I love the night. I’ve always been nocturnal, long since having outgrown the jokes such a statement leads to. Everything settles down. Right now my lamp is on, a softer light than the three bright bulbs in the fan in my ceiling. The dryer is running, my favorite white noise. White Noise the book is beside me, homework unfinished, but there is time for it tomorrow. It is getting late. I want to enjoy this moment, this piece of the night that I have to myself, alone in my room, with my lamp and my book and my soul. It is the day’s end, so I cannot see reason in stressing over what has happened or will happen tomorrow. It’s an interlude. I will wake in the morning and stress, as I did today. But right now, there is nothing left to do. All that is on my to do list is sleep, and so before I do I am going to take a moment to contemplate it, relax in it, the awakeness of having only sleep. And then, when I have fully settled into the simplicity of the night, I will turn out my lamp and put the book aside, and I will do the only thing left. I will sleep.

I love the feel of someone falling asleep.  In any context- from a baby in
a rocking chair to a friend sitting next to you to a lover in your lap. 
You don't even realize they are tense at all, and then there is an
ever-so-slight relaxation, a subtle shift of weight.  They are asleep. 
And suddenly you are beautifully trapped, and someone's happiness is
contingent upon you.  More than that, someone feels safe with you.  You
can feel their breath, their dreams.  You cannot move; you do not want to
move.  The world suddenly seems right and at peace, reflected in the
contented sleep of another.  And you take a breath, careful not to disturb
them, and hold it, hold the moment of hesitation in a wishful attempt to
freeze time, to capture the feeling of rightness.  And you let it out,
knowing you are beholding a little wonder, a tiny glimpse of utopia.  And
you know that it will pass, but you know that it will come again.

Another author obsession has cropped up.  With breaks in between, I've been from T.S. Eliot to Edith Wharton to a long break from literature (long = four months, a time in which I was forced to read Faulkner).  Then in Contemporary Lit came short stories by Donald Barthelme, and here comes a crazed fixation for a little while.

This guy fascinates me.  I don't know a ton about him as a person, but his writing is enrapturing.  He has to be almost disturbingly intelligent, mocking/referencing/parodying/replying to philosophers, religions, conventions, name-dropping theories that I have yet to get my mind around.  But more than the overall, there is the phrasing.  Many of the lines cannot be taken out of context, and so I can't translate the entire wonder of them.  The last paragraph of "The Balloon" is so unexpectedly sweet and sentimental, it's charming.  "The Glass Mountain," while not a favorite story, has humorous moments.  I've only read seven stories, the ones given to us in class, but will be heading to McKay's- sometime, when the credit card allows.  "I smoke a cigar, to disoblige the cat." -The Rise of Capitalism.

"A City of Churches" - beyond fascinating.  It connects to so much in my brain.  And yes, Cleveland was discussed in class in reference.  (The title begs for it.)  For fear of writing too much, I won't write at all.  But then comes "Nothing: A Preliminary Account," the third in a three way tie for favorites.  (The other two being City of Churches and the Balloon.)  The concept that by listing everything that isn't nothing, you discover that everything is something - finding meaning inversely.  "The roar of fireflies mating" - is not nothing.  "It's not black-hole physics, which is not nothing but physics."  The conclusion to Nothing - all his conclusions - is incredible.  Incredible of the "I want to read over and over and just sit and think" way.  But not brain-injuring.  Not philosophy.  Just words, beautiful words, words that wouldn't necessarily go with each other, but juxtaposed create new concepts.

"God was standing in the basement reading the meters to see how much grace had been used up in the month of June." - "At the End of the Mechanical Age"  Or, "At that moment the water jumped into the boat and sank us."  Which is nothing short of...delightful?  Can I say that?  "The efficacy of grace."  Meaning aside, that just flows.  It's poetical.  It's lyrical.  I expected to hate this reading.  But I was laughing, and I was thinking, and I am so very intrigued.  I want more.

I feel that the new year necessitates a post of some sort, despite a general lack of updating on my part.  Semester overview...barely made it out alive, but I'm still kicking, GPA intact.  Christmas break overview...cold.  Next semester overview...expensive but exciting.  Summer is too far away to plan.

I'm taking creative nonfiction next semester.  This intrigues me greatly, because it feels like the sort of thing I love to write.  My rhetoric project, basically a broken-up memoir, was one of my favorite pieces I've written.  My Scotland journals are also up there on that list.  I'm not sure this is something I could pursue, but I'm pretty sure it's something I love.  So we'll see how that class goes.

Then... Chaucer, French, Honors Discussion, Contemp Lit, Computer (online).  Should be much more manageable than last semester, or at least hopefully have less busywork.  Cough300cough.

Here's to hoping.

I just saw Airplane for the first time. I am so glad I own this movie.

It almost makes up for the fact that I don't have The Jerk or Young Frankenstein. Or Monty Python for that matter.