what Was, what Is, and what Will Be

Is a very odd thing. You can find it, make it, take it, and loose it. But no matter what, it is always moving.

This really pisses me off.

What needs to happen is for us to be conscious of the time right now. An eye on the past and the future, yes, but the mind on the present.

And listen.ing is good too.

Otherwise how will we know what is truly going on?

Yes. I’m writing a paper right now.  Yes, that paper is due tomorrow.  Yes, I am in college (how could you tell!?).  Yes, I am deliberately wasting time that could be spent finishing that paper to write this entry.  And yes, I don’t really care.  What’s ten minutes anyway?  (According to my professor, ten minutes is all it takes to wikipedia the information needed for this paper, but that’s besides the point.)

What is the point, you may ask?  Circles.  So no points, heh.  Good imagery.

I think the point is that even though I know what I want to say in my head, I can’t lay it out in writing because everything I am trying to say comes full circle to other points I haven’t even made yet.  How do I explain one thing when that explanation hinges on a second explanation that also hinges on the first?  I mean really, I can’t even get this concept out without sounding nuts!

They say that if you can’t explain something, then you don’t actually understand it fully.  To them I say “ppppppthhthhtht, you write my paper and see how well you lay these concepts out!”.  It’s not that I don’t understand the material in the paper, it’s that I don’t see a clear start or finish to the ideas that need to be put in the assignment.  One thing causes another and causes itself at the same time by causing that second thing.  Circles.  This is where my mind is, and it’s getting dizzy.

Well, back at it then.  I still say that I could have drawn a picture of this faster than this is taking me to write.  But that’s not what they asked for.  They asked for words, and words they shall get.  But it’s not my fault if everything is jumbled, loops lead to tangents, and lines of thought connect.  Ecology is full of webs, and after all, that is what the paper is about.  Circles.

Well then.  It seems that the purpose of this journal was not particularly fulfilled during my time here at Purdue, which is where I have been since I started this thing two years ago.  And that sort of sums up said two years as well, the whole “not really paying attention to things I always meant to do, would be good for me, and would benefit mostly me alone”.  Graduate school is an interesting thing.  It is an extension of the regular undergraduate class-study-test cycle with the added bonus of independent projects that you alone are responsible and accountable for.  My reaction to this wonderful combination has so far been to put everything I physically can into the completion of all those tasks, regardless of how many hours that means I spend away from home.  Weather it is spent outside kayaking through a marsh or at this very computer in a lab with questionable smells and no windows, that time goes towards the completion of goals agreed upon by myself and my committee (and whatever further great “side projects” they think of and shove off on me in chance encounters in the hallway).

No more.

This is me putting my virtual foot down and saying that I will make time to do tangible things for me, myself, and I.  I’ve written it, you’ve read it, so shall it be done.

Now, it’s not like I have been a complete slave to the Man here.  I have sneaked a few fun things in using the guise of work, such as the two awesome kayaks that I get to play with during the summer while sampling and the plants that I “have to” draw so I can study for my spring ephemeral class right now.  And Friday Seminar.  Ahhhhhh Friday Seminar.  The perfect excuse to go have a pint and some fantastically good (but ever so unhealthy) pub food with lab mates and good friends in an attempt to have real conversations that don’t involve school.  That never works, by the way, we always and forever will talk about professors, research, and classes until the wee hours of the morning.

Point is, I’ve done some cool stuff both for school and for not school. And to prove it, I will post (and will continue to post) pictures of drawings, outings, innings, and other general creativeness to prove both to myself and to the world that I am more than a grade, a huge amount of seemingly meaningless numbers, and a few (hopefully) published papers.  I am the sum of what I produce, and things I do beyond school are just as important contributions to who I am as my GPA and thesis are.

I am determined.  I have goals.  And I will enjoy everything I do at least a little, and at most a lot.  Well, except stats.  No one ever actually enjoys stats.

Now it begins.  Um, again.

There is perverse beauty in the sight of heavy white snow sitting on branches that have already started to leaf out.  It’s April 28th, and four inches of snow are contaminating my spring morning with pure bright cold.  There is nothing I want more right now than to be able to go sandal clad out to a field and toss around a frisbee with friends.  No more teachers, no more books, no more stats classes to sit and sleep through.  But here it is, Monday morning, and I’m trying my best to affectivly avoid studying for an exam on Wednesday.  Fantastic.

I am very ready for this school year to be done, if for no other reason than I have very litte interest in any of the classes I’m in right now.  It could be that the professors aren’t making connections that pull my interest back in or even more simply that I’ve gotten lazy and just fed up with putting work in and getting only a grade back out.  I don’t feel like I’m getting anything out of what I’m doing here.  They do say that you get out what you put in and maybe this means that I’m not putting enough in, but I really don’t think that’s the entire heart of the issue here.  Time is nothing if experiences aren’t recorded and remembered, so what is the point of classes that I go to and sit in to learn, but can’t apply the material anywhere in the real world?  Obviously I’m picking up information and gaining knowledge, but it feels like there is no tangible outcome of this futile cycle of learn, study, be tested.  Not enough to make me keep going without feeling like I’m dragging myself through the motions just to finish something I started and am now obligated to finish.

Yesterday was filled with amazing things in including a trip back into DI (Destination Imagination) performance memories, an accidental 9 mile bike ride, multiple failed attempts at cartwheels, and an incredible game of ultimate followed by a romp through the mud on the edge of the fields.  That was, however, where the fun tapered off and the frustration began. 

People act differently in different situations with different people.  When a women is not clear about what she wants (or doesn’t want) but just barely distances herself from the problem, the problem at hand is only temporarily fixed.  Putting a friend (or three) between yourself and a guy you don’t want around you (especially on the dance floor) is no way to get him to leave you alone for good.  “No, piss off you jerk” means no, but “I think I’ll just wiggle provocativelyjust slightly to the left over here still within your sight” means about nothing.  Well, in this case, it meant that one of those friends could be due for a punch up the bracket in one or two more “accidental” brushes of friend’s shoulder with erstwhile potential boyfriend’s face.

Now while I was neither the pick-setting friend nor the shifty dancer, I did happen to be the rather tired roommate allong for the outing.  We could have left the problem behind at any time by jumping right back into either my sporty little Saturn or even back into the dark and warm night, but the decision was up to the powers that be dancing, and not the one who owned the car.  Not quite sure how that worked.  I made it abundantly clear that I was not comfortable with the situation at all, especially with the possibility of a fight between a short Brit armed with a very blunt metal hitty stick carefully concealed in his pocket and a tall, most likely drunk, incredibly pissed off bar hopper.     

Despite all this, we did get out with no damage, no scars, and no police citations.  Which is good.  But that may be the last time I go “out” to “dance” in a year or two.