Sad

I am desperately seeking something to cheer myself up and failing miserably.  The sadness is creeping in like a slow fog rolling in and covering everything.  I just wrote a goodbye letter to somebody.

I did not want to write the letter.  I did not want to say goodbye.  This situation is so STUPID.  I can't even wrap my mind around it.  Every time I think about it, about the circumstances of it, I just feel a little more ill.  I had been hoping against hope that I was mistaken, but today everything was finally confirmed, every last shred of carefully tended hope was knocked away, and I was forced to face the truth of what is going on.

All that was left, then, was to say a few final words and press send.  And feel sick.  And wait for the next horror.

The Sun Also Rises

After watching Midnight in Paris Saturday, I was struck with the desire to reread some Hemingway, specifically The Sun Also Rises since there is reference to Zelda going off with a bullfighter in one of the scenes.  I got it on Kindle Sunday, and I finished the reread just now.

I guess I haven't read it in two or three years now, not since I took that course in Hemingway where we read all his works together.  I had forgotten so much of it.  I know that the last time I read it I didn't respond to it as I did this time.  There was something in it this time that hit just like a ten-pound sledge.

Maybe it's that I'm older now, and I have seen more of the nastiness people are capable of dishing out to each other as they are scrabbling to fill the empty spaces inside them.  Maybe that same aspect has allowed me to come to a place where I know a Brett, a Cohn, a Mike.  Perhaps when I was younger, I thought these people unrealistic.  I seem to remember my students saying something like that when we studied it together.  They're wrong, though.  I think that Hemingway has captured types fairly well.  Maybe we were all just too young to have encountered them yet.  I see horrible shadows of myself at times in Jake, willing to give up my own happiness for the happiness of the one I love and suffering because of it.

As for Hemingway's prose, I love it more now than I did even a few years ago.  I am not one of those people who say that his style is the only way to go, but perhaps because I do deal with developing writing so often (and you can consider that a euphemism if you like), I find the stripped-down sharpness in TSAR like a minimalist painting or traditional Japanese architecture, good because it is clean and strong, powerful because there is nothing to detract from its focus.

I have been rereading The Great Gatsby off and on routinely for years, but for some reason, TSAR hasn't been in on that rotation.  The last time I left it, I did not have this feeling of bittersweet love for it.  It might have been because I was teaching it at a stressful time.  Sometimes that colors a work for me.  For whatever reason, and for whatever reason my feelings toward this work have changed, I suspect this will now be one I go to more often.

(This is not to say that I love all Hemingway.  I still hate Catherine with a passion.  She doesn't get off that easily.  I can't forgive any woman who apologizes for the inconvenience of her own death or any writer who creates her.)

Waking Up

I'm trying to wake up.  I can't get the cobwebs to clear away this morning despite application of Diet Mountain Dew.  This is probably because of the freaking bizarre dreams I had all night.

They were mostly school related.  It doesn't take a genius to tell I'm anxious about going back.

I dreamed I had a room full of things other teachers had been looking for but that I had somehow overlooked and had not given to them, thus failing in one of my supervisory capabilities. Somehow their stuff had gotten mixed in with my stuff, and I had not found it.  They had needed it, asked for it, but I hadn't found it in time.

I dreamed that they asked me to move my classroom again.  This time, impossibly, the move was somehow to the room my old AP teacher from high school had.  I do not teach at the same school I attended, yet, somehow, by the magic of dreams, the two schools melded together, and I could walk down the stairs, turn a corner, and there was a version of that room, that hall there.  I do not even know what to make of that.

As I was trying to move my stuff, I dreamed that students from last year showed up to take an exam they claimed they had missed. They had been told they were permitted to take it now.  They did not understand  the material, and they sat in front of the test blankly for a long time.  They just became shadows in the desks.

I also came downstairs with a load of stuff and was for some reason outside in a courtyard area our school does not have but my old high school does, and a principal I had never seen came running past me on a walkie-talkie (all the admins at our schools carry these) with a set of keys.  He went to the door I was using and he locked it.  Then he came back to me, telling me he'd locked the building down and that it was my responsibility to find a way to get back in.  He walked off even though I was standing there with my arms loaded.

The scene switched and for some reason I was having my AP class on a football practice field.  I had all my stuff in a car.  I was missing half of my class.  I had no idea where they were.  I had all these kids in my room that I had never seen before who were earnestly scribbling things down.  At the end of the period, one of these kids I didn't know (he looked like he was about 12) came up and asked me for an essay topic handout to take with him.  He said that all my other kids were in the gym at a protest because the coaches were trying to cut a kid off the track team midseason and they felt like this was unfair.  The students I didn't know had been sent to cover their classes during the protest.  It was a system they'd worked out.

It just kept getting progressively stranger.  I finally got in my "new" classroom.  I had windows on both sides of the room, even the one with the interior hallway.  I could see the mountains of Japan out the hallway side....  People I know, colleagues, friends, former students, people dead and gone, dropped in and out of this thing like it was a major motion picture.  It was not a horror movie because there were no monsters or gore, but I have rarely felt so glad to wake up or so happy to be in my own little bedroom when I did.

I hate it when my brain gets cute with the things I'm worried about.  I can trace back a lot of what I saw.  Not all of it, but much of it. I miss harmless dreaming.

Happy New Year to You

Found on Neil Gaiman's Tumblr.  It says everything I think probably needs to be said.  I love you all and wish you the best.

New Year's Eve

Another New Year's Eve.  I made homemade pizza and brownies, and I'm watching movies as I'm waiting to bring in the new year.  There are assorted dogs passed out in the floor and assorted cats passed out on the back of the couch.  It's a pretty good evening.  I could wish for some company, but that's not a part of my current reality (unless somebody just shows up in my yard...well, that might be fun, too), and I'm content.

I de-Christmased the house, and as nice as it was to have all my doodads out and around, it's also good to have everything back to normal and all cleaned up again.  I like to have all the order restored.

The mild weather today allowed me to go out and hang up the hammock for awhile this afternoon.  It felt strange today to be out in short sleeves in the back yard on New Year's Eve.  Only in Mississippi....

I didn't get around to my computer stuff.  I might try to install the memory tonight, but I suspect I will wait until tomorrow.  It just wasn't a priority for me today.  All the other things mattered more even though my mind was clear enough to do the work today.

Well, I think I'm going to finish up this movie, fight off the temptation to eat another brownie, and then maybe read and listen to some music as 2012 comes into my neck of the woods.  I hope that as it finds you, wherever you are, you are happy, healthy, and at peace.  Happy New Year, everyone.

Midnight in Paris

Oh, it's lovely.  Lovely, funny, smart, and wonderful.  It's what movies so rarely are.  I laughed.  I clapped my hands in delight.  I loved it thoroughly.  In one viewing, and not even all the way through that first viewing, Midnight in Paris made it onto the list of my favorite films.

I already know that I will be getting the DVD version from amazon next month as a part of my birthday indulgences.  I might watch it again while I've still got it as a 24-hr. streaming rental.  I'm sure I missed things while I watched it that first time.

I loved the way they drew the characterizations of the famous artists and writers.  Some of it was caricature.   Hemingway talked exactly the way he wrote.  I freaking loved that, though.  I wanted to hug him for being wonderful.  Some of it was sort of dead on.  I loved the whole thing with Scott and Zelda, Hemingway and the bullfighter whose name I can never remember.  All I could think about was THE SUN ALSO RISES!!!

I also loved that they kept bringing people in.  I felt like Gil did when he saw Josephine Baker, sort of gobsmacked and then sort of giddy and willing to go with it.  It was glorious.

I wasn't quite sure where they were going to go with it, and I won't spoil that here, but I thought it was perfect. The bit with the detective was one of my favorite parts.  If you watch it, let me know what you think about that.

All in all, it made a couple of very good points, but not necessarily the points I've heard other people say about it.  This isn't a movie condemning dreamers at all.  It's a movie that shows that there is magic in the world after all, but that one needs to be cautious about where one's eyes are focused.  That is something I can totally agree with.

Thinking (Badly)

I've a bit of a migraine, so this may not flow well.  All day long, I've been trying to fight it off, and the world has been fuzzy.  As I was going to Jackson to see my best friend, I heard Pink Floyd's "Comfortably Numb" on the radio and I laughed.  Yeah.  Appropriate song was appropriate today.

Anyway.  I'll be keeping this short.  Besides, Shaun of the Dead is on, and that's about where my brain is at right now.

I decided (quite wisely, I think) not to try to install my new internal memory although it came today or perform the transition of the external hard drives.  I shudder to think what sort of crapped up mess that would have resulted in.  Hopefully tomorrow, this little ache and all the fog will be gone.  Maybe this won't be a three-day headache.  That will give me some New Year's Eve plans anyway, since I never have any.

I found something the rest of the universe has probably known about forever tonight (IFTTT) and got it set up. I only need about four recipes from it, but I like the concept.  It's a nice way to tailor the e-universe and connect all the separate services one uses together.  I like things that do that.

I also installed the new FB Messenger standalone today.  This means that I will be "on" FB Messenger all the time whenever I have it running but I don't have to dedicate an open tab to FB unless I just want to.  Since it seems that I use FB Messenger more than email to talk to my friends and family, this solution works for me.  If I don't actually happen to be at the computer, it will just archive the convo as usual, and I'll get to it.  I've already used the interface, and it's okay.  It's a no-frills sort of thing, exactly what it says on the tin.

When I got back home from Jackson, I watched MSU play football, and it went surprisingly well for them.  They managed not to choke.  I was rather astonished.  They did try.  They threw the ball to the other team and made shocking fouls.  However, they got far enough ahead to win it.  Plus, they weren't playing another SEC team.

Well, it occurs to me that it's 10:30 and I never ate anything tonight.  (This is bad.  The Topamax will wreck me, not that I'll be able to tell much right now...  It might be AWESOME.  Maybe I should try it?)  I think I'll go microwave a Hot Pocket or something and enjoy the zombies for a little while.  Oh WOW, my exciting life.....

For What It's Worth

I've never been one to cut out pictures of gowns or plan floral arrangements.  I only ever looked at rings once.  That was a TOTALLY screwed-up trip to a jewelers with D.  I won't get into it.  It was a nightmare. I had taken a ring of my own in to be repaired, and he went with me since we sort of went lots of strange places together.  Somehow we wound up at the ring case looking and the lady behind the counter made assumptions.  You've never seen two people get away from each other so fast.  Probably it was comedic from a safe distance.

Anyway.

If it should ever come down to it.   If a little box should ever come out of a pocket or be presented to me creatively.   If there should ever happen to be some poor brave fool wonderful man out there who decides I am the one (and I just can't see this ever happening but I'm going to say this anyway), this is the ring.  I've never seen any other diamond ring I liked at all.  I suppose there may be vintage pieces out there I'd like, but this one has...something different to it.

It's a raw diamond, like my earrings, and I have already talked about why I like them so I won't belabour that point here.  It's also white gold.  I prefer the white metals, silver, white gold, or platinum, to the yellow.  The style is also to my tastes, simple and elegant.  I would feel ridiculous with something ostentatious on my hand.  I am not a fancy jewelry person unless it is old jewelry, and then not all of it.  Somehow, this just sort of seems like me.

Anyway, you can take this for what it's worth.  If you like it too, you can find this and other lovely things made by the Etsy maker masaoms by clicking through the link.

Hats

I have a thing about hats.  I sort of love them, especially when they are ridiculously fancy and ornate.  I don't know when this obsession started exactly.  Maybe back in high school when my friend and I began to wear "Easter bonnets" every year on Easter Sunday.

In reality, though, it might go back further than that.  I have, somewhere, a Goofy hat with floppy ears from DisneyWorld, a giant Mad Hatter's hat from Six Flags.  Maybe this addiction to ridiculous headgear has been a lifelong thing, then.

I started finding old hats in antique malls, and their styles, colors, fabrics seemed to demand that I put them on.  They were like little windows into other ages.  Some are classy and elegant.  Some of them were utterly dramatic.  Some of them were completely over the top.  I suppose it's a little like playing dress-up.  When I see them, I always wonder if the women who wore them originally wore them in times of joy, if those hats went to social functions or parties where the ladies felt happy.  I like to think so.

It also makes me feel sad to see them cast-off in the shops, especially the ultra-dramatic ones.  To me, they almost seem to cry out for someone to love them.  I can't resist them.  I have only a few of these; it's not like I buy every one I see, but the ones I do get have definite personality.

I don't know where I'll ever wear these.  I would like sometime to get all my friends together and for all of us to wear an odd hat and go out to eat.  My friend who went shopping with me today when I found my latest "rescue" suggested that I wear it to Winn-Dixie on a Tuesday just for the hell of it.  That made me laugh and laugh.  Some horrid Tuesday, I just might.  For the time being, it's enough to have them, take a silly picture in them that I might use for my FaceBook or Twitter profile photo, and then hang them up on my wall.  It's a harmless enough thing all the way around, I think, and a way of reclaiming something old and giving it new life.

Tech Crap

It's been a day of fixing technology on the fly.

Chewie started it by biting partially through the power adapter for my laptop.  Unlike the other electronics and cords he's destroyed, this one had current running through it.  Aww.  How sad I am!  He yelped and ran away, looking at me with those big sad eyes.  I just said, "GOOD.  Now maybe you'll leave my stuff alone."  He only got shocked, not hurt.  I have no real hope that he will really learn from this.  I've already had to throw out a sync cable for my iPhone, a non-plugged-extension cord, TWO USB connection cables for my wireless music system, and he has torn up countless non-electronics things.  He doesn't get a lot of sympathy from me.  I got the damage mended.  Black electrical tape is a wonder.

My parents called next.  I bought them a Roku for Christmas, and they'd gotten it connected as far as plugging it in and getting the RCA cables attached.  Past that, they needed me.  I went up, fought with their wireless router which had never been set up for things to connect to it since nothing they have is wireless, added their Amazon account to the Roku and reactivated a defunct Netflix account and generally got the thing up and running for them.

I tried to use their computer at first, but something was using all the memory on it.  I took a few minutes to take care of that problem, cleaned off some old programs they didn't use, purged their startup folder, and tried to help speed up their machine a little.   I couldn't find what was eating all that memory even though I looked, closed some programs through Task Manager.

I'd brought my little netbook up to take care of the Roku setup since I knew from previous experience it's easier to have a computer in front of the screen to put in codes and so forth when setting one up.  My netbook, though, has serious issues because the hard drive is almost completely full of music, etc., and the memory is insufficient.  It started acting up and then it just began to shut down.  I guess it ran its batteries out and didn't warn me.  I was so afraid it was just dead from some kind of hardware failure, but once I got it home and back on the charger, it did finally load again.

I've been wanting to upgrade my external portable hard drive for a long time since the one I have currently is almost full, and I take pictures all the time and need space to put those fairly large files.  I have a plan to make my old 500 GB external my iTunes library for my netbook and take the load off its internal HD.  Friday, the 2 TB external and some new memory for the netbook will arrive, and we'll see if I can figure out how to make all that happen.

I'm not much by way of tech support.  I am hoping that I don't have to do much more of it in the near future. I can only do the most basic of things.  With any luck, I will be able to get my netbook working like it should before I have to start travelling with it, though.  In its current state, it's a real pain.  Maybe I have enough geek in me to manage this, at least.

Empty Hearts

So save all of your light
For those who can't sleep at night
And who can't even sing to their shadows

Oh they ride into town
And they throw the shots down
And they save the last round for the windows

(CHORUS)
Singing don't let me into this year with an empty heart
With an empty heart
Don't let me into this year with an empty heart

I'm inside with my friends
We build fires and pretend
That the night could just bend on forever

While outside in the frost
Are the wolves and the lost
And we sing to the dogs or whoever

Chorus

There's a friend that I have
And for her I'll go back
You see all of these empties that I'm holding

They're too much for a man
Empty arms, empty hands
And she'll know me by the sound of my hoping

"Empty Hearts" - Josh Ritter

_____________________________________

More musical meditation on the new year ahead.  This song made me think more about the situation again after the last blog went up.  Having an empty heart means so many things.

Of course there is the romantic implication.  Who wants to be alone? I would certainly love to have someone in the year ahead. The thought of having to spend another year by myself is discouraging. Just the thought just of not having someone to kiss on New Year's Eve....AGAIN...is discouraging.  (I mean, come ON.  Is this really too much to ask?)  

To be honest, though, if all the ones who show up to fill that space are as self-consumed or as willing to put me dead last as the ones who have been around in the past year, then maybe what I need to fill up that space is a contentment with being alone.  I am tired of being something less than an afterthought or a part of a collection.  I deserve better than that.  Maybe being happy with being alone is a safer thing to ask for.

I don't want to go into the new year with an empty heart, though.  I want it to be full again of enthusiasm and excitement.  I want it to be full of love and joy.  I want to believe in the positive not as a dim miracle that breaks through sometimes despite all odds but as the thing that is there all the time if one will only look for it. I used to be that person.  I want that person back.

I want to let go of the "empties that I'm holding."   I want to let go of the things and the people that I lavish time and care on that only turn around and hurt me, either intentionally or through neglect and indifference.  These empty things break me, empty me in turn.  I think they do nobody any good.  I want to replace them with things that mean something, are worthy.  I want full arms, filled not necessarily with romance but rather with the people that I love, family, true friends.  I want busy hands, engaged fully with things that are meaningful and not just idly twisting together waiting for the next disaster to fall down.  I want to be able to hear the sound of my own hoping again.  I love that line in this song.  I think that's beautiful.  

Nobody, no mortal man, can fill up an empty heart, can mend a broken one.  I've known that for a long time.  This song does remind me, though, of how important it is to refocus priorities and assess the condition of my heart, to take care of the internal house cleaning, as it were, as the old year fades away.

What He Said

And it would take a miracle
For her to break my fall
Cause she don’t care at all anymore
And I don’t know why I still do
and why I’m telling you
~ "Stay Away" - Chris Thile
______________________

Thile always says it best, doesn't he?  Reverse the genders, and you have the situation exactly.  The End.   Oh well.  It was not enough.  Maybe I wasn't.  Maybe he wasn't.  I am curiously indifferent now.  It was never more than something pleasant, anyway, and now it isn't even that.  

This is the end of a year, a particularly long and bad one for me.  I think it's time to let several things end with it,  either just let them fade away of their own volition or take up arms, and by opposing, end them.  (And yes, for those of you paying attention, that was a Hamlet allusion...)    I am determined that next year, by hook or by crook, is going to be better. 

 Yes.  Better.  Even if I have to pin it down and rip the goodness out of it with my teeth.  

Found

Awhile back, I very cleverly hid some things from myself.  Actually, I wasn't hiding them from myself at all.  There were thieves in the area, and since my parents' house had gotten broken into fairly recently, when I heard about them, I took some of my favorite pieces of jewelry and put them in places where they'd be "safe."

Then I promptly forgot where I put them.

Skip forward several months.  I started to want those pieces to wear.  It was always early in the morning as I was getting ready to go to school, and I would always be frantically pawing through the place where I keep my accessories looking for this or that.  The desired item was never there.  I would go to see if I'd perhaps removed it in my bedroom and left it on the small secretary in that room.  Nope.  No dice.  One morning, I even took out the luggage I took to Louisville to see if I'd accidentally left it packed from my trip to the AP reading.  I simply could not remember where I'd put the items I wanted.

Today, as I was getting dressed to go somewhere, there was a particular item that I really wanted.  It had been a gift, and it bothered me that it was now gone.  When I got home, I decided I would systematically tear the house up until I either found the missing things or finally convinced myself that I had left them somewhere and they were gone for good.

I looked for about twenty minutes, pulled things out of cabinets and drawers, emptied all the places I thought I might possibly have placed them, and finally everything I had been so frustrated over was back in my hands again.  It took pulling things out of dark corners and making a huge mess, but it's done.

I thought about the whole process as I gently sorted through the little box that held all the pieces I'd been looking for for so long.  Fear had made me look for what I'd thought of as safety.  I'd taken something precious, something I treasured and enjoyed the use of and had hidden it away because I was afraid that it would be taken by those who were cruel, those who only sought to destroy.  In that quest to protect it, I'd come very close to losing it.  I certainly had gotten no pleasure from it, no use of it, nothing good from a good thing during the time it was supposedly "safe."  It simply sat idle and worthless even though it was filled with things of value, things capable of bringing joy.

I know I'm an English teacher and we're terribly, almost chronically, prone to seeing symbolism under every rock and shrub, but I don't think it is really much of a stretch here to see the bigger trend.  How often do I shut other parts of me away, hide them to keep them from harm, so worried about them getting broken or misused?  How much of me is sitting like that silver in the dark, well-protected but of no use to anybody?  As I ran the thin chains of a necklace with a quote by Emily Dickinson with words about hope on it, I couldn't help but think about these things.  I suppose finding a couple of pieces of lost jewelry might not seem like much of an impetus for soul searching, but it's odd the things that will bring on a moment of introspection.

What I Want for Christmas

(a slightly mixed list)

I haven't felt much like blogging in the past couple of days.  I have been on Tumblr and Twitter instead much more than usual, but I sort of feel like I need to put something up here, so....  Needless to say, you probably should not expect deep ruminations.

• All my favorite authors to come out with new books next year.  Even the ones who just came out with something last year.  Especially you, Jim Butcher.  Now would be good.
• To find out a certain situation has been magically reversed and wiped away when I go back to school.  I have no hope that it will be, but if this is my list, I can ask Santa for it, right?
• A version of the Kindle Fire with 3G.  
• If I'm wishing for impossible things, then....well...  (Okay, so no, not really.  First, Santa is probably not going to stuff him in a sack, right?  There are laws and things.  He also seems like he would probably put up a fairly decent fight.  Also, I don't really know him.  I enjoy the character he plays on the show, but I have no idea what he's like in real life. Based on the few things I've seen about him here and there, he seems like a decent person, but who really wants a perfect stranger stuffed under their tree for real?  I know that joke comes around every Christmas, but come on.... That little shallow, jesting Santa list item was based on one criteria only.  He may be one of the most beautiful people I have ever seen in my whole life.  I'll go back and feel really terrible about myself as a human being in a few minutes.)  *I love how he's so amused in this gif by this entire blog. I wish there was one where he walked off at the end, maybe even sort of shaking his head.

• In reality, if Santa is bringing me men, then he and I need to have a serious confab.  I have a couple of definite ideas on the subject and a slew of DO NOT WANTS.  But you know what they say about beggars and choosing.  And I DEFINITELY fall into that beggar camp, darlin'.  (sigh)
• Stability with my students.  There are one or two issues that I left school with them still up in the air.  I don't want to walk back into those same things in the new year.  
• A way to see/talk to my friends more.  Maybe I need one of those time turner things from Harry Potter.  Maybe we all do.  Maybe he's got a set of those he can just pass out.  We'll all be good.  Promise.
• A way to go live in Europe for about two years.  I'm thinking Germany, but Italy or England are also fine with me.  

Maybe there's more, but I'd hate to be greedy.  You know.  I'd hate to burden the good old man by asking for more than my fair share. (ha)  I think I'll just let the incredulous gentleman above say it for everybody and go do some reading or something.

If I Asked It...

I'm about to have to go do something exceptionally uncomfortable for me.  I won't get into it a lot.  There are reasons.  (Heh.  That's almost a meme.)  I have to go alone, as always.  If I had somebody I could take, it would be better.  I wish I had somebody I could call up and say, "Hey.  I have to go to another one of these  things.  If you're not in the middle of something, can you go?"  Then at least I wouldn't have to feel like I'm going to be feeling for the next little while.  Just the thought of it has a migraine brewing.  

It's probably wrong to use another person that way, though, as a human shield.  It's more than a little selfish.  I don't know.  I suppose situations like this are what God made iPhones for.  I will get through it with what dignity and grace I can muster.

Punch Brothers AND Josh Ritter?

WARNING:  Total fangirl squee in progress

Just found out that Punch Brothers will be releasing their third album on Feb. 14th and that Josh Ritter co-wrote two of the songs on it. TOTAL FREAKING SCORE.  This makes me utterly happy.  I have long wanted something they both worked on.  And.  AND.  This release date is one day after my birthday.  How supremely thoughtful of everyone involved to give me such a nice birthday present.  I mean, gentlemen, I did NOT know you cared.  (and yeah.  I know Thile's birthday is also creeping around somewhere in there, too, if I am not badly mistaken....we will not recognize or reference the red and white frilly devil holiday of the blind bow and arrow boy as any sort of influencing factor...)  Now I just need to get tickets for the January concert in Birmingham so I can go see some of them (oh how grand it would be if Josh Ritter were there, too!) live.

Riveting Statistics

I just opened up my Last.FM page and looked at some of the statistics there. I never remember to go to the page with all that stuff they keep track of.  I don't know why.  I suppose I could take advantage of it somehow, but well, I just never think about it.  They track my "top songs" and "top artists" by week, month, year, of all time, etc.  That's kind of interesting, I guess, to see how my listening trends change over the course of time.  The "scrobbler" doesn't work all the time since frequently it's blocked by a firewall at school when I'm working in my room and listening, so I'm not sure these are entirely accurate, but I suppose proportionally, they are representative.  According to their record-keeping, my top ten artists of all-time are:

1) Josh Ritter
2) The Black Keys
3) The White Stripes
4) Maroon5
5) Calexico
6) Wilco
7) The Tallest Man on Earth
8) Bob Dylan
9) Pink Floyd
10) The Rolling Stones

This, of course, is based on number of plays.  I am profoundly surprised not to see Ella Fitzgerald or Chris Thile/Punch Brothers in my Top Ten.  (I just clicked "more" to see who else made the big list, and Thile is 11.  Fitzgerald is 20.  Who knew?  If Punch Brothers and Thile were combined, they'd be at number 4....)  I guess I listen differently than I think I do.  For some reason, I didn't perceive the White Stripes to be that high up my list.  Either that, or they are in EVERY SINGLE PLAYLIST I've ever made.  Heh.  Jack would be so proud.

Looking at this list, another thing strikes me.  F, if you're reading this, you probably have noticed that your little fingers are all over this.  I would imagine that you are especially amused by number eight.  Yeahwell.  So be it.  Nobody has managed to convert me to James Taylor yet.  On that point I hold resolute.

I never think about having true "favorites," so it's a bit odd to see these as a top ten list.  It depends entirely on my mood and current kick or obsession as to what I listen to.  I could just as easily swing into a country kick tomorrow and listen to nothing but Patsy Cline and George Strait for the next six months.  I wonder what my top ten list would look like then.  Hmm.

And now, I have to get back to listening to more stuff.    Maybe I'll look at Last.FM in another six months or so and see if anybody else has edged out these.  If I think about it again.  Maybe.  Because I know you'll be on the edge of your seat waiting.

The Need to Dream Better

Okay.  Those of you who know me and know what's been going on will get some of the symbolism involved in some of these things.  Other parts of this stuff, I won't pretend to tell you from where my mind dragged it.  Last night, I dreamed:

1)  That I went back for my PhD and got chased by a psychotic killer.  He was also apparently a magician or monster or something.  He decided that I was a good recruit for his cause, whatever it was, I don't remember, and also, oh yeah, that he was in love with me.  There was a lot of running away.  I got chased through dorms, libraries, and campus streets.  It would have made a good movie, maybe.  Clip, you were there, too.  Sorry.  I guess if I go back, you do, too, honey.

2) Just before I woke up, I was running away from and fighting a giant crocodile.  Maybe it was an alligator.  Does it really matter?  It was not good.  It kept coming again and again.  There were other people with me, but who is vague.  We kept trying to hit it and shoot it, but it kept coming back.  Weapons we had that should have killed it failed us or just plain did not work on it.  We finally had it pinned down (don't ask me how) with a stick, and it was supposed to be dead, but it got loose, and it came after me.  I had a gigantic wooden cutting board of all things, and I kept bludgeoning the thing with it, and almost beat it to death (again, no reality here), but then the cutting board fell apart in my hands FOR NO REASON, and it started coming back to life again. When my 5:00 alarm went off, I was backing away from it with an even more ridiculous weapon in my hand, a slotted wooden cooking spoon with a handle as long as a sword.  (WONDER WHAT THE CROCODILE REPRESENTS)

3) I keep dreaming about the same house over and over again.  I have never been to this house.  I have never seen this house on TV.  What is this place?   Last night there was a garage and all these guys I do not know working on crap.  I don't even know what to make of that.  Is my brain randomly channeling satellite feeds now?

There was more, but blessedly, I can't pull out more than fragments.  I think I almost miss the Topamax blocking my dreams out entirely if this is what my brain manages to come up with.

All the Foolish Little Things

Then her face starts to set and her hands start to fold
And one day the dried fig of her heart stops its beating

"The Curse" - Josh Ritter

________________________________________

Today, all my usual little frivolities are gone.  It is true that I am wearing a Doctor Who shirt composed of owls dressed as the various regenerations of the Doctor, but I have no levity to accompany the attire.  In fact, I don't know when or if my general supply of levity is going to return.  I feel completely levity-free.  It's been quite a little run I've had here lately.

I have enough vicious battle wounds from this situation and that one, quite a few deep ones in my back, to account for this emptiness that resonates through me.  I want to (and probably will in a few minutes) go fold into a small still ball in the middle of my bed under all the covers and just let the warmth and comfort of it wrap around me until I am no longer conscious.  I may opt for a stupid movie and mindless hours of Tumblr instead.

I don't know how to explain what has happened because the feeling is so new.  I'm not surprised by any of it.  My capacity to be surprised went away a long, long time ago.  But there is this new feeling, not a particularly good one.

Increasingly, I become aware of my lack of worth.  (And no, this is not where I want, expect, or need you to jump in with a pep talk or a chastisement.  I would just like to express honestly how I feel.)  Everything I do is of nothing.  So many of my students barely seem to pay attention or blatantly throw away what I offer.  Therefore, my profession, that which matters most to me, is of nothing.  Recently, it seems every human and institution imaginable is reminding me that "at my age" I am making choices that will condemn me to be alone and childless for the rest of my life, and therefore in the eyes of society, apparently, of nothing.  (And if you don't believe that's true, you try being a single woman my age for just a few days.  Just a few.  Then you come talk to me again about it.)  All the situations and battles I try to resolve come unraveled almost as soon as I remove my hands from them.  All my care and effort, then, is of nothing.

Maybe I'm just tired.  I suspect this goes somewhat deeper, though.  This feels like a more permanent alteration.  I do not want it.  I do not like it.  It feels like something is dying inside me.

A Day of Music

Today has been all about music.

I woke up and started listening to my new Josh Ritter album, Live at the Iveagh Gardens.  I like it more every time I hear it.  This sort of surprises me because I am not usually a big fan of live albums.  It's incredible to me that almost every song on the entire thing is a beautiful reinterpretation of something I already love.  Somehow, some way I must find a way to see Josh Ritter live.  Just based on the recording, he must be fantastic.  There's a new version of "Long Shadows" with Celtic drums in it that whets my appetite for Ireland (that trip CANNOT get here fast enough) and reconfirms that song as one of my very favorites by him.  The previously mentioned "Moon River" gets sweeter with every playing.  I could just keep going on and on, but I'll stop because either you don't care and wish I'd shut up or you love him, too, and you already have the album and you know what I'm talking about for yourself.

Wednesday night, I got "drafted" to sing the special music this morning.  I don't do that very often, but the song is one that I love, "What Child Is This?" so I agreed.  I am not a strong singer, but when I love a song, I do okay.  I love this one, and I think it came off alright this morning.

We thought the organ had died for a little while, but we managed to find the problem (something got unplugged behind it when things were getting moved around).  I felt such relief.  Last time the organ needed major repairs, it was out for about three months.  It was terrible to be without it for so long.  I played Christmas hymns tonight, and enjoyed the sound of them, the feel of them.  There is always something special about it.

And then there was the "special music" that our music director put together.  He basically just drafted a bunch of people and put instruments in their hands tonight.  It was hilarious.  Some of them could play them, some of them could SORT of play them, some of them just strummed along.  We had a mandolin, a banjo, a violin, a bass guitar, a dobro, and a guitar, and then he randomly started pulling singers up to the front.  It was a glorious mess.  We did two songs that way.  It came off really well and we all had a good time.  He does stuff like that, and it always magically resolves itself in the end.  I love it.

Now, I'm relaxing and watching some TV, but I know tonight will end with music, too.  I'm going to return to Josh Ritter probably before I go to bed.  Maybe I'll have "Moon River" dreams that way.  All in all, I'd say it's been a good way to spend a day.