Things are disjointed. I'm moving in a forward direction down the winding path to a Myo Sim Karate first dan black belt, which is terrifying and exciting at the same time. More about that as the new semester approaches and this year's test (finally) takes place.
I wrote a very short poem about the glorious full moon tonight, getting down and dirty with pen and paper for the first time in way too long. I have been on the cusp of bringing up something large, looming, soft and silent, something I foolishly assumed had gone to ground inside of me.
On the same subject, I consciously lied to you by omission for the first time last weekend, and it's been weighing low and heavy on me for the past few days. I told you the story about home, about my transience and the wrapped black milk carton that travels, cradled in my protective arms as I tack back and forth across this sprawling town, never getting unpacked, smelling like nag champa and oak. I told you each of these things in turn, using the low tones of my voice and the sprawl of my arms to emphasize their importance, but crucially, consciously and painfully, I neglected to explain what it is and why.
Needless cruelty, shortshifting covered over by a mysterious smile and a distracting punching combination.
On another note, apparently I invite pounding because I have "a good frame for it." Shockingly, probably for the first time I *reacted* to an instructor reinforcing this statement (effectively, playfully punching me in the sternum) by pulling both fists back and into a short range double solar plexus punch. It is the unfairly agressive behavior I generally only unleash on B., and I swear you could have knocked the aforementioned instructor over with a feather.
But not in a bad way.
reading: Rush Limbaugh is a Big Fat Idiot (and other observations) // Al Franken
listening to: Sweet Mistakes // Ellis Paul
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Thursday, July 3, 2008
you've got a lot to learn about possibilities
Running through the gamut of bookmarked blogs on my browser last night, I suddenly realized that Blogger had logged me out since I hadn't updated in at least a month. After a ten-minute struggle to remember my password, I return to Lesbia today in an effort to send some kind of update about how things are right now.
In the boring specificity of the day to day, I'm at work right now, constantly starting and stopping the medium-sized flat item scanner, running off hundreds of pages of rather boring 19th century sheet music. My iPod sits beside the monitor with a couple of hairties wrapped around it -- extras, since the one holding my long hair back is on its last threads. I'm avoiding the solitary world of playlists because I want to keep having intermittent conversations with the girl at the other Digibook. She is very polite and has a nice laugh.
I am well-worked and tired, my body slightly stressed after hours of hiking yesterday, but not sore like a difficult class or a long run might have left me. The tension in my neck is left over from Tuesday night falls, a little bit of whiplash that I still can't prevent. My right palm is scraped a bit and my fingers are cracking, and I desperately need a haircut that I can't afford.
Having tomorrow off for the holiday is a nice break from my usual Friday routine. I pretty much don't know what to do with myself without workout, but E. and I will be at my parents' house for dinner in the evening, which I expect will be nice. By "nice" I mean "bearable due to the presence of free food and drinky drink."
Hiking yesterday was gorgeous and relaxing and just generally wonderful, by the by. I stood too long on the edge of Blue Hole, watching B. splash around in the freezing water, but eventually I got over myself and jumped. It was every bit as cold as I had imagined, a cold that ended with both of us screaming and flailing for awhile, but eventually going numb and climbing out to bemoan our usual state of unpreparedness. Towels will be involved in similar adventures in the future.
Plans are being formulated for the annual Rhode Island trip (or exodus, as it were). I am extremely glad that E. has consented to come with for the second year in a row -- if the first year with my strange extended family didn't scare her off, then pretty much nothing could. It should be a pretty good time, at least. Two cushy weeks of bayside living isn't really a struggle.
In much more general terms, I'm looking forward to the fall semester already, though I'd like to find a class to replace my filler of "Late Victorian Fiction." Doesn't exactly sound riveting. I'm not nervous about third year -- I'm quite content to have a major and a plan, even if it's only for the next two years and doesn't mean much outside the department. I'm excited to have more days per week to ride, since I think I'm on the verge of starting to do a little bit of showing just for fun, but I'm also apprehensive because little Andi wants me to take over for her as a lesson instructor. I'm not sure I have the patience, the time, or the skill -- but I could sure use the extra cash. Big Andi seems to be in favor of this (but who really knows what she thinks? I can never tell). Sometimes I think she forgets how little time I've really been riding.
As for Myo Sim, what will be will be, and I'm not going to fight it. B. and I talk a lot about training, about what will happen to the school in the future, and about how things were (or in my case, how I've heard they were) way back in the earlier days of the school. I try not to think too much or too far ahead in classes, just practicing, just doing whatever it is that I'm supposed to be doing and thoroughly enjoying it. I am worried about possibly leaving in the spring and being declared unready to test next summer/fall, but really, my own readiness is something that has to come on its own. I want to feel it, and know that it's there, before I have to show it to the world (our small, insular, meaningful microcosm of a world, that is).
That was entirely too many words for not saying much at all, but since conversation is generally lacking and reflection even more so, there you have it.
My hand hurts.
In the boring specificity of the day to day, I'm at work right now, constantly starting and stopping the medium-sized flat item scanner, running off hundreds of pages of rather boring 19th century sheet music. My iPod sits beside the monitor with a couple of hairties wrapped around it -- extras, since the one holding my long hair back is on its last threads. I'm avoiding the solitary world of playlists because I want to keep having intermittent conversations with the girl at the other Digibook. She is very polite and has a nice laugh.
I am well-worked and tired, my body slightly stressed after hours of hiking yesterday, but not sore like a difficult class or a long run might have left me. The tension in my neck is left over from Tuesday night falls, a little bit of whiplash that I still can't prevent. My right palm is scraped a bit and my fingers are cracking, and I desperately need a haircut that I can't afford.
Having tomorrow off for the holiday is a nice break from my usual Friday routine. I pretty much don't know what to do with myself without workout, but E. and I will be at my parents' house for dinner in the evening, which I expect will be nice. By "nice" I mean "bearable due to the presence of free food and drinky drink."
Hiking yesterday was gorgeous and relaxing and just generally wonderful, by the by. I stood too long on the edge of Blue Hole, watching B. splash around in the freezing water, but eventually I got over myself and jumped. It was every bit as cold as I had imagined, a cold that ended with both of us screaming and flailing for awhile, but eventually going numb and climbing out to bemoan our usual state of unpreparedness. Towels will be involved in similar adventures in the future.
Plans are being formulated for the annual Rhode Island trip (or exodus, as it were). I am extremely glad that E. has consented to come with for the second year in a row -- if the first year with my strange extended family didn't scare her off, then pretty much nothing could. It should be a pretty good time, at least. Two cushy weeks of bayside living isn't really a struggle.
In much more general terms, I'm looking forward to the fall semester already, though I'd like to find a class to replace my filler of "Late Victorian Fiction." Doesn't exactly sound riveting. I'm not nervous about third year -- I'm quite content to have a major and a plan, even if it's only for the next two years and doesn't mean much outside the department. I'm excited to have more days per week to ride, since I think I'm on the verge of starting to do a little bit of showing just for fun, but I'm also apprehensive because little Andi wants me to take over for her as a lesson instructor. I'm not sure I have the patience, the time, or the skill -- but I could sure use the extra cash. Big Andi seems to be in favor of this (but who really knows what she thinks? I can never tell). Sometimes I think she forgets how little time I've really been riding.
As for Myo Sim, what will be will be, and I'm not going to fight it. B. and I talk a lot about training, about what will happen to the school in the future, and about how things were (or in my case, how I've heard they were) way back in the earlier days of the school. I try not to think too much or too far ahead in classes, just practicing, just doing whatever it is that I'm supposed to be doing and thoroughly enjoying it. I am worried about possibly leaving in the spring and being declared unready to test next summer/fall, but really, my own readiness is something that has to come on its own. I want to feel it, and know that it's there, before I have to show it to the world (our small, insular, meaningful microcosm of a world, that is).
That was entirely too many words for not saying much at all, but since conversation is generally lacking and reflection even more so, there you have it.
My hand hurts.
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