![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
a_bit_of_wit_2Sorry, Lewis Black, but the end of the universe isn't in Houston, TX...it's New York, NY.
I say this because the baseball world was in for a shock: Pedro Martinez will become a pitcher for the New York Mets...the METS?! THE METS, OF ALL TEAMS?!?! New York's perennial baseball zero?! Well...apparently the Mets made Pedro an offer he couldn't refuse, something the Red Sox weren't preparing to top (given the total sum of money involved). While I'll always see him as a Red Sox pitcher, the first flames were portrayed in today's Boston Globe, with writers already screaming foul, calling him a traitor, greedy, a money pitcher, a turncoat, etc. I found it amusing, actually. So, he moves to the Mets. Good luck, I say to him. Hopefully, he can help them just as he did Boston.
In other news, something very rare happened this morning. I told my conscience to fuck off. I had gone to bed around 3:30 AM after chatting with Sarah and Tommy, but...Kaz had decided to cook some ramen in his rice cooker then, so the smell of food kept me awake for another hour. When my alarm went off at 9, I knew I wasn't going to make it through the first class. Also deterring me was the fact that I didn't have the book we were reading, and I didn't want to sit there for 75 minutes twiddling my thumbs. So I slept for another hour and a half, then went to my Winds Aloft class and took the exam. After that, had some eats, and completed my Modern World essays before heading to work.
Work passed rather uneventfully, although a couple of noteworthy things occurred. For one, I'm now the only one still wearing the old McD uniform. Everyone has upgraded to the new uniforms. Go me. Two: late in the evening, around 11 or so, as we were cleaning up, I had noticed a couple things...Jaymie and Rob were down in the break room, snogging. Colleen and Walt were being cuddly and kissy during the night, and Jayde had chatted with her lover. For a few minutes, I had felt sad, and a bit left out--I mean, here was everyone with their others, and I had...a mop. And of course, there was some sappy, mushy love song playing. It had brought back the upcoming consequence of my leaving MCLA. I mean, as I see it now, there are only just a few negative consequences of going back home, but the hardest one that I'll have to bear with is the fact that April will be 300 miles away again. It's the only thing I'm dreading, really. After we spent this whole semester becoming closer, loving each other more, we'll once again be separated by many miles. However, 12 AM came around, which snapped me out of that funk.
I got back here, and spent time chatting with Sarah before she bathed, and I showered. After, she took a phone call, and I actually took the time to do my final project for my Essentials of Lit class. I wrote a short story, based on a photograph I have, and also my own personal experience with some fiction thrown in. It's the first time I've wrote something with any original fiction in a while. The final project asked me to take a photograph of mine, and "read" it, using any medium necessary. Take a look, if you want.
As he sat looking in front of the computer screen, a blank, clean page in front of him, his mind was anywhere but. It wasn’t the way his mind normally worked—as he was set to write his next novel, all of the intricacies of character, plot, theme, all the novelistic elements set in his mind seemed to be pushed to one side by some overwhelming desire, a feeling of wanting to be nostalgic. Why now, of all times? The cursor just sat there on the blank page, blinking, waiting for activity, waiting for words to be painted on the page, a literal photograph.
The room where he sat was quiet, save for the low sounds of classical music to provide some ambience, a writing mood. Other than that, the apartment was silent. His mind was thinking about times past, and recently, for the first time in years, he could relax and forget about obligation. For the last few years, he had struggled to get to this point in time—and all the bad luck and hardship that life threw at both him and his love would’ve made most people become alcoholics, drug addicts, maybe even worse. Yet, despite it all, through the help and counsel of his friends, far and wide, her love and their bond, and his own resolve, he’d overcome one of the most trying times of his life.
His own stepfather, the man he looked up to most, had doubted him, even called him insane for attempting to pull off such a daunting task only fueled his resolve and determination. With him going home at the end of the fall semester at MCLA because he couldn’t afford it, he and his love were determined to save up enough money to get an apartment, and then go back to New Paltz to finish college.
And he was doubted by his own stepfather.
All that drama began that dismal summer, the summer between his freshman year at SUNY New Paltz and his sophomore year at MCLA. Now that his mind had totally gone nostalgic, no longer thinking about laying groundwork for the next novel, he grabbed a photo album off a shelf, sat back in his chair, and began to delve through the pages of photographs encased in sheet plastic. He thumbed through the pictures of that fun camping trip during that summer, until he found one that would forever remained etched in his memory. There, on a rock, the four of them sat. His friend since childhood, Dan sat with his girlfriend, and they were smiling. Next to them, he sat the farthest away, with a smile as the sun shined over his curly hair and pale face. On the far right, his love sat smiling with an open-mouthed grin.
Oh, they had no idea what was going on in my head then…
His relationship with his girlfriend, his first and current love, had only been three months in, and not long after settling into his new home on Cape Cod, did he begin to feel miserable. He had started going out with her a week and a half before year’s end, and in no time, they were three hundred miles apart, which was strain on his mind. Family life was burdensome, what with his stepfather so stressed out, unemployed, and asking for his hard earned money from working at Wal-Mart. The prospect of transferring to another college was a hard, involved process, and once again, his stepfather doubted the ability to go, and even suggested that he stay home for the year and work, save up, build up. But the boy was stubborn, and was determined to prove his stepfather wrong.
Also weighing on his mind and heart was the fact that he had a love interest with his current best friend, thousands of miles away, and that she too was in love with him and didn’t want to let go. For months, his heart was torn, for he didn’t want to let go of either—he had found two genuinely wonderful women, but his heart couldn’t decide then…not for months. It was something that particular picture couldn’t reveal, for it was just a façade of the reality which was his life. Sure, maybe for that camping trip, those few days he spent with his friends and his love, he was temporarily happy, but when he arrived back home, all those problems he had longed to escape from came in full force. Yet, all those smiles on that photo, were they real? Were the smiles a guise, just people hiding behind the veil of reality? Isn’t that what photographs do? Don’t we all smile for the camera, despite the fact that we might be feeling so totally opposite?
Yes, the experiences had on that camping trip were indeed enjoyable. That whole summer, he wanted out, for he longed to be in the comforting arms of his love, his best friend, anyone. Home was a prison, where one seemed resigned forever to work to support the family. There, he felt out of place, a lodger. Home life was becoming alien in his mind—he had a taste of freedom at college, and wanted it back. Home was a place of doubt, pessimism. The smile on his face was an empty smile—that whole trip, his mind dreaded going home, back to that sanitarium. He didn’t want to be three hundred miles away from his love. He didn’t want to return there, he didn’t want to go to MCLA. What he was in for was more drama and tears, but that’s another story.
Funny thing, photographs, he began to think, how fake they can be. Behind those smiles lies something totally different. While the subject might be happy, other things are constantly spinning in the mind. No one truly knows what life’s throwing at them. No one can read a photograph and glean all the turmoil going on in a young man’s life from a picture of smiles during a camping trip. They are facades. Images of the past. Not real.
Yet, it was all over now. Those years in which he worked, his love worked to make their hope a reality was here, materialized. All the drama, despair, tears and stress had finally been lifted.
A noise coming from the opposite side of the apartment had broken his reverie. The door had opened, and he knew it was her, coming back from work. He had placed the photo album down on the desk and rose out of the chair to greet her. When he entered her view, she smiled, and he placed his lips gently on hers and embraced her warmly.
The cursor was still blinking, ready to bring words to life.
Sarah's in bed now, and I will be shortly. Tomorrow, a very busy day. I've got most of the "just-before-final" work done. All that's really left is tomorrow, where I have not only an assignment due for my Computing class, but an exam in that class as well. I also have my Modern World class, and then work from 9 to close. So my day is scattered...hmm.
Signups still being taken for the VGV contest. Let me know if you're in.
Nighty night, all.
I say this because the baseball world was in for a shock: Pedro Martinez will become a pitcher for the New York Mets...the METS?! THE METS, OF ALL TEAMS?!?! New York's perennial baseball zero?! Well...apparently the Mets made Pedro an offer he couldn't refuse, something the Red Sox weren't preparing to top (given the total sum of money involved). While I'll always see him as a Red Sox pitcher, the first flames were portrayed in today's Boston Globe, with writers already screaming foul, calling him a traitor, greedy, a money pitcher, a turncoat, etc. I found it amusing, actually. So, he moves to the Mets. Good luck, I say to him. Hopefully, he can help them just as he did Boston.
In other news, something very rare happened this morning. I told my conscience to fuck off. I had gone to bed around 3:30 AM after chatting with Sarah and Tommy, but...Kaz had decided to cook some ramen in his rice cooker then, so the smell of food kept me awake for another hour. When my alarm went off at 9, I knew I wasn't going to make it through the first class. Also deterring me was the fact that I didn't have the book we were reading, and I didn't want to sit there for 75 minutes twiddling my thumbs. So I slept for another hour and a half, then went to my Winds Aloft class and took the exam. After that, had some eats, and completed my Modern World essays before heading to work.
Work passed rather uneventfully, although a couple of noteworthy things occurred. For one, I'm now the only one still wearing the old McD uniform. Everyone has upgraded to the new uniforms. Go me. Two: late in the evening, around 11 or so, as we were cleaning up, I had noticed a couple things...Jaymie and Rob were down in the break room, snogging. Colleen and Walt were being cuddly and kissy during the night, and Jayde had chatted with her lover. For a few minutes, I had felt sad, and a bit left out--I mean, here was everyone with their others, and I had...a mop. And of course, there was some sappy, mushy love song playing. It had brought back the upcoming consequence of my leaving MCLA. I mean, as I see it now, there are only just a few negative consequences of going back home, but the hardest one that I'll have to bear with is the fact that April will be 300 miles away again. It's the only thing I'm dreading, really. After we spent this whole semester becoming closer, loving each other more, we'll once again be separated by many miles. However, 12 AM came around, which snapped me out of that funk.
I got back here, and spent time chatting with Sarah before she bathed, and I showered. After, she took a phone call, and I actually took the time to do my final project for my Essentials of Lit class. I wrote a short story, based on a photograph I have, and also my own personal experience with some fiction thrown in. It's the first time I've wrote something with any original fiction in a while. The final project asked me to take a photograph of mine, and "read" it, using any medium necessary. Take a look, if you want.
As he sat looking in front of the computer screen, a blank, clean page in front of him, his mind was anywhere but. It wasn’t the way his mind normally worked—as he was set to write his next novel, all of the intricacies of character, plot, theme, all the novelistic elements set in his mind seemed to be pushed to one side by some overwhelming desire, a feeling of wanting to be nostalgic. Why now, of all times? The cursor just sat there on the blank page, blinking, waiting for activity, waiting for words to be painted on the page, a literal photograph.
The room where he sat was quiet, save for the low sounds of classical music to provide some ambience, a writing mood. Other than that, the apartment was silent. His mind was thinking about times past, and recently, for the first time in years, he could relax and forget about obligation. For the last few years, he had struggled to get to this point in time—and all the bad luck and hardship that life threw at both him and his love would’ve made most people become alcoholics, drug addicts, maybe even worse. Yet, despite it all, through the help and counsel of his friends, far and wide, her love and their bond, and his own resolve, he’d overcome one of the most trying times of his life.
His own stepfather, the man he looked up to most, had doubted him, even called him insane for attempting to pull off such a daunting task only fueled his resolve and determination. With him going home at the end of the fall semester at MCLA because he couldn’t afford it, he and his love were determined to save up enough money to get an apartment, and then go back to New Paltz to finish college.
And he was doubted by his own stepfather.
All that drama began that dismal summer, the summer between his freshman year at SUNY New Paltz and his sophomore year at MCLA. Now that his mind had totally gone nostalgic, no longer thinking about laying groundwork for the next novel, he grabbed a photo album off a shelf, sat back in his chair, and began to delve through the pages of photographs encased in sheet plastic. He thumbed through the pictures of that fun camping trip during that summer, until he found one that would forever remained etched in his memory. There, on a rock, the four of them sat. His friend since childhood, Dan sat with his girlfriend, and they were smiling. Next to them, he sat the farthest away, with a smile as the sun shined over his curly hair and pale face. On the far right, his love sat smiling with an open-mouthed grin.
Oh, they had no idea what was going on in my head then…
His relationship with his girlfriend, his first and current love, had only been three months in, and not long after settling into his new home on Cape Cod, did he begin to feel miserable. He had started going out with her a week and a half before year’s end, and in no time, they were three hundred miles apart, which was strain on his mind. Family life was burdensome, what with his stepfather so stressed out, unemployed, and asking for his hard earned money from working at Wal-Mart. The prospect of transferring to another college was a hard, involved process, and once again, his stepfather doubted the ability to go, and even suggested that he stay home for the year and work, save up, build up. But the boy was stubborn, and was determined to prove his stepfather wrong.
Also weighing on his mind and heart was the fact that he had a love interest with his current best friend, thousands of miles away, and that she too was in love with him and didn’t want to let go. For months, his heart was torn, for he didn’t want to let go of either—he had found two genuinely wonderful women, but his heart couldn’t decide then…not for months. It was something that particular picture couldn’t reveal, for it was just a façade of the reality which was his life. Sure, maybe for that camping trip, those few days he spent with his friends and his love, he was temporarily happy, but when he arrived back home, all those problems he had longed to escape from came in full force. Yet, all those smiles on that photo, were they real? Were the smiles a guise, just people hiding behind the veil of reality? Isn’t that what photographs do? Don’t we all smile for the camera, despite the fact that we might be feeling so totally opposite?
Yes, the experiences had on that camping trip were indeed enjoyable. That whole summer, he wanted out, for he longed to be in the comforting arms of his love, his best friend, anyone. Home was a prison, where one seemed resigned forever to work to support the family. There, he felt out of place, a lodger. Home life was becoming alien in his mind—he had a taste of freedom at college, and wanted it back. Home was a place of doubt, pessimism. The smile on his face was an empty smile—that whole trip, his mind dreaded going home, back to that sanitarium. He didn’t want to be three hundred miles away from his love. He didn’t want to return there, he didn’t want to go to MCLA. What he was in for was more drama and tears, but that’s another story.
Funny thing, photographs, he began to think, how fake they can be. Behind those smiles lies something totally different. While the subject might be happy, other things are constantly spinning in the mind. No one truly knows what life’s throwing at them. No one can read a photograph and glean all the turmoil going on in a young man’s life from a picture of smiles during a camping trip. They are facades. Images of the past. Not real.
Yet, it was all over now. Those years in which he worked, his love worked to make their hope a reality was here, materialized. All the drama, despair, tears and stress had finally been lifted.
A noise coming from the opposite side of the apartment had broken his reverie. The door had opened, and he knew it was her, coming back from work. He had placed the photo album down on the desk and rose out of the chair to greet her. When he entered her view, she smiled, and he placed his lips gently on hers and embraced her warmly.
The cursor was still blinking, ready to bring words to life.
Sarah's in bed now, and I will be shortly. Tomorrow, a very busy day. I've got most of the "just-before-final" work done. All that's really left is tomorrow, where I have not only an assignment due for my Computing class, but an exam in that class as well. I also have my Modern World class, and then work from 9 to close. So my day is scattered...hmm.
Signups still being taken for the VGV contest. Let me know if you're in.
Nighty night, all.
