Call me a party pooper, but last time I checked, the month of March was officially Irish-American Heritage Month, not March Madness Month. I'm really getting tired of all the ridiculous bickering and fussing over college basketball games. Half of the players are going to go on to be doctors, lawyers, construction workers or burger flippers. We're not really looking at the "next big thing" in the NBA (those guys would already be there, making their millions, if they were that talented). I considered that maybe it's just a temporary substitute obsession for sports fans experiencing superbowl withdrawal, but then I remembered that sadly, some people live for March Madness and NCAA Division I college basketball. You know, basketball really isn't all that big in Ireland. Baseball season isn't that far off anyway, and at least they have juicy scandals. Basketball is blah (to watch; i'm not arguing about actually participating in physical activity) so let's move on, please?
Professor Muelhemann insightfully lamented today that while in rhetoric I seem to be quite pleased with my art work, there is an aspect of my energy that seems to imply that I am somewhat at odds with that judgment. That is to say, that maybe I'm not that happy with it after all. The professor then proceeded to suggest that this conflict is what drives me. I'm always a bit awkward when I come upon a person who evaluates me (or my work, or my character) with such depth and complexity. That is not to say that such observations are not accurate. I don't know if they are or not. Being so far from touching the inner part of me, from which my art work comes from, or my writing, or my motivation to do things which others find extraordinary, I never know quite how to react. It is strange to stand in front of someone and hear that person extrapolate in a tone that radiates with the hope that they are expounding upon some unspoken state of my being; that they have just discovered the solution to a confounding mathematical problem. They never seem quite sincere, or insincere, or genuine, or false, and yet they are always sort of thrust at me with some incredible anticipation and brute force. Kind of like an out of body experience, taking the voice inside your head and putting it into the person in front of you - you don't know what to say, and you know better than to trust those words, lest they mislead you into becoming something you aren't.
That was complicated...
I'm looking so forward to getting out into the real world; to having complete control of my own time (i know i'll have a job and such that will dictate my time, but i get to choose which job i want, and i get to choose what to do with my time outside that job). I'm looking forward to taking yoga at a real studio, to having a puppy and going to the dog park, to having a metro buddy (that person you seem to always meet, chat with, or ride with on the metro every day), and mostly i'm looking forward to being able to read and paint and play guitar and such at my own discretion. I'm looking forward to having real friendships and relationships. I'm looking forward to being in a liberal city (buh-bye jerry!). I'm looking forward to, and somewhat also dreading, long distance phone calls from my friends on the other side of the country, telling me about their amazing adventures. I want to take roadtrips. I want to backpack. And hike. And ride. and TRAVEL. and go to concerts. and not having to worry about sharing a bathroom with 20 other women. It's the future, and it looks great from here...
Speaking of the future, if anyone knows of a job I could have, please let me know. In DC please. :)
I'm going through one of those stages where I'm realizing the fact that in less than 2 months I'm going to have to transition to being a real adult. It makes me want to go out and get piercings and tattoos while I can still vouch for them. Seriously. I've got paper and pen in front of me, sketching out ideas. It would be cool if I could get my friends to get tattoos with me, but I'm not sure which, if any, of them would be into that.
Finally, I would just like to state that I will be looking rather saucy come Casino Night. My SDD dress is okay, but I have an outfit for Casino Night, and you'll wish you were my date. Oh yes, a date. The one SDD accessory I don't yet have; shame.
over and out,
Kat
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