Yeah. I guess it's time for an update, even though nothing really has been happening. So here's just some random stuff that's been going on. One of these days, I'll get all those Victorian quotes I've been collecting together and make up a post with them; I've already started it, so it is in the works.
I've been wearing a new scent; it's called "Old Books." Well, ok, it actually comes from working in the Library for 3-4 hour stretches of time, and from shifting books during such shifts, but still. It's a distinctive scent that seems to cling to me for hours on end after I walk out of the library, and not even showering removes it from my nostrils. Not that it's a bad smell; it's just very . . . stubborn.
When we're working in the library, we tend to be on our own a lot, and we're supposed to get a fifteen-minute break on 3-4 hour shifts, which I usually don't take; this gives me the occasional chance to steal a few minutes on one of the most remote computers hidden in the back of the library and send random messages to people. So don't be surprised if something comes out of nowhere.
I could swear the library's haunted. But that's a story for another day.
Quote of the day! On the male's need to urinate on something (don't ask how I get into these conversations) . . .
"It has to do with our destructive tendencies. That's why we call 'it killing the tree' . . . like, 'Ok guys, I'm going to go kill a tree.' Rocks are a bit harder to kill, but we go for the erosion."
There are more complications with my father, but the details of those can wait for private conversations if anyone cares to ask.
My entire world in general is one great big Ironic, complicated world-type place. It's the only word for it. Irony defines my life. Ah, well. I find myself thinking, more and more, along the lines of, "The world is a complicated, ironic place . . . and some god thought it would be amusing to plop me right down in the middle of it." Yeah, I'm in a cynical, Terry-Pratchettish mood. I need to read "Thief of Time" or "The Last Continent" again . . . or, more like, Neil Gaiman's "Neverwhere." In fact, I need to get a new copy of "Neverwhere," considering I lent out my last one and forgot who I gave it to. Ah, well. For now, I comfort myself with Gaiman's latest, "Anansi Boys," which I splurged on and bought in hardback because Neil Gaiman is just that awesome. Just the sort of ironic, slightly dark humor that fits me nowadays.
I need to start on the big history research paper. I know I want to do something concerning the Druids, but I don't know what the specific question will be, yet. Perhaps something about the conflict between it and Christianity, or how Pagan traditions and rites were incorporated in the Christain religion to help the assimilation, or the conflict the Church had with the above. I just don't want to end up focusing more on the Church than the Druids. I'll figure something out.
So I called Josh from church a few days ago and left a voicemail, then he called me back and left a voicemail . . . we have really bad phone timing. Anyway, he apologized for not calling sooner and said his parents were coming for the week and he couldn't get together during that time, but he hoped to keep in touch via phone. I guess I'm kinda anxious to meet him because I want to start out fresh with someone. I screwed up with Matt because I wasn't familiar with intimate, face-to-face friendships and didn't really know how to behave; screwed up with Jonathan because I told him about my Worst habit when it started up again and he wasn't sure how to react to that and thus became more distant . . . hell, I screwed up on a lot of friendships. But that's not a story for here. I just want to start anew and see if I can build something and not have it topple within half a year or even a few months.
Speaking of Matt, I'm really missing him nowadays. I realize that he's moved on in more ways than one, but it's difficult to know that one of one's closest friends has done so with no real closure. I asked for him to make time for me when he could . . . and well, apparently it's not that important, and he'd rather be with his other friends and devote perhaps an our at most a week with me. It feels as though he's slowly drifting off into complete separation. If that's what makes him happy, though, I won't stand in his way. It's just difficult to let go. Even Post-Band Brian noticed something was wrong the other day when Jonathan and I went to play Settlers with him and asked what was up. -Shrug- You'd think that, after a lifetime of this sort of thing, it wouldn't hit me so hard, but a friend did once comment that I seem to be hit harder by things than most people, and most people who know me fairly well agree. Yeah.
So it's back to being the loner. It's an ironic world out there, and some god thought it'd be amusing to plop me right down in the middle of it. Of course, it's a bit more complicated than all that, but perhaps why will be devoted to a different post. It's not like I have much left to lose by ousting my feelings . . . And then I ask myself, if it's like this, why do I keep a blog? Habit, I guess. I never shut out the healing of a close friendship; it's one of those things where I don't like giving up hope and letting go. There's only one of every person in the world, and I don't want to lose any who are especially special to me.
This is a really big hint. But it doesn't have to be taken.
Update on the depression. I suppose that's appropriate here. Yeah . . . people might remember that, a few months ago and beyond, it'd hit me maybe a few times a week and the worst every several months. Now, it hits every day, usually in the evening though sometimes during the day, and it hangs around for several hours if not all day. The worst happens every week or so. I just have to concentrate on keeping it real and staying alive. I don't talk about the worst part much anymore; Jonathan's shock showed me just how much it surprises and hurts other people. If that's its result, it's not worth bringing up. I just need my friends to be there for me when I need them, to drag me out even when I'm gung-ho about being isolated and holing myself up in my room, or just to meet and see each other fairly frequently. I have very few friends on campus, and I'd like to keep up with them . . . but now I'm getting off track.
This deserves its own little paragraph . . . I won in Settlers against Brian and Jonathan the other day. ^_^ It was funny; for about five minutes afterward, all they were talking (read: bickering) about was how, if they had worked together, they could've stopped me. It was a Kodak moment.
Anyway, I need to shower so that I'll be all nice and fresh and clean and ready to go to work and start smelling like old books again. Ahhh, the fragrance of the librarian in a library where most all the books date between the turn of the century and the 50's (with a substantial number having come from the 50's. Those particular ones have their own distinctive smell.). The next bunch is from the 70's, then late 80's, then early and mid-90's (not much in the middle), then the occasional newer book. You can see the pattern of book-purchasing (and when they got a newer, bigger building) by the trend in publishing dates; my theory is that they got the larger building in the late 50's/early 60's, then got more space in the late 70's, trickled in more books throughout the 80's and early 90's, and now add the occasional new, contemporary book. Is it rather sad that I'm developing the talent of being able to determine when a book was published by the texture of the cover when the jacket is off? I help the time pass by testing myself. the late-70's-early-80's covers tend to be slightly fuzzy, as are occasionally late 90's. I can also tell the difference between turn-of-the-century and 1920's covers. But you have to be careful, because sometimes the newer covers become fuzzier not because of when it was published, but because of how often it circulates. Ok, I'll stop now. It's just interesting. "Blessed are the easily amused." Especially when they can turn something fairly simple into a complication that offers hours of fun . . . to them. My newest hobby. ^_^
But that's my update, and soon I'll have Victorian funness up for your amusement. Tschues!
I've been wearing a new scent; it's called "Old Books." Well, ok, it actually comes from working in the Library for 3-4 hour stretches of time, and from shifting books during such shifts, but still. It's a distinctive scent that seems to cling to me for hours on end after I walk out of the library, and not even showering removes it from my nostrils. Not that it's a bad smell; it's just very . . . stubborn.
When we're working in the library, we tend to be on our own a lot, and we're supposed to get a fifteen-minute break on 3-4 hour shifts, which I usually don't take; this gives me the occasional chance to steal a few minutes on one of the most remote computers hidden in the back of the library and send random messages to people. So don't be surprised if something comes out of nowhere.
I could swear the library's haunted. But that's a story for another day.
Quote of the day! On the male's need to urinate on something (don't ask how I get into these conversations) . . .
"It has to do with our destructive tendencies. That's why we call 'it killing the tree' . . . like, 'Ok guys, I'm going to go kill a tree.' Rocks are a bit harder to kill, but we go for the erosion."
There are more complications with my father, but the details of those can wait for private conversations if anyone cares to ask.
My entire world in general is one great big Ironic, complicated world-type place. It's the only word for it. Irony defines my life. Ah, well. I find myself thinking, more and more, along the lines of, "The world is a complicated, ironic place . . . and some god thought it would be amusing to plop me right down in the middle of it." Yeah, I'm in a cynical, Terry-Pratchettish mood. I need to read "Thief of Time" or "The Last Continent" again . . . or, more like, Neil Gaiman's "Neverwhere." In fact, I need to get a new copy of "Neverwhere," considering I lent out my last one and forgot who I gave it to. Ah, well. For now, I comfort myself with Gaiman's latest, "Anansi Boys," which I splurged on and bought in hardback because Neil Gaiman is just that awesome. Just the sort of ironic, slightly dark humor that fits me nowadays.
I need to start on the big history research paper. I know I want to do something concerning the Druids, but I don't know what the specific question will be, yet. Perhaps something about the conflict between it and Christianity, or how Pagan traditions and rites were incorporated in the Christain religion to help the assimilation, or the conflict the Church had with the above. I just don't want to end up focusing more on the Church than the Druids. I'll figure something out.
So I called Josh from church a few days ago and left a voicemail, then he called me back and left a voicemail . . . we have really bad phone timing. Anyway, he apologized for not calling sooner and said his parents were coming for the week and he couldn't get together during that time, but he hoped to keep in touch via phone. I guess I'm kinda anxious to meet him because I want to start out fresh with someone. I screwed up with Matt because I wasn't familiar with intimate, face-to-face friendships and didn't really know how to behave; screwed up with Jonathan because I told him about my Worst habit when it started up again and he wasn't sure how to react to that and thus became more distant . . . hell, I screwed up on a lot of friendships. But that's not a story for here. I just want to start anew and see if I can build something and not have it topple within half a year or even a few months.
Speaking of Matt, I'm really missing him nowadays. I realize that he's moved on in more ways than one, but it's difficult to know that one of one's closest friends has done so with no real closure. I asked for him to make time for me when he could . . . and well, apparently it's not that important, and he'd rather be with his other friends and devote perhaps an our at most a week with me. It feels as though he's slowly drifting off into complete separation. If that's what makes him happy, though, I won't stand in his way. It's just difficult to let go. Even Post-Band Brian noticed something was wrong the other day when Jonathan and I went to play Settlers with him and asked what was up. -Shrug- You'd think that, after a lifetime of this sort of thing, it wouldn't hit me so hard, but a friend did once comment that I seem to be hit harder by things than most people, and most people who know me fairly well agree. Yeah.
So it's back to being the loner. It's an ironic world out there, and some god thought it'd be amusing to plop me right down in the middle of it. Of course, it's a bit more complicated than all that, but perhaps why will be devoted to a different post. It's not like I have much left to lose by ousting my feelings . . . And then I ask myself, if it's like this, why do I keep a blog? Habit, I guess. I never shut out the healing of a close friendship; it's one of those things where I don't like giving up hope and letting go. There's only one of every person in the world, and I don't want to lose any who are especially special to me.
This is a really big hint. But it doesn't have to be taken.
Update on the depression. I suppose that's appropriate here. Yeah . . . people might remember that, a few months ago and beyond, it'd hit me maybe a few times a week and the worst every several months. Now, it hits every day, usually in the evening though sometimes during the day, and it hangs around for several hours if not all day. The worst happens every week or so. I just have to concentrate on keeping it real and staying alive. I don't talk about the worst part much anymore; Jonathan's shock showed me just how much it surprises and hurts other people. If that's its result, it's not worth bringing up. I just need my friends to be there for me when I need them, to drag me out even when I'm gung-ho about being isolated and holing myself up in my room, or just to meet and see each other fairly frequently. I have very few friends on campus, and I'd like to keep up with them . . . but now I'm getting off track.
This deserves its own little paragraph . . . I won in Settlers against Brian and Jonathan the other day. ^_^ It was funny; for about five minutes afterward, all they were talking (read: bickering) about was how, if they had worked together, they could've stopped me. It was a Kodak moment.
Anyway, I need to shower so that I'll be all nice and fresh and clean and ready to go to work and start smelling like old books again. Ahhh, the fragrance of the librarian in a library where most all the books date between the turn of the century and the 50's (with a substantial number having come from the 50's. Those particular ones have their own distinctive smell.). The next bunch is from the 70's, then late 80's, then early and mid-90's (not much in the middle), then the occasional newer book. You can see the pattern of book-purchasing (and when they got a newer, bigger building) by the trend in publishing dates; my theory is that they got the larger building in the late 50's/early 60's, then got more space in the late 70's, trickled in more books throughout the 80's and early 90's, and now add the occasional new, contemporary book. Is it rather sad that I'm developing the talent of being able to determine when a book was published by the texture of the cover when the jacket is off? I help the time pass by testing myself. the late-70's-early-80's covers tend to be slightly fuzzy, as are occasionally late 90's. I can also tell the difference between turn-of-the-century and 1920's covers. But you have to be careful, because sometimes the newer covers become fuzzier not because of when it was published, but because of how often it circulates. Ok, I'll stop now. It's just interesting. "Blessed are the easily amused." Especially when they can turn something fairly simple into a complication that offers hours of fun . . . to them. My newest hobby. ^_^
But that's my update, and soon I'll have Victorian funness up for your amusement. Tschues!
