everyone who wants to write a novel, imagining the millions of dollars that will flood in when they do, but never put a word to page, or worse, never read a book--or if they do manage to tap something out on their laptops, cannot make even a simple sentence bend to their will, much less come to life.

I will try to get back to sleep for a little bit. School is in a few short hours. I will continue to go and put my time in there as it is my best hope for a brighter future, and I will try to remain optimistic about future success. But in the dark night of the early morning hours, optimism is a much tougher thing to hold on to than it is in the daylight.

Sleeping on It

I woke up in the middle of the night (4:30a.m.) when the cat in my room knocked over an empty birdcage. The birdcage was okay but my heart took a few minutes to get started again, and then a few minutes after that to start beating normally. Night terrors are really no way to get up in the morning, but it turns out that they are pretty good for keeping you awake after the initial shock. I couldn’t get back to bed, so I made breakfast, took a shower, and drove into school.

The funny thing about the morning class today was that the instructor spent about half of it talking about how wordpress was a such great blogging system for posting your photos. Sure, blogging is great (I’ve done it for four years now), but I think that the instructor oversold it a bit. He seemed to indicate that blogging was a great way to get your personal photos noticed by the general public. Over these four years, I have seen the kinds of hits I get from “the public,” and unless I do something to appear in the papers (like win the lottery), it seems very unlikely that my blog is going to get noticed more than by a handful of people a week, and those people are usually looking for something else.

Tomorrow morning, I go to court. I’ve got a traffic citation ($200!) that I need to get resolved somehow. I am hoping that I can get it reduced significantly because $200 bucks is a lot of money for someone who hardly has any. I was told by a classmate who has gone through the process before that the most the judge can reduce the fine by is 1/3rd, so it is still going to hurt, but hopefully not as much. I’ve never done anything like this before, so it will be interesting to see what happens, but right now, I really need to get to sleep so I can wake up and arrive to court on time.

Drawing upon Thought

Yesterday, I went to the first figure drawing class I am taking this term. I was initially nervous because I had heard that this particular instructor is a little demanding; and also, I felt somewhat nervous because I had been out of practice for some time, the type of classical practice a college art class seems to require. However, towards the end of the class, the instructor wandered over to where I was drawing and commented that my drawing was actually very good, the sort of compliment which makes me slightly embarrassed. I nervously smiled, laughed, and then tried to point out the drawings flaws: the composition wasn't very balanced, the model moved so the back look out of proportion, etc. The instructor countered each one, partly for encouragement.

Compliments, it seems, are always harder for me to take because I am always ready to receive criticism, deserved or not. And of course, criticism is always seems easier to believe, easier for me to mentally support, even if I know it is not necessarily rational. Not rational, just how it is. When I was ten years younger or so, I once overheard someone talking about receiving compliments and that it was generally considered polite to simply say "thank you" and leave it at that, advice which I remembered and took at this occasion.

Despite my various personal insecurities, I am looking forward to this class. It is not very often that I have the time (or, admittedly, the discipline) to explore my art in this way, a not-uncommon problem among artists and fellow art students. Plus, I am hoping to gain a few insights from the instructor about the larger context of the art business and world to somehow become more of a self-starter. I look around at the paintings that hang in the various small-time coffee shops and small galleries and have the thought, perhaps naive, that I could do something similar once I learned the "secret," learned the right techniques, and got introduced to "the scene."

In a connected way, I have been having a lot of thoughts about getting my master's degree in English again, to work towards becoming a college instructor. It is the other area in my life where I seem to have some ability, and have received enough compliments from others, mostly instructors, to make me think that I have serious potential. However, enough major obstacles remain to where these thoughts are not entirely developed: for example, I can't afford much more debt, the competition for those jobs are fierce, and the idea of facing 30 or so people per class is a little daunting, even if the students are all mostly young and have their own worries.

Anyway, these are the types of thoughts I have at night, when I am alone and the thoughts pour in like cool soaking water. I went to bed too early tonight (technically yesterday) because I was tired, so I woke up in the middle of the night and began to write this post. But I can feel the fingers of exhaustion slowly curving around my back muscles and crawling up to my neck. It's time for bed again. When I wake up, I begin work on my scholarship application. It is due by 5:00 p.m. and I still have personal statement to write. I highly doubt that much will come of this application because I already have a undergraduate degree. It is even possible that having that degree will automatically disqualify me for consideration, but there is nothing in the application that says it will for sure and I certainly won't get anything if I don't apply. Time for bed.

Notes about Nothing

It's been quite awhile since I have last posted here. I think that part of the reason is that I'm not sure what to write about anymore because, I guess, that the usual amount of whining I do on here is beginning to wear on even me. How many posts can I write where I talk about my daily difficulties in getting things done, or my being behind in due dates, or whatever?

I could write about 80's television because I spent my childhood devoted to it. I could write about books I have read, music I've heard, or art that I am doing but, the sad fact of the matter is: I am a lump. There, I said it. I am a lump. I've been spending most of my off time playing World of Warcraft, to the point where I am currently a level 57 paladin. The only reason I don't really blog about that is because I am a big enough nerd already; I don't want to put any more nails in that coffin, even though it is a certainty that the nerd question is probably already dead and buried. So, that leaves me with nothing really interesting to say. I'm pretty sure that, at some point, I may be able to turn that around, but right now, things on the interesting front look pretty bleak.

Conditions on the Ground

This morning, I woke up to about three inches of snow on my car. On a normal Tuesday, this would not have been a problem as class starts in the afternoon. By the afternoon, the temperature rises, the snow melts, and the plows have had a chance to go by the house. However, I had an 10:00 a.m. appointment that, clearly, I was not going to make. I gave it the "old college try," by which I mean I attempted to drive on the snow anyway. A few harrowing and unplanned slides in to the opposite lane convinced me that while I was still only a few hundred feet away from the house I should turn back. Utter terror behind the wheel can give one a clarity of mind and decisiveness like nothing else.

The appointment that I missed, a meeting with the college career counselor, wasn't anything that was at the top of my list of things to do this day anyway. However, lately, (as if you couldn't tell from 90% of the other posts on this blog) I have been feeling some tension between my current career path as a graphic designer and my previous career path as a college writing/literature instructor. Even though I am not spending as much time reading Derrida, Lacan, or Barthes as I used to, I find that I still enjoy metaphor and analyzing creative works. (A recent trip to a major art gallery, and the corresponding paper that I had to write about it, helped me see that I am still talented in that regard. Instead of reporting on the mere anatomy of an artwork, doing tasks like identifying its overall color scheme or the describing the various kinds of colors that it used, I spent most of the time analyzing the theme and meaning of the work as a whole.) Anyway, I scheduled this appointment because I had got some advice that indicated seeing a career counselor would help me clarify these questions in some new way I can't yet foresee. I'll have to reschedule tomorrow or Thursday.

Once back inside the house, I settled in to wait things out. I spent most of the morning watching the snow pile up on the outside deck while painting on a school project. The lights went on and off about five times, which wasn't a problem as I was painting by the dining room window. It gave enough natural light to work by. Eventually though, enough snow had melted to where I was able to leave the house and get to school; and, fortunately, after a brief lunch break, I was able to make it to my class on time.

We spent the entirety of today's class learning how to retouch photos. It took quite some time to get through everything the instructor wanted to present. By the end of class, he had assigned a project in which you take an old, black and white photograph that had been ripped into pieces and clumsily glued back together and remove any evidence of rips or similar types of damage. I decided that it would be in my best interest to stay after class and do it right then, which I am glad to say, I finished. There was a lot more that I could catch up at school, but it was late, and I was hungry, so I left. I got home at about 7:00 p.m., which considering how I had worked all day, I felt was fairly long.

From everything I have heard, there is going to be even more snow tomorrow morning. And I've got a morning class then as well, so unlike today, I won't be able to wait around until conditions are more favorable. I am going to hope that it doesn't snow as much as they're saying, force myself into a determined sort of denial. It may only be foolish hope, but it is getting close to the end of the term, and I still have some work I need to catch up on. Less snow clogging up the roads mean more time spent buried in the computer lab working on homework. In any event, tomorrow brings what tomorrow will bring regardless of my wants and needs, so there's not too much use worrying about it. And right now, it's time for bed again.

Cities of the Past

Today, I made another one of my bi-weekly trips to my former college town. Enough said about why. Suffice it to say that, overall, I find I have been inexorably drifting towards a greater personal forgiveness for myself over the things that happened back then, and, gaining a clearer perspective, discovering the ability to go forward without the past unnecessarily holding me back. It seems so easy for me to escape into analysis of what went wrong back then or thoughts about what could have been done differently that I often neglect exerting the effort to simply move on. And while I do think it's good to visit the city of the past and entertain your previous mistakes in order to learn from them, at a certain point, you really do need to pack up your things and leave it behind.

During the later afternoon, I visited the University Bookstore there, the one I used to go to, and bought a 1GB compact flash card for a fifty dollar savings over what I had paid for my other one at the mall. I hadn't really planned on buying one, but I couldn't pass up a price like that. My initial reason for shopping there was to scope out the price and styles of drafting tables; the prices there have been the best I have seen anywhere for drafting tables. However, after much looking, I found that what I saw wasn't exactly what I had in mind. When I was in high school, I had a large, smooth door set up on cinder-blocks as a makeshift desk. And even though such a setup is extraordinarily cheap, something much more likely to appear in dank dorm rooms or depressing bachelor apartments, I must have really enjoyed the space it offered and its low relative height from the floor because I kept thinking how a long door on blocks would probably work way better than anything I could buy. But all of this may be moot since: a) I don't have room for either a long door or a drafting table, and b) I am not sure if having either one would improve my art at all, the only reason to get one.

After looking at the tables, I unconsciously meandered over towards the desktop Mac computers for sale. From everything I have heard, it seems that if I am going to be a serious freelance designer, a mac computer is practically a necessity. The cost of the iMac I found most appealing is a little over a thousand dollars. Add the price of the student version of Adobe Creative Suite to that and you have an overall investment of about two thousand dollars, nearly the same amount I used to get from previous financial aid checks in order to pay rent and buy groceries for three months. Yes, it is quite a lot of money relatively speaking. But, I can also save for it a little at a time I suppose, an idea that goes back to the idea of exerting effort rather than dwelling on obstacles.

In any event, after all the shopping and looking, I drove back to the college in which I am currently enrolled and worked in the Mac lab trying to complete a couple of assignments from the past week. Getting there was a pleasant enough drive in cloudy weather, and the picture above is from the parking lot of the taco bell where I had lunch. As for work in the lab, I may need to go back tomorrow and finish what I started. If all goes well, I am really going to try and post something on my comic blog soon too, maybe on Sunday. It will be interesting to see how the scanner works after a couple of months of neglect. I think it will be fine, but you can never tell with technology, right?

Struggles with Humility

Last night, I dreamt that I was back in my previous college town. I was talking to the last professor I had in graduate school explaining--in detail--the reason why I left and why I had not done well. It was a humbling experience, a little sad too, to recount the litany of failure I felt I had accumulated there, but it was also somewhat cathartic to know that the professor understood on a whole new level than before. (In real life, I had felt she was a bit mean and stubbornly obtuse. To my view, she seemed personally offended I was having problems keeping up, as other professors had not.) The reasons why my performance had been so poor, as I explained it, were not because I did not take the class seriously or was somehow not intelligent enough to do the work. No. Instead, it was an overwhelming amount of personal problems that were constantly pulling me under an invisible tide, one that nearly drowned me. She appeared sympathetic. On her own accord, she looked on the computer to see if I was somehow still "in the system," but perhaps under a slightly different name; maybe there was a paper that she could return to me. She found a name on an e-mail list that might have been a bureaucratic fouled-up version of my own last name resembling something like "shakey." Then, she called over to the Student Association across campus and asked if they could check for any of my unreturned papers. I left her office for the student building where my office used to be. I found my old office on the fourth floor, smaller than before, but more closely packed with current graduate students. Each was asking about where I had gone. They managed to find a couple of my papers, which had been placed in plastic sleeves, and gave them to me. I returned to the lobby before leaving without any fanfare.

I think the dream accurately portrays my struggles lately in trying to place the graduate school experience in perspective. I suppose I am not entirely happy with how things stand. And the classic old behavior, a habit that reflects on my desires for acceptance--the damned need to explain myself--is still deeply felt. I think there is a fair amount of nostalgia in there as well, as my current motivation to excel in the school I am currently enrolled has been significantly dampened. While I'd like to excel in my current classes, the feeling of having done all of this once before prevents me from putting in that extra effort to impress instructors. To have reached graduate school as an English scholar, only to start over again as a freshman Graphic Design student can be a little surreal. Every once in a while, I see the students struggling with what I struggled with, and then overcame, years ago.

In my current art class, I have a paper to write. The last paper I wrote for one of my art classes, I wrote in the twenty minutes before class in one straight sitting: with hardly any revision, absolutely no planning, and a not really a careful analysis of the subject. I got an A-plus with the instructor commenting that he would have liked to have heard more of my interesting analysis of the art I was critiquing. Most instructors grade papers the same way, which more often than not is partly based on their biases about writing (which are often wrong) and an off-hand general opinion of the student and not the paper. Despite the effort I put into the work for this art class, I do not usually get anything more than a B." I have a strong suspicion that no matter how well I may do on the paper, I am going to be stuck with a "B." Not really a big deal in the grand scheme of things, but also not an accurate assessment in my opinion. And, if I were more like my fellow design freshman, I would be happy with a "B." But, in a manner of speaking, I have seen behind the curtain: I've graded numerous freshman papers, took several classes on teaching and pedagogy, and even taught a few college classes myself. It makes accepting these types of circumstances just a bit more difficult.

This morning, the challenge will be to write the paper anyway and catch up on all of my other assignments as best I can. I've been feeling tired much of the time as of late, and that makes putting in the effort just that much harder. I see a nap in my future.

Thoughts about the Future

Tonight, I made a few minor clothing purchases at Walmart, which I suppose is the same as admitting defeat in the fashion world. Nothing big, just a blue t-shirt, a black sweater-shirt, and a belt. The shopping trip was a whim really, as I hadn't planned on making any purchases. I have nearly no money, and I haven't been working as much as I should be, so paychecks are minuscule. But, as my clothing is beginning to wear out a little, I figured that I would check for some bargains.

But aside from that, on my evening drive home from school today, I was thinking about how the way things stand in my life currently isn't exactly what I would have chosen for myself. For one thing, I am not sure I have sorted out what I want to do for a career, and as a mid-thirty-year-old, time is always getting shorter. Occasionally, I see professional people on television, like business-people, firemen, or teachers and I notice that not a few of them are my age. There was a time not too long ago when that wasn't the case. And conversely, there are not many people my age left in college anymore; they have already passed through, and in some cases, more than ten years ago. It can be an odd feeling sometimes, a feeling that tends to crop up in the quieter moments during classes. While everyone is busy taking notes or listening to the instructor, I'll look up--not at the teacher, but at the other students--and think things like, "what am I still doing here; am I learning things that will help me get where I want to be; couldn't I find a decent paying job with the things I know already?" Depending on mood, the answers for these questions change with fluctuating subtleties. The last question about getting a job with what I know already often feels like defeat, a way of giving up.

But, I wasn't just mulling over my life as it pertains to career. There were thoughts about my personal life as well, with the main problem being not having many people in life to whom I can relate. Because I'm an easy-going guy, laid-back, with a strong tendency to believe in fate, I don't do much other than feel out of sorts about my condition. And, the feeling can seep slowly into my consciousness like cold water after days where the only people I talk to are my parents, and not even them for very long.

Of course, I didn't come up with any solutions to these problems, but I did think it would help to write out a list of goals and ways I think I could get there. I hate the idea of writing things out because it sounds too much like something from a self-help book, or the detestable prophets of motivation and improvement that infest television. But, I do believe in writing as a way to think, and I tend to be a visual person, so a list is what I have resorted to. I used to think that my main problem was that I simply wasn't self-disciplined enough to get whatever I wanted done, but maybe the problem is also that I am just not sure where or what I really want to do. For example, do I sign up for more student loans and make a second attempt at graduate school and an eventual academic career, or do I continue to try for a new career in graphic design or illustration? I can come up with strong arguments for and against both. It is true that I have talents for both, but I have a lot more training for the academic life. I will not get, and it is unlikely I will ever get, as much education in graphic design as, say, an individual who has gone to Art School for four years and has a Fine Arts degree. Then again, my instructor, a professional designer has a degree in Chemistry, and he says that the chances for a designer with an associates degree in design has a fair chance to get a good job as long as you have a strong portfolio.

I am not sure what I will actually do about any of this, and there is a lot more that has been going on internally than I could ever express. I gave up thinking about it in the car when I reached Walmart. Still, I know I must do something, and I am very sure I will continue to think about these subjects for a long time to come.

Tuesday Transitions

I managed to exercise today for about a half hour, but then I wrecked any minuscule benefit by having a fast food dinner. I thought about going somewhere that serves real vegetables instead of something fried, but I couldn't justify spending 10 dollars or more on a meal that would only be marginally better. Overall, I think that I am making some small changes in the right directions, but I've got a ways to go. Plainly stated, I am sick of hamburgers.

I spent most of the early evening in the MAC lab at school finishing up some homework that is due on Thursday. Using Adobe's Photoshop and Indesign, I laid out nine photos of vases that we took the week before. I then printed it out on the fancy professional printer that probably costs a couple of thousand dollars. Hardly anything when you think about the print industry as a whole, but way, way, way more than I could afford.

I have to say that my photography is getting a little better. I've discovered that I have a shutter finger made of heavy marble, so when I click the shutter button, I jostle the camera just a little bit which, of course, makes the image blurry. That, and the fact that I couldn't get the internal sensors to focus on the part of the vase I wanted, made today's assignment really hard. We were also supposed to adjust the images using "levels" to approximate with the camera what we actually saw with our eyes. You can't imagine how fussy a process that is; and, the patience I had for overcoming teeny changes in tones in the original photographs that were slightly out of focus to begin with drained away quickly. Still, I know my way around the camera a lot better than I did three weeks ago.

By the way, the picture above is not one of the recent ones from class. I really haven't had much time to play around with the scanner or any other digital imaging programs on my laptop. Maybe I can do something on one of these weekends, but right now I feel a little drained of creative energy. My confidence in my artistic capabilities is waning somewhat.

Registering for Classes

There are about 40 people trying to get into a photography class in which there is only room for 20 students. And, I am one of the unlucky half that is not registered. The instructor spent most of this first class assuring everyone that if forty people truly want to take the class, he will be able to open up a second section. Then, he went on to explain how everyone will need to buy a new camera that will cost upwards of 300 dollars, or for the students enrolled in the visual communications program: 600 dollars. He further delineated all the tick-tacky accessories that one will need in addition to all of that. I could tell a wave of uneasiness swept through my fellow students. The consequence of his lecture on costs mean that several students will drop out, so there isn't likely to be a second class after all. And that may mean that despite the pleasant talk of everyone being able to get into the class, everyone probably won't. Personally, I think my chances of being able to get in are pretty good because I spoke with the instructor back in the beginning of December, but I won't know for sure until next week.

Once I got on campus today, which was about noon, I was expecting to stay well into the evening. The computer lab is normally open until 9:00 p.m., and I had some computer homework I needed to finish on one of the Macs. After all, even though I have been lucky in being able to afford most of these school expenses, I am still not rich enough to afford the $1500 it would take to buy an adequate Mac and the necessary software. I can get by using the computers at school. Or so I thought. After a dinner off campus, I was surprised to discover that the computer lab was closed because the work-study student who runs the labs in the evening did not show up. Disappointed, I waited around for a bit before accepting the fact that my homework is going to be late tomorrow.

It worked out in the end because, once I was home, I spent the rest of the evening cleaning out my room. Too many books, a messy cat, and a few piles of dirty clothes were starting to take over, and it was getting rather difficult to maneuver without stepping on something. The biggest accomplishment of the day, however, was not cleaning things up, but the fact that I called in a refill for my medication. It's not good to run out of the stuff because one can build up a resistance to it, or even become immune to it (so I have been told), and if that happens, it does me no good.

I also spent part of the day thinking about life back in the apartment and city back where (and when) I was attending graduate school. These beginning design courses can be so mind numbingly boring sometimes because concepts that are easily grasped are bluntly and repetitively hammered home, apparently in order to ensure that the beginning college students get it. Nothing like the free form discussions of theory in the small graduate courses I attended just a year and half ago. Yes, those classes were pretentious sometimes, and yes, some of the graduate students could be completely clueless or slightly snobbish, but the information was always interesting and challenging, and above all--the assignments were more self-directed which is something I enjoyed. That is: when I had the ability to do those assignments. My mood has been a little low lately, but I have to remember the days when it was struggle to get out of bed.

Clearing of Vision

The cord on my power supply for my laptop is internally weak, so I have to adjust the cord "just so" in order for the computer to get power. It takes a delicate hand, much like balancing a quarter on its edge. The battery I use for it is the original, at least over three years old, which means that it doesn't hold charge for very long. It is not anything that is terribly bothersome, only disappointing in that I may have to purchase yet another power supply, a power supply that will be the fourth one for this computer. Money used to come more easily, but now it seems harder to hold on to than normal.

On Monday, school begins again. I've signed up for three classes, one of which is digital photography. I'm looking forward to that class because I would like my photographs to be more artistic, more compositionally sound--if that makes sense. My mood has been somewhat below normal in that I am still grappling with the consequences of losing the previous graduate school opportunity, fighting to remember to take my pills on a regular schedule. The solution to the second part of that problem is to program my cell phone alarm to go off every day at the same time, a reminder to take my medicine.

The solution to the first part of that problem--my low mood--is quite a bit harder to resolve because everything I think about, every consideration I have, even the solutions to my mood problem, has an extra film of negativity on it, a cold and sticky layer that effortlessly coats my thoughts. Sometimes that film is slight, and sometimes heavy. And, honestly, I see it and counter it every time I can. But it all takes added effort, an extra step that is hard to take. And it must be nearly impossible for anyone to understand how sticky and cold this mood can be unless they themselves have felt it for some time and become comfortable with its presence.

In college, I often studied people and the culture of the nineteenth century, and just as often, one would read about the lives of notable people during that period--how they failed to achieve something important to them and could never come back to that, how that failure became a central part of their lives even as they lived beyond that moment of failure and established new lives afterwards. Those lives lived after failure, to some degree, have a feeling of superfluousness to them. In a sense, they are second lives, additional lives that exist side by side to the life before.

I think about these people often and compare myself to them. The classic story is about the unhappy child of an educated, well-to-do family that, try as he might, can never become the lawyer or doctor he aspires to be. Of course, the individuals one reads about manages through their special genius to succeed in other ways. They are extraordinary, so their lives are deemed worthy enough to be written down and preserved. But for every one extraordinary person who succeeds, there must be an army of the ordinary, the merely mediocre, who don't, or can achieve what they aspire to be. And these lives are not written down. They fade in history and evaporate.

I worry that I won't meet the demands of my ambitions: the ability to pay my debts, to comfortably earn a living or collect a savings ample enough to provide for friends and family, that I won't ever feel completely self-possessed, secure, and moderately happy. Perhaps these things are too much to ask for, a little too selfish or even the wrong thing altogether. But then again, perhaps not. Honestly, I don't really know, so I spend a lot of time thinking about it, going back and forth until I am tired out from my own internal questioning and just want to lose myself in a mindless television program or a handful of junk food. Tonight, that program is Star Trek. I'll be going to bed as soon as it's over, which is in about fifteen minutes.

My plans for the future seem somewhat simple: practice my art as best I can on a regular basis, try to do my best in school and finish as quickly as I can, develop better self-discipline which includes eating better foods and exercising regularly, and live life a day at time until I can develop a complicated new plan for the future that is not so deeply rooted in the previous plan of graduate school.

Days of Change

Taking an inventory of my trajectory through life, it would be accurate to say that where I am right now is precisely not what I thought I might be doing at this point. I feel like a messy closet overfilled with out-of-date clothing with a tumble of brown shoes spilling out the bottom. As an earnest and naive youth, I had been planning a little arc through the changes that I was working for and expected to occur. Really, "planned" conveys something too deliberate--it was more of my actively "supposing" where I might be because I also pessimistically and unconscious believed in fate, a type of monolithic stone golem. I accepted it as a reality, but I also tried to ally myself to it in order to lull it into going my way.

But I am not sure if pure randomness, my own mistakes, or a combination of several things, but something happened, and something did happen, to where what I thought and what occurred became like alienated lovers, intense longing between the two that cannot be realized with simple companionship. And the stupidity of this process, this living with what you want but can't have, is something that I know happens to nearly everyone. You can be warned again and again everyone goes through this process, but until it happens you can't really believe it, not really. It's an evolutionary denial rooted in the soil of self.

So, in the larger sense of "right now," I would be comleting my PhD thesis and in my third year of teaching freshman composition, if things had gone my way. I can even picture the afternoon classroom filled with nervous students, roughly half eager to learn the material, the other half already bored. In the larger building across campus is an office desk filled with drab books, "texts" in this official world of theory, books maybe only twenty people have ever read. In ratty folder or notebook are loose-leaf papers filled with half written research paragraphs filled with awkward sentences auditioning for the final work. On this detached and unreal stage of academia, I would be actively perfecting the role of professor. And, as pretentious and arrogant as that world can be, as shaped by cultural expectations as much as actual job requirements, I miss it.

Instead, I have nearly no money and am trying build up my life to a place where I can hang a wholly new, but similarly complex, set of expectations of a future life actively supposed. I am blessed to have a family and a support system left to help me start over as I know many don't. In a parallel universe, with the same circumstances but the absence of family, I would be living on the street, or a tent in the woods, perhaps near the edges of an urban shelter. And I am learning how to be healthier, a difficult process of trying build a meager but actively practiced wisdom. But it is a difficult process, a process that I hope will put me back on the rails of a stable life that is a bit more protected from the random chances and my own mistakes.

Pointless Ads with Silver Linings

It looks like some kind of jerk is putting comment spam in my blog. I hate that. And of course, they have hidden the spam in one of the posts made during the past three years, so in order to delete it, I need to sort through all my previous posts to find it first. Thank goodness I have my blog set to e-mail me with any comments people make, otherwise I would have never known about it. I just wish the e-mail would have had an indication which post received the spam so I could delete it. Maybe, I will try to moderate comments from here on out, but I would hate to do that because I don't want to make it any more difficult for people to comment anonymously. I don't mind anonymity; I don't mind negative comments; I do mind pointless advertising, which to my way of thinking, is much like vandalism.

The silver lining of searching through my blog posts to find repugnant spam is re-discovering how interesting and creative some of my previous posts are. Much of what I have written I had forgotten about. I found that I used to include many more hyperlinks than I do now: I may return to that again. I also used to set off blocks of quoted text to illustrate things that I was talking about. If I am going to do more of that, I am going to need to review some basic HTML tags. Like the blockquote tag, duh!

But most intriguing to me is noticing how my writing voice may have changed. Obviously, when I was in graduate school reading article after article, book after book, a more creative and advanced writing style was easier to create. That sort of voice came naturally. Now, nearly a year after things really began to fall apart in grad school, my blog has drifted into a more bland direction, mostly as a result of my personal problems and corresponding loss of motivation. The bloom is off the rose.

But maybe this just means that my blog, as a little writing project, has matured into something else, something that it was going to be anyway. I could improve it by writing more often and practicing more. Although my life has been significantly changing direction too, so it would make sense that my blog would change as well. One thing that is worth noting is that I started this blog while in college full-time, and for the most part, that has changed. Technically, I am still in college, but it is not like it was; it never can be.

Checking In Again

The end of school is fast approaching for the year. Finals are on Monday, and I think I am going to do very well and get A's in all my courses. Unlike the graduate school fiasco, I am getting the work done. Of course, the work is intellectually less challenging, and I find that is something that I miss (but just a little). And what the work lacks in the intellectual challenge, it makes up with it's demands on creativity. Once I really get my feel around the software programs--Photoshop, InDesign, Illustrator--I think I will really be able to do something striking.

Getting work done outside of school has been a bit more of a challenge, but I am doing my best. Of course, I haven't really been able to do anything with my comic. Not only is it hard to figure out what to do next with the story-lines, finding the time and the motivation to do it, even a bad one that wouldn't require much effort, has been waning. But, part of me still wants to keep going with it, so I will.

In many ways, I feel (on a personal life assessment level) like I am back where I was when I first embarked on the whole college path ten years ago. My life is about the same, and it is hard to tell if I am making any progress with it. Yes, it is true I have learned many important life lessons. And yes, I have had some experiences that some people in this world never will have. Still, there is an emptiness of everyday life that grinds with a whisper on the edges of my consciousness. I am not sure it will help, but I am going to try and discipline myself to achieve some goals: eating better, exercising regularly, balancing work, school, and relaxing in healthy amounts. The improvement in health should assist with mood.

Grueling

Today was a rather grueling day. I spent about ten hours at school working on projects and assignments. I am still not done with them, but I managed to finish at least three and start on a fourth. I pretty much stayed in the computer lab until they closed it at 9:00 p.m.

The biggest challenge of the day was trying to reproduce a Rolex ad from a high-end magazine; this assignment involved my photographing a watch, adjusting it in photoshop, laying out all the graphic elements, choosing the right type to get it to match EXACTLY, and laying out the text correctly. I never knew that adjusting all of the various minutiae of type was so onerous, but it overwhelmingly is. Even though the only physical exertion invloved moving a computer mouse around, I felt like I had been pulled through a knothole backwards when I was done. People who enjoy this kind of adjustment of type are odd people indeed.

I took an hour dinner break around 5:00 p.m. I figured I could best relax browsing books at Borders. I couldn't afford to buy anything, even a measly cup of coffee, but I did enjoy looking. I'd rather buy used books anyway seeing as how all the worthwhile books can be had for much, much cheaper elsewhere. Speaking of worthwhile books, I did see a book of contemporary poetry that I thought I would enjoy. And as I was in the poetry section, I looked through a couple of Emily Dickinson poems. Her portrait on one of the bookcovers was striking because of her extreme skinniness and slightly odd appearance. However, as I was standing there reading, I was struck how most successful poets seem to be reaching for something beyond themselves and more substantial than the various superficial masks that their contemporary culture can offer them. I also briefly read a few poems by Lorca, Neruda, and Elizabeth Bishop.

The drive back home was uneventful. A few bites of some leftover Chinese food and a couple of mindless television programs capped off the day. Now, it is time for bed. I'm not going to work quite as hard tomorrow, but I still have a lot on my proverbial plate.

Checking in Again

It is an hour past midnight, and I should be asleep already, but I felt I needed to post something. It looks like I am averaging about two or three posts a months, and in that regard, it looks like I am a little behind for the month of November. There hasn't been much of note lately that is worth a blog entry, but maybe that's a good thing seeing as the last few posts have been me focusing on what has been lost. The lack of things to talk about might force a little creativity.

I suppose I could mention some of the things that I have been working on lately. For example, in school, I am developing my skills in Adobe Illustrator, especially how to use the pen tool. The instructor says that the pen tool is the most powerful tool in the program and that he never uses the pencil tool. It's admittedly tricky to figure out, but I think I am getting the hang of it. Of course, this has necessitated my spending more and more time in the computer lab. Tonight, there was a bit of wind and rain storm (minor one), and the lights were off in half of the town. This meant that some of the street lights were also off. It made for slow going when I was driving home. It's always odd to see familiar places which are normally lighted in total darkness.

Frankly, that's most of what has been the focus of my attention for the last three weeks: doing well at school. One thing today that has consumed some thought is the dream I had the night before. I was searching through a series of elaborately furnished rooms for Emily Dickinson. Even when it had been pointed out to me by some faceless presence that she had been dead for a very long time, I continued to look for her ignoring the obvious. The fact that she had been dead made it seem more important that I find her. And, I actually did find her. I turned around and she was just there. She didn't say anything, but as I felt so relieved at finding her, I gave her a hug. I know dreams usually have some kind of an emotional logic, an unconscious reason of sorts, but this one has me completely stumped. It was something I occasionally thought about in between classes, eating lunch, or while driving home.

In any event, I will try to post something a bit more frequently than twice a month. That is still my goal. Whether or not I manage to achieve that goal is another thing entirely, but it is a goal nonetheless. Until then.

Consequences of Grad School

I've been doing a lot of thinking about my life in graduate school, especially as it seems that several months after having left I have returned to square one, square one in this case being community college. In fact, this happens to be the very same community college where I began my crawl upwards out of the dreary clutches of a medieval-like factory job that threatened squeeze the spirit and vitality out of my life and my outlook on it. However, as grateful as I am for that first community college experience ten years ago, I am almost equally ambivalent about my current one. Really, I think I want to predict the future. I would like nothing more than the ability to know, for a certainty, that the work I am putting in now at school will have some kind of payoff. The graduate school payoff I was looking for didn't happen, and I am still struggling emotionally with the consequences of it.

Throughout my life, I have had a tendency to be depressed. I could try to hide it, but everyone in my life already knows about it. Especially during some tumultuous teenage years, I was apt to take to bed and try to sleep away most of my problems. Mostly overcoming that to a degree once the pressures of high school eased, I was relatively unafflicted by extreme emotional lows for a few years. I had a job and was able to put myself through college, eventually earning an undergraduate degree. But, the depression returned with a vengeance during graduate school (some of the reasons for that are still a bit unclear, and some of the others are known but will remain unspoken). In any event, the returning depression made it difficult to keep up with my work. I could attend classes, keep up with discussions, and even read all of abstruse--and sometimes boring--materials, but when it came to writing papers, two things were happening.

First, I was telling myself (with outside encouragement from various professors) that every paper had to be absolutely perfect. My goal was to write near-genius essays of remarkable criticism that would exceed everyone's expectations and have the potential to be published in top academic journals. Well, okay, maybe just the mid-level ones. Anyway, it was not entirely unreasonable to have this thought as the professors would occasionally remark how this or that past graduate student managed to do just that. Unfortunately, in my mind, I built up the task of writing papers to such a monolithic impossibility that no-one, not even the professors, could possibly do it in the time allotted. Ten weeks to write perfection? I think not.

Second, my emotional resources were simply drained all away. On the worst days, I would spend hours, maybe even half a day, marshalling the courage to get out of bed and go to class. It was a chore to eat a simple dinner every day, let alone spend hours in the library doing research. Why? Partially, it was because I was afraid of what my professors thought, what I would say to them, or how I would simultaneously work with other graduate students to get what I needed, but excel far beyond them in what I imagined to be the constant evaluating eyes of the professors. On my best days, I would simply worry about how I was going to get the mounting backlog of work done. I could even allow myself a slight, if naive, optimism.

During the last couple of months, I was starting to come out of the darker corners of depression. I was getting better--and I felt I was actually making real progress in my academic life, not merely wishing that I was making progress and somehow convincing myself of it--but by then it was too late. The damage was done. It was hurtful to leave; and as I was in denial about leaving, the hurt was extended for longer than it probably would have been otherwise. The meetings I attended that last week of school were sad for a number of reasons.

The weeks between the end of my graduate school career and my eventual move out of student housing and that town altogether were unusual and a bit surreal. Relieved I didn't have to worry about overdue schoolwork, I really hadn't considered all of the harsh consequences of leaving. Academically, I had been trained to think theoretically about things that didn't seem all that close to me. Perhaps this theoretically way of thinking was why I was able to develop a plan B: a return my old community college to begin a new direction in a new field.

As depression is an illness, albeit a mental one, it is sometimes compared to other illnesses. Depression is supposedly a problem with a brain chemical imbalance. Therefore, since depression has a physical cause, why should it be considered different from other types of illnesses that also physical causes like cancer. They say that--bottom line--I had gotten an illness, the consequences of which meant I couldn't finish grad school. However, sometimes, when I consider how much things have changed in the last few months, it still feels like a personal failure.

This Way or That

Two weeks into the graphic design program and I am still not sure if this program is the right fit for me or not. It's true that I am learning some skills about how to use certain design programs and getting information about the business in general. However, there is a lot of information that I don't really need. For example, today in class we spent twenty minutes talking about how to make our *two* page research paper conform to MLA format. Good Lord. Aside from the fact that I could teach an entire class about MLA format, I can't remember when I EVER wrote a two page research paper. The study skills counselor also visited our class and talked about study strategies to be a successful student. I listened attentively and was polite and patient, but I felt very bored and just a little insulted. Money is the major obstacle here. If I had lottery winnings to spend, or more intestinal fortitude to endure the existence of a few thousand dollars more debt, I would try to enroll in a graduate level art program. But, the affordability of my current classes outweighs all the minor been-there-done-that-a-thousand-times issues I face.

And then, I think about my English Degree and the graduate courses I took. Aside from the personal problems I struggled with during graduate school, I excelled at all those English type things: analyzing texts, writing research papers, and reading and researching abstruse journal topics. Am I giving all that up to start over again in a new direction? Is there a way to use and combine my graphic design aspirations with my previous English training? Or should I give up trying to get all of these degrees, stop spending the money, and figure out a way to earn money with an English degree. I suppose I could try some kind of writing career (likely freelance), but I'm not sure I could really pull it off. Bottom line: I am a little confused about where I am headed or where I should go.

Today, I broke my glasses. They were getting weak at the bridge and finally snapped this morning. I took them to the local jewelry shop to get it soldered, and then to the eye clinic to get the nylon strand that holds the lenses in the frame repaired. I spent fifteen bucks for the soldering job which is no big deal. However, since I haven't seen the optometrist for several years, it seemed reasonable and convenient to make an appointment to have my eyes examined. Of course, that will cost me $106, and since my last paycheck was about $200, I'm beginning to feel a few sharp shooting pains in my wallet. I knew I would be poor when I got out of graduate school, but I didn't realize I would be this poor.

Anyway, I am trying to maintain my equanimity about the whole career and life situation. I'm not spending as much time as I used to being depressed about where my life was headed. For example, a few months ago, a thing like my glasses breaking would have been the catalyst for my having a more upsetting day than I actually had. I suppose you could call that progress, even though nothing has really been resolved in any major way. I'm sure I will come to some conclusion eventually. At least I hope so.

Stalled Engine

So tomorrow is the first day of the new career training whatever. I'm still not entirely sure what to call it, what name to give it when I describe it to myself. Regarding my general life transition, of which this school thing is just a part, I discover I alternate between moments of a sort of muted malaise about the whole deal to moments of feeling adrift at sea. Emotionally, I feel like one of those cold rainless but cloudy days where everything is tinged with grey. I feel like I should somehow be doing something that yields more fertile results, accomplishes something I can look back on with satisfaction. Which is not at all to say that I have been unproductive. I've actually done some important things at work. I've even been reading a couple of novels at home, Graham Greene's The Quiet American for one. But, for the most part, life feels like it has stalled.

Perhaps this school thing will start the engine again. Today, I worked the Sunday shift down at the shop and continued on my assigned writing project. I've been researching the concept of business models and how to implement or refine them. After work, I wound up helping my dad hang some new shelves for the garage area. The longest part of that particular job is figuring out how to get the stinking doors to hang perfectly, and believe me, unless you have tried to do it yourself, you can't imagine how hard that actually is. While we were steadily working on those doors, four deer stepped out of the darkness, walked through the driveway, and stepped back into it again. It was sort of neat to see. The crazy cat, who I'm going to call "Bonkers" for the time being, decided that she would attempt to chase them. The functioning half of her brain apparently decided against a chase once she saw how large the deer were. That's it for now. Time to get to bed at a somewhat decent hour in order to be prepared for tomorrow.

A Character from a Thomas Mann Novel

Today, I managed to get up earlier than usual, so after making myself breakfast and taking a shower, I was able to feel like I was "up" for the day. There is a kind of lethargy that overtakes me after I eat breakfast: definitely a bad habit that I need to break. I resisted the urge to go back to bed.

The major accomplishment of today was getting ready for the new round of classes on Monday. This is going to be a career change, somewhat unwanted, that has all of the attendant fears and regrets that go along with an unwanted career change.

Let me explain a little bit. Last night, I watched a long PBS documentary about Andy Warhol. I liked it, but I really got involved with the description of Valerie Solanas' near fatal shooting of Andy shortly after his Silver Factory days (1968). I had watched the movie I Shot Andy Warhol on television awhile ago, and consequently I was sort of interested in the whole shooting episode, looking forward to a more documentary and less narrativizing approach. (The movie was good on its own terms, but I don't think it really portrayed the extent of Solanas' mental illness.) In any event, the documentary made a point to note how even though Warhol's near death had a brutal and devastating impact on him, he pressed forward with his art anyway. It appeared to be the only thing that he could do. To me, it seemed he had a simple choice after surviving the gunshot wounds: to either accept death and die quietly at home or to go forward and live life the only way he knew how. My circumstances are nowhere near as dramatic, but I have definitely felt a tremendous emotional impact (read: grief) over my late problems. But, the lesson here is that even in the worst moments of life, there is only really one choice: to let life's setbacks smash you in the face and stop you cold or to continue to move forward as best you can. Dogged determination to take tentative steps forward and another and then another even though you feel you're steadily losing ground. I am taking these kind of steps forward, even though I would prefer the impossible: to somehow go back in time and fix my earlier problems and lessen their impact. (Actually, as time does go forward, I am feeling less intense regret about the loss of my previous career path and more mild sadness. Thoughts of time travel occur with much less frequency.)

So, I went to campus to made the usual pre-class rituals--buy books, pay for classes, pay for the parking permit, etc. After several years of school, I'm no longer anxious about the first day like I used to be. In fact, standing in all of the usual lines which go with the college experience, I'm beginning to feel somewhat old. A few years ago, I could pretend I was just an old pro in the student world, but now I'm starting to feel vaguely ridiculous. Most of the other "students" are now nearly half my age. Despite this, I am hoping to do well in the upcoming term. I have a perfectionist streak and a bucket full of good intentions that sometimes make it difficult to not crack under pressure. The grand total of these college expenses are approximately $625, all of which is now on my new credit card. Monday is the first day. The first day of which I hope is the start of a new career path.

Frustrations

There is something magically compelling about the keyboard of my laptop to the cat. For some reason, despite the several square feet of sitting and sleeping space that abounds around her, she really only wants to sit on the few square inches of my fragile keyboard. Perhaps there is something about the static electricity in her fur that aligns her with expensive electronics, or maybe she just harbors a grudge against me and amuses herself by this petulant behavior. She sees my reaching to move her away from the computer as an invitation to play. Consequently, my right hand has more than a few scratches and bites. I suppose I should see this as some kind of subtle hint to spend less time on the computer as I tend to waste a lot of my time with it.

Aside from the somewhat comical struggles I've had with the cat, I've been having more serious frustrations on a number of fronts lately. I'm not entirely sure if I've followed the roots of all these frustrations to their ultimate source, but if I had to guess, I think they stem from my transition from my previous career path as an English scholar to a new and more uncertain one as a Graphic Artist. As crazy as it may sound to some, I really enjoyed reading obscure novels and abstruse literary theory, writing long papers, and generally thinking critically about those aforesaid things. Most of my personal relationships have suffered because I can't keep control of these frustrations all of the time, or because I can't express them as eloquently as I would like.

Today, I spent most of my time in bed researching for some projects at work. I couldn't motivate myself to take a shower or go into town. I've had a few headaches and been a little more fatigued than usual, both of which could be a result of my forgetting to take my medicine on a regular schedule. Tomorrow (well, technically today after a night's sleep), I am going to be in my previous college town for most of the day. I am not 100% sure what I am going to do, but I will probably take some time to look around maybe even see a movie.

Yesterday, I drove into the capitol and I picked up my portfolio from the Visual Communications department. For some unsupported reason, I was expecting to receive feedback about my portfolio submissions, at least some indication of where my strengths/weaknesses were, but there was nothing. I'm not too disappointed, especially the director of the program indicated she would be out of town for awhile during the overview session I attended last month. I logged into the registration website and signed up for a couple of classes today. In a couple more weeks, I should have a report about what they are like and what I expect to get out of them. I am looking forward to learning about the vector illustration software they use. I hope this will be challenging enough to be worth the money and time investment.

In any event, on the personal level, I am going to start seriously working on how to keep my frustrations in order so they don't overwhelm me. (By the way, it should be said that these frustrations aren't the daily minor ones that everyone faces every day, but major ones that grow out of life's regrets and failings.) I used to ignore these kinds of bothersome things by saying to myself that whatever was irritating me didn't really matter all that much in the long run, or that my frustration was somehow a personal failure to interact properly with the person who was involved in the bad emotion. And maybe there still is some use to this type of coping as long as it doesn't develop into full blown denial. But really, I think I need to figure out how to accept these frustrations and move on without causing some kind of havoc in my life and the lives of those around me. I've (inadvertently) caused enough havoc today.

The Literary Feline

Fountain

Today was not one of my better days. I've forgotten to take some of my medication this past week, so that explains some of the reason why I've been under the weather. On the plus side, the word finally came down that I got into the program to which I was applying. Now, all I need to do is come up with just a few hundred dollars and I will be a student again, albeit at decidedly lower stakes than before. I am really hoping to pick up some career skills that will help me climb out of the black hole of debt I am currently in. Nothing like the prospect of being compressed into an impoverished singularity to motivate one to earn money.

By now, most people know that I unofficially have a cat. It has a balance problem due to a brain defect. According to the vet, to which she was taken a few weeks ago, the cat is known as a "mild cerebellum" something, something. Some injury or disease early in its development affected the cat's brain, specifically the part that controls motor skills. Therefore, the cat frequently falls over, misses jumps, and generally acts like the chief doofus of the feline world. Sometimes, it looks like she is constantly pouncing on things, but I believe that is because she compensates her jumping problem by leaping several inches higher than necessary to reach her intended target. But, beyond her brain issues, I think the cat is just plain weird. She chews on a cardboard box; her favorite cat toy is my hands (which she has scratched and bitten nearly all to hell). And despite her jumping compensation, she still misses. There is nothing like sitting in your chair, and having a cat leap up as high as your head in order to sit with you, but either miss the chair entirely or plain fall out of it. This is in addition to the normal cat issues like fish breath or sitting on my laptop as I am using it. (For instance, this blog post has been interrupted at least five times already.)

Aside from school, and the cat, I think I am doing generally okay. I've been reading for pleasure again. Right now, I am reading Storm of Steel, essentially the diary of a German Soldier during World War I. It has been interesting to get new perspective on the war that launched the 20th century. I finished reading Jimmy Corrigan about a week ago. Generally, I liked it, but I think I turned to Storm of Steel for something more classically literary. I am not sure what I will read next, but I have a paperback copy of Freud's "Jokes and their Relation to the Unconscious" that I picked up in a used book store in Salem. I read his "Psychopathology of Everyday Life" for class last year and enjoyed it. Tomorrow, after depositing my paycheck, I'm going to try and take care of a few errands. I may or may not take more pictures.

Underwhelmed

Fort Hoskins II

After making a breakfast that consisted of three eggs and reheated coffee, I spent most of the morning cleaning things up and straightening the mess that my room had become. The piles of paper that had been on the floor were thrown out, the books that were strewn everywhere had been restacked, and the dirt on the floor was swept away. I took my time doing all of that since I've been trying to cope with the loss of my previous career path: English scholar/teacher. I get the sense that most people who know me want me to get over my moods already and move on with my life, and to be really honest, I am doing the best I can. I'm trying not to let it get in the way too much, but I can't help feel some loss about it.

The overview session that I went to today, the one I mentioned in my previous post, the overview session for the graphic design program I am applying to, was somewhat underwhelming. I think the main purpose of the meeting was to dissuade the unserious and errant dabblers from enrolling in the program. If you saw Art School Confidential, you got to see the arty stereotypes that make up these sort of classes--unserious, errant dabblers being one of those stereotypes. I'm afraid that my nervousness and anxiety about the program was manifested in my nerdy questions after the main presentation. "Did I submit the portfolio in the proper format," "Does the program make use of wacom tablets," and "How soon do you need to buy the (very expensive) digital camera" all were questions that could have at least have waited until August 30th, about the date when I find out if they even accept me. The question that was really on my mind is "How am I going to pay for this," and of course that is a question that, eventually, only I can answer.

After the presentation was over, I went to Circuit City and looked at some several hundred dollar cameras, with so many buttons and screens that it seemed obscene somehow. None of the clerks there appeared to want to answer any of my questions because they all ignored me. Perhaps they somehow sensed I was the essence of poverty. I then went to the gym and worked out for about half an hour, because...well because I sometimes feel like a "fat sack of crap." (Not really, but it's my new phrase.) My last stop was at the pet store to pick up three cheap fabric mice for the cat that lives outside my door to chew on. I am going to try and take the next couple of days easy as far as my worrying about this graphic design program. It is not worth getting heartburn over. Besides, I got over things to work on in the meantime.

Dreams and Portfolios

Fort Hoskins

I slept most of the day away. After waking up at 7:00 a.m. or so, I went back to bed around 10:00 a.m. and slept until 3:00 p.m. It was just barely enough time to turn in my portfolio to the Visual Communications program at the local college. I spent all day Sunday taking photographs, filling out forms, and taking photographs of art that I had already drawn in my previous art classes from years ago. The deadline for turning in the portfolio is on Tuesday, but I wanted to get mine in a day early to beat the other last minute people, especially since the college accepts people in the program on a first come, first serve basis. If space is short, I might be able to beat out a handful of the other last minute applications. Tuesday, I go back to attend an informational meeting that discusses the program in more detail.

Except for driving into the neighboring town to turn in the portfolio, the only other big thing that I did today was the sleeping. I had a couple of dreams though. In the first one, I was on another planet that looked like a large city, like Portland, while other parts of the planet reminded me of California. I was in the parking lot of one of the big box stores looking for my lost cat, a cat that was the size of a large dog. When I got out of my van to look for him, the people I was with drove away leaving me stranded. I spent the rest of the dream trying to navigate my way through some suburban neighborhood in order to find the van and the cat.

In my second dream, I was re-visiting my old University for some reason. It was the end of the term, so all of my former colleagues were attending some large meeting. I was checking where my old office was, when the director came by and asked if I needed a key to clear it out. (The office in my dream was much smaller than the one I actually had last year.) I told her "no," since I had already cleared out the office earlier. I don't remember much else of the dream except that I was walking around campus and trying to avoid the people who knew me. Thinking about the dream made me a little pensive for most of the afternoon.

I'm not going to stay up too late tonight since I need to get back on a normal schedule. On Tuesday afternoon I attend the informational meeting, which even if I don't get into the program, should be interesting.

Adjustments

I've been neglecting my blogs for awhile, partially because I haven't really had anything new to say. Nothing has inspired me to get back to writing either. I think--and I haven't really admitted this to anyone yet--that I still feel somewhat demoralized from the loss of career and apartment at the beginning of the summer, so it has been a little difficult to find a new path and be excited about it. However, I have made a lot of changes since then, so I suppose I should try and keep some perspective.

For example, I am applying to the visual communications program at my local college to gain some practical skills that should help me get a freelance illustration career going. I've thought about also doing some freelance writing since I already have the training for that, but I worry that I am not creative enough to find topics to write about. Heck, if I can't figure out things to say in this silly blog, what makes me think I could write some kind of article and be paid for it. The nice thing about school assignments is the fact that the instructors pretty much guide you through what they want to see in a paper. Anyway.

The above picture is from a trip I took to the Finley National Wildlife Refuge. The environment there is supposed to be comprised solely of authentic native plants. It was sort of interesting to look out over the prairie and see what the country might have looked like about two hundred years ago. However, as you can sort of tell by the fence, there is also an original Pioneer farm house that was built in 1850's in the refuge as well. It was nice to reflect on how those people might have lived all those generations ago, but the building isn't that much to look at. Yes, it is authentic, but it is still just an old farm house.

Getting it in Control

Crane and Geese

Things haven't seemed to be going right for the past couple of days. I have a hard time talking with people without getting angry. The slightest irritation on someone's else behalf gets me going. I've been really trying hard to get it all under control. I think I need to center myself somehow, and to do that, I think I need some time alone. I have also had problems with allergies for the last two weeks. It affects my sleeping, and it makes it hard to breath sometimes. I know that these two things are unrelated, but I am sure it would be easier to control the anger if I hadn't had the allergies to deal with. It is like constantly being interrupted when you're trying to get it all under control.

Part of my relaxation technique is to get away for a little while at a time. The above picture is from one of those trips. It was one of the first times I have seen a crane at this particular location. In addition to the crane, there were the usual Canadian Geese, and in other photographs I have (which aren't as good) there is a nutria. At least, I think it is a nutria. I'm not sure what it is exactly, but it was pretty cool to see.

Steps in Front of Others

I've spent the last few days at work preparing a large submission for a specific trade magazine. The major part of it is about nine pages single space with one inch margins. For those of you who have typed term papers and the like, you know how much that really is. Anyway, for the project, I had to learn a lot about local history: stuff about pioneering trails, historic pioneer farms, and the like. It has been somewhat interesting to know more about the place you live, but I've not really been keen on learning about the pioneer stuff. Yeah, it is interesting to know how people lived one hundred years ago but that only goes so far. I guess I am more proud of the natural environment and the progressive reputation that the coastal west often enjoys more than the hard-work and determination blah, blah, blah that is usually associated with Pioneers. I mean, I guess it would be one thing if the so-called pioneers were the first people out here to settle the land and carve a life for themselves. But, of course, the reservation down the road (with it's popular casino) proves otherwise. The trumpeted ballyhoo about the pioneers of the American west is always tempered by the fact that, for me, it largely represents American expansionism and the displacement of the indigenous peoples.

Personally, I have been having some weird dreams. My life has changed dramatically, and I think, sub-consciously, I am still trying to get a grip on it. I often dream about being poor without any resources to depend on. I managed to get my first paycheck the other day, which was great, but I still owe rent for the month of May in place I moved out of, cable I no longer subscribe to, and phone for service I no longer have. The paycheck won't cover even half of it yet. Fortunately, by the end of the month, I should have most of my bills paid off, but the stress of still owing money combined with the fact that I'm not making any progress on my long term life goals--and that I am 34!--is a little depressing. I tell myself that life is one step in front of the other and that knowledge sometimes helps.

Cliche Enrollment Cards

McBee Park

I figured I could use some of the time I had at lunch to update my blog. I've thought about doing it a few times in the past couple of days, but the heat and the amount of work I have been doing has made posting a bit difficult.

I am officially flat broke. I have ten bucks in my pocket and five in my bank account, which I suppose is something, but not when you consider that I have over 60,000 dollars debt in college loans. I try not to think about that number, especially when I consider all of the other garbage that seems to go with it these days. I'd explain more, but more than likely, everyone who knows me has already heard it.

Being 34 and living your parent's garage is quite a come down. I've officially become a cliche and I am considering submitting my official cliche enrollment card soon. I know I am not the first person of my generation to have done so, but it would be rather nice to have my own apartment again. And speaking of cliches', since I have already gone there, I suppose I should view the next couple of months as a period of recuperation and recovery. Every self-help book and TV show seems to say that is a good idea, even if I am uncomfortable and self-conscious delving into the self-help territory.

I've stalwartly decided to ignore the seeming ignobility of my position to look at the slight upsides. For example, it is sort of a nice garage, and it gives me an amount of privacy that living on the streets never could. (Yes, that was a path I could have taken.) Also, I've still got access to television and the internet, so my mind will have something to occupy itself in the evenings aside from thoughts about the past. And, my parents do live in some scenic country. It has been rather nice to go outside and watch the wind rustle through the large trees instead of watching an empty plastic sack float past a public bus.

I've been spending more time in Nature lately, which is something one could probably tell by the pictures I have been posting recently. The above picture comes from a half-mile hike up and down a steep mountain to a very beautiful river scene. And because of the difficult hike, no-one else was there.

The top picture doesn't do it full justice. Even though it was a bright afternoon, this river clearing was a cathedral of shady greens and running streams. I should have taken some time to get my feet wet instead of standing on the river rocks. In any event, I'll post more pictures later from this particular hike when I have more time for blogging and more things of substance to talk about. Until then.

Footprints

I believe I have settled in for the time being. There is no more moving or shifting of my various material things left to do. Now, I am beginning to establish my new routines. I am not sure what has been really noticeable during the last week, because I suppose I have been too busy to notice anything. The one thing that has been on my mind the most have been the allergies I have been having for the last few days. They are giving me a lot of trouble, to the point where I have a little trouble sleeping.

Perhaps I am having somewhat of an existential crisis. School didn't turn out the way I would have liked, and so my future plans need to seriously re-adjust, but I am not quite sure what direction I want to head in yet. I have been exploring the idea of a future working in the fine arts somehow, but really, nothing seems practical at the moment. It was easy to imagine a future career in reasearch and teaching. It was close enough to taste; I saw it everyday, and to some extent, I was doing it. It is hard to have that kind of vision with an artistic path. Frankly, I think I am still in some of the various stages of grief about the last three years. I'm sure I will eventually work through that grief, but right now, it still feels like I'm far back enough in the tunnel to where the light at the end of it seems rather dim.

Moved!

It's finally done; I've moved out. It took two days to physically get all of the furniture out of the apartment, and then it took about four days to unpack it all into my current living situation. And I can't fit it all in, so I am looking at putting some of it in mini-storage, depending on the cost. I really hate moving, and from a purely physical standpoint, this move was harder to do than all my previous ones. Clearly, I am way more out of shape than I thought. I need to start going back to the gym so when I move next, I won't feel like I am going to pass out.

After about a week's break, I've started back on my artwork again. Having the scanner unpacked helps. I've got plans for upgrading my overall art supplies, but that will have to wait until I start earning my own cash. I am avoiding thinking about school for the time being. Part of me wishes things has turned out differently, but the other part of me is glad to be rid of that particular stressor. There's still some stress about the whole thing. Fortunately, it is not quite like it was before.

Packing Up

If all goes according to plans, this should be my last week here before I move back in with my folks. Yes, I have become a cliche, but I take solace in that it should give me some ability to earn a few bucks before striking out on my own again. I've also been thinking about how I should approach a permanent career in the arts somehow. I've invested in a handful of sketchbooks, pens, and drawing boards. For a mid term goal, I would like to get a good computer rig (*photoshop software, decent digital camera, and a desktop PC or MAC) put together to do some of the cleanup, coloring, and other various illustration tasks.

I am still adjusting to the major changes going on in my life. I spent the past few days at my parent's place trying to get things prepared for my arrival. I also did some initial training so I would know how to do invoicing and billing. There is a lot to learn, and I will need some help still, but I think I should be able to do it without too much trouble. However, the stress of the past couple of days has been a little overwhelming. I am still trying to cope with the adjustment, but I think I should do okay as long as I remember not to overdo everything by trying to get it all done at once.

Moving

Wednesday, I visited the disability services office, the financial aid office, and the career center. All of these things were in preparation for my upcoming move. At this point, I have packed up most of the apartment but I still have to sort through all of the things in the kitchen. I have a grand total of fourteen file boxes packed at this point. And the sad thing is that this is the bulk of my material possessions. Six more file sized boxes should take care of all of the small stuff. And, there is still a lot of things to throw out. I am sure there is some food stuffs in the cupboards that are least two years old.

Of course, since this is the end of spring term, I am not the only one moving. Right now, there is a moving van (not mine) parked in front of my building. I am starting to worry that I may not be able to rent my own truck when I need one if demand happens to be too high. If I can't get moving truck, then I am going to throw out more furniture than I planned on. I don't have that much anyway.

Throwing out furniture and household goods is nothing unusual for students. What was unusual was that I saw a couple people rummaging through the outside trash today. At first, I wondered if they might have accidently thrown out something that they really needed, but then I realized that they were probably homeless. They came up with a few pots and pans. I sure hope that they plan on selling them for scrap or something rather than using them for food.

I am going move my first load of boxes tomorrow. I am also going to change my address with the post office, make an appointment for "checking out" with the housing office, and try to be hopeful about all these changes in the next handful of days.

Some Days

Ritz Quacker

I've been packing for the last couple of days, and I have about four boxes loaded and ready to go. I should be all moved by the end of the month. I sorted through all of my clothes and books in order to determine which ones I could do without. The old clothing, the stuff that doesn't fit anymore, I dropped off at the goodwill today. Ihe books, I sold to a couple different bookstores downtown. Normally, when I sell books, I don't usually make anything more than twenty bucks because I am only getting rid of four or five at time. However, today, I got rid of about sixty altogether and got more money for them than I would have expected. Not to worry though, I still have a ton of books I kept, so nobody would even notice that I unloaded a few.

I also went back to campus today to clean out my office. I said goodbye to my officemate after I gave him some bookends, a desk lamp (which is broken), and some old text books I didn't need. I've never spoken to the guy more than just a few times, so it wasn't too awkward to say goodbye. I didn't feel any pressures to explain my future plans to him other than to say that this was my last term and I was looking forward to the summer. However, I did bump into the guy who I shared the office with during my first year. Every time I see him, I think about how he could be Jack Black's brother. They both look alike, sound the same, and act alike to some degree. I deflected questions about what I was going to be doing in the future by asking him about his dissertation and commenting on how busy he was going be. He laughed, and I wished him luck.

The last thing that I did today was go to the career center. I told the receptionist that I was interested in taking the strong interest survey. They arranged for me to meet with a career counselor, some short man with a receding hairline who was dressed "business casual." Since I knew what I wanted, we didn't talk about too much, except to say that in addition to that particular survey, they required students to fill out a myers-briggs test as well. He said when I finished both tests, we would discuss the results during a future appointment. I didn't really think much about the whole thing because, frankly, I was hot and tired. Part of me is also looking forward to putting this whole school thing behind me. Metaphorically, I've expended a lot heat and lost a lot of energy in the process.

Tomorrow, I am going to packing up the living room and cleaning out the kitchen to the best of my ability. I also need do the laundry. The picture of the duck, whose name by the way is "Ritz Quacker," (no, I am not making that up) was from a walk I took the other day downtown. I needed to get out of the house, so I bought a cold coffee drink and tried to think about all of the other things I need to do before I leave town. Some days are better than others.