Mar. 13th, 2005 12:21 am
sigerson: (...special.)
emails to write:
one to old friend, attempting to summarize last ten years
one to complete an interview for a grad school thesis project
one to dad, someday, bringing up a sore point so it doesn't become a permanent source of irritation
two to friends inviting them to various things

rooms to clean:
my study
our bedroom
the bathroom
the stairs

things to make:

dreams to dream:
porch swing and tea
pilot at the podium
knee deep in the lake
great tree in the field

thoughts to think:
family and connection
purpose and intent
absolute and relative morality (or mortality)

conclusion reached:
like Schroedinger's cat, simultaneously alive and dead until the box is opened and the wave collapsed, I exist simultaneously ecstatic and despondent, carefree and weighted with plans, until Tuesday when the admissions office can be called.

mojo and love to you all; sweet dreams.


Dec. 14th, 2004 07:16 am
sigerson: (Default)
I turned away from my computer and finished my breakfast, then got up to take my dishes to the kitchen.

The light streaming in through every window stopped me cold. The city is pink and lavender and gold and blue and gray; the leafless tree outside my window is burning bright against the shadowed street.

Thank you for this day.
sigerson: (Default)

writer looks at own navel! )

And here's a quotation that will be familiar...

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way--in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.
sigerson: (Default)
Hyperbole, exhaustion, crisis. It's a great big essay.
It's behind this cut tag. )
sigerson: (Default)
7/3, 9pm
Entry 1—Just out of Syracuse, on our way to Rochester…

It’s just about firework time, and I’m missing them a great deal. I have less of [Bad username or site: ”fairoriana” @]’s love for the light-them-yourself kind, and more of a passionate love for the huge outdoor variety.
So much of fireworks is linked with being out of town. I can barely remember the halfassed display that Boston puts on at its Esplanade hoopla. Big woop. The city already makes so much light that you miss the deep, deep darkness that fireworks deserve, and Keith Lockhart and his Pops keep ftweeing away.
No, it’s the fireworks in the small town that tears at me. Home, of course, and the wooden grandstands, and Grammy Ronald, I think, waiting with me for the sun to go down. So many years of those, and throwing temper tantrums when it stormed.
Also Peterborough, NH, and the Conval School display. All the mosquitoes, and lying on blankets.
And most close, most recent, most dear perhaps, Oneonta, NY. DaMan came out to Cooperstown for the holiday weekend, and we went down to watch the fireworks and laugh. We braved crowds, picked a likely target, and hugged the whole way through it.
I don’t know what about them affects me so. I ooh and ahh, stripped of irony or selfconsciousness. The sheer glory of the bursts of sparks has me transported. When a year goes by that I don’t see fireworks, I feel gypped. Or worse—as if I’ve let a precious thing break or leave.

So now I find myself watching the sky as we travel through upstate New York, (when I’m not typing, that is), waiting for a burst of gold or blue.

Mile-wide sea urchins. Stars spinning and whistling. Bright flares that are nothing but BANG! Big long draping ones, where the sparks droop so far you worry about the trees. Ones that split into three or four or five separate explosions.

We are often horribly cruel to each other, and terrible to the earth itself; and then we manage to make stars,

Somewhere, I’m still five years old and staring at the sky.
sigerson: (Default)
Last Wednesday was my last day of work at the theater. I finished a duplicate pair of breeches, ran out to get the designer some coffee, and called the rest of the day a personal day.

It wasn't hard at all. But I was surprised that it wasn't as easy as I expected, either. A weird tight feeling settled into my lungs on Monday, and still seems to wrap around my chest when I reflect that I am not returning there.

I expected a sensation of freedom, perhaps; and that was there. I realized, as I left the building for the last time as an Employee, that I had spent as much time there as at college. Four years--with summers off. With a far smaller group of people, day in and day out. Of course it was more difficult than I thought to leave; good or ill, this place had become a second home. Coming to work at seven in the morning, being the first to open up the shop, starting the day with an hour of my own music and a cup of coffee, getting my best work done before another person enters the room.

Now I'm off. As I felt when I arrived there, I feel now: that I'm being called on. However, I think I don't get any more freebies from Her. Now it's my own muscle that I need. This would have terrified me a year ago. I know I'm stronger now. Hell, I was stronger then, too--just nervous and unwilling to take the step.

I walked into that position, eyes open, experimenting with my life. Then I forgot that it was an experiment, not necessarily a career. Now? The experiment was a success; let's try another, clearer path. With the grace of the Lady and a long-handled spoon, I'm off!

(Since then, my younger sib has gained CAR!!, a week's worth of temp work has materialized joyfully, a lack of indoor plumbing has been experienced, and a weekend was spent with my cousin Myra, full of sweetness and strawberry Quik. But more on that later.)
sigerson: (jiggly)
1. "Problems should be solved by those who perceive them."
Note that this isn't a declarative statement--problems are best solved by those who perceive them--but a directive. This seems to me to be, at first examination, a good idea. It places the responsibility directly on one's own shoulders, but that's not a bad thing. I have yet to explore beyond the tip of the iceberg of the implications of the directive, though.

2. Giving up things you enjoy in order to do something more constructive is incredibly hard. But not impossible.
I was talking with [ profile] stealthmuffin today, and poked her for not playing BG2 (so we could share injokes, I think). She responded that she slowed playing that in order to have more time to write. I was a little ashamed. I thought about it. If it came down to the wire, I would drop out of one or both games if I needed the time. But I remember waffling about taking a class, because it would conflict with game. That can't happen. Priorities need to be straight: brain comes before pastime.

3. How in Lady's name do creative people keep creating? How do you keep yourself--or someone else--from becoming bitter and angry about one's work, if it isn't being seen or appreciated? What keeps you going without turning into a sullen recluse?

4. One of the effects of a youth-saturated culture is that maturing feels like something to be embarrassed about.

5. "Common sense" is often a euphemism for "doing things the way I would." When people berate others for having no common sense (as a coworker of mine did this last week), it usually means that they view their response as 'the obvious one'. Common sense is overrated.

6. Where is the threshold of translation? That is to say, when translating a text, how much distortion or interpretation can be added without fundamentally changing the nature of the text? Is it zero? Much? Does it change from text to text?

Six topics. No clues. Time for pondering over dinner.
sigerson: (Default)
Thinking about past loves tonight, after midnight, when I should be sleeping.

Once I would have said that feeling nothing is far worse than feeling anger. Now, that's true in other situations, but here...
You see, there was this guy I used to date--no, not any of the nice ones from college, this was way back...iasmh anybody? Breakup was sour and prolonged and just hurtful on all sides. I cut off contact, mostly out of anger and self-hate.

Time passed, and years went by. And now, I don't feel anything really about him. Thinking about him _then_ is all mixed up with thinking about my past self, but about who he is now? He emailed me some time ago, wanting to know if I was still holding a grudge...I said I wasn't, but let contact slip. There just wasn't anything there for me. He probably still thinks I have a grudge against him and am nurturing some long-deep anger.

It's not like that. Sometimes, there is nothing to feel. If I poked myself, I could feel compassion, but only on a "we are both human, we shared some time together, we have both changed" level. If I poked again, I could get angry if I tried, but it's anger about who we were and what we did and why.

Just nothing left there. Maybe a faint remembrance and tenderness for those years, and a forgiveness of who we both were. But no need to regain it, and no desire to reconnect. Nothing left.

And that nothing is better than anger. Better for me; I don't hear his name and curdle inside. Better for him; no one needs negative emotions aimed at them. I don't know that I ever will wish to reconnect. Empirical evidence suggest not. It is better to be without the pointless anger, in a place where happy feelings are not likely to grow. Let the field lie fallow rather than sprout thorns.

Old loves, lost in the past, and who we were is lost with them.

(Forgive me. I'm like Gizmo: if you allow me access to LJ after midnight, I become a romanticism-spewy Gremlin.)
sigerson: (Default)
Is unconditional love really a good thing?

I know the answer in one situation. Unconditional love from a God, should God exist, is absolutely good. I can't see how this one could turn bad.

But for a flawed human (as we all are) to give love unconditionally? Is that really a virtue? To love someone and treat them the same even if they're hurting you, hurting others, hurting themselves? Does agape become enabling? Or worse, does loving someone unconditionally make the love so general as to be disconnected?

"I love her even though she cheated--and continues to cheat--on me." "I love him even though he hits me." "I love her even though she writes hate mail to her enemies." "I love him even though he tortures the cat."

Shouldn't love contain some kind of boundaries? Some point where you don't _stop_ loving the person, but _because_ you love them so, you can't stand to see them continue to act this way, so you leave, or you yell, or you turn them in. Or is that an act of ultimate disregard for the person and for the love?

Feh. Maybe I'm completely misreading the notion of agape. Or maybe it's too damned late for me to even begin thinking about this.

BTW, I am not involved in any such situation as those listed above...this is an 11:30pm thought experiment, prompted by the paper assignment for tomorrow. Which still isn't ready.
sigerson: (Default)
Questions courtesy of [ profile] wavyarms. Anybody know where this meme got started? It's quite elegant.

1 - If you want to be interviewed, leave a comment.
2 - I will respond; I'll ask you five questions.
3 - You'll update your journal with my five questions, and your five answers.
4 - You'll include this explanation.
5 - You'll ask five other people five questions when they want to be interviewed.

Read more... )

I'm liking this LJ action. Given my track record, in two weeks I will be posting either every night or every six months.
sigerson: (Default)
I can hear the wind whistling outside. And the occasional rumble of the T. I heard it this morning at 5, after the oob woke me up. It's reassuring; the city moves without and around me, life goes on.

I was going to post my answers to wavyarms's 5-question meme, but apparently I need to learn to use LJ tags better. Crud.

Time for sleep. Oh no--my laundry!!


sigerson: (Default)

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