the docket

Several things have been on my mind lately, they need to be puzzled out.  Mostly pertaining to the cataloging of books, the inanity of family, and the cleanliness of rooms.  

Having moved back in with my parents the topics all flow into each other.  Long story short an argument happened and escalated, it was about the state of the room which I occupy.  For some reason the three inhabitants of my dwelling deem it necessary to pass judgement on the state of my room, regardless of the fact that they never have to look into it.  I am loathe to clean it only because there is always something that seems more pertinent to be doing - mostly reading, for school or for myself, books, the internet, etc.  The fact that my surrounding is a mess is extremely peripheral to me, it takes a back seat to what I deem important.  

However it has been pointed out - albeit in the most barbaric way - that perhaps I should attend to the needs of my spastic mother and clean my room.  This is where the inanity and the cataloging kicks in.  

Part of me relishes the antagonizing of the family I feel I do not fit in with.  Sometimes it's as if I were a transplant from some different culture.  The only way I know I'm related to them is the ridiculously close resemblance of me and my half brother.  Our attitudes, perspectives and goals are paradoxical.  The way they behave - the constant loudness - it gets old really fast.

Nevertheless it brings me to the objective - cleaning my room.  Maybe the reason I haven't gotten to it is because I'm not sure what I want to do with my room.  As of yet it is basically a bed, a couch and a random assortment of books, a chair a plant, and a TV on a stand.  Ideally I just need shelves....there are some in the garage and I will bring one in tonight, but that brings me to my dilemma. 

How do I arrange the books?

Do I do it by author? Hardcover then softcover?  By ISBN?  By publisher?  How about by edition?  By genre?  I have a tendency to make things overly complicated.

cruelty is the wrath of my instrument

I've been waxing poetic on an email that has just been sent to M.  Our perspectives are so incredibly different and we seem to be polarized in this deadlock.  I have lost sleep.  Oh hell - I am not actually sleeping at all lately - not at night anyway.  

On my docket today - 

Latin American History class - give Stuart Christmas present

Robarts - pick up the course books for the Post Napoleonic Europe class that I ordered from the Internet (they're going to take a while to come)

Registrar - fill out financial grant documents - no OSAP = tough luck with expensive texts

Find a room and do the Leviathan reading for Philosophy of Human Nature

Hm - as I study that list I realize I'm having fun at school.  I wonder if I can fit climbing with P somewhere in there.  I should also probably pick up some CD cases for the TMV stuff I'm making for Prof.  And maybe I could check what book I'm supposed to be reading for American Lit.  Suddenly my week looks too busy to worry about M.

Oh and I wanted to post this partial list of the words of phrases I've been collecting, I like these because of the way they sound.  I was telling JH the other day about how whenever I find a word I have a great affinity for - I know it's the right one because of the image I experience in my limbic brain.  It's a half hollow frosted glass sphere rocking from side to side in the black ether.

Said list - 

glossolalia

de facto

momentum

fallacy

viscera

construct for comfort

pneumonic

latent

recondite

sonorous

temporal

alveolar lavage

end transmission.

your pneumonic tongue

Ah Christmas.  It wasn't nearly as miserable as I kept imagining it would be.  I've spent it listening to TMV.  I have this harebrained idea to write them a letter begging them to let me join them on tour for a year or so.  

Some things that have been swirling around in my head:

-write the snail mail to TMV

-start my interpretation book

-find and in-shower mp3 player

also I've been somewhat morbidly obsessed with the idea of finding out the intimate details behind the attraction of N and his new B.  I want to know the differences - the likes and dislikes, the fascination with a new creature - what's different.  I think it sparked with me finding a picture of Cedric with his inguinal ligament exposed.  It is my favorite part of the human body, especially on males.  When exposed it gets me all bothered.  I wonder if there's that kind of appreciation there.

iterations of devotions

Sitting on the couch with a glass of white held in both hands - rotating and rocking - creating a difficult to describe motion and feeling with the ensconced liquid.
Wondering why things turn out the way they do. The clock ticking out the lateness of the not quite night, not morning. Grateful for the one who unknowingly defends the unseeming. Thinking about the misconstrued lewd seduction. You see catastrophe - but it's the lasting affliction. The consciousness of that which is alike - spiraling into one.

just

Every now and again when walking home at night I'm gripped by a sudden urge to drop everything and just lie down on the pavement.  Mostly it's because I am tired - physically and emotionally - at the end of an exhausting day.  It is not exactly a hopelessness.  It feels more like an expletive to the world, to just lay down and give up for the time being.  A sort of dis-engagement from the daily grind, from being human, but mostly from myself and my thoughts.

Were I to try this however I would probably feel incredibly self conscious or strange, get back up and go home.

this apparatus must be unearthed

Not sure why I held off listening to this for so long.  I think I was afraid of disappointment and I was not paying attention to releases that were coming out.  I had stopped listening to music almost entirely for a while.  I had stopped carrying my Ipod.  I was exhausted.  And I can't even pinpoint why.  I finally listened to a whole song and my reaction was positive, I knew I wouldn't be let down.  Even though this album came out almost three years ago (how could I have waited that long?) it feels new.  
I suppose it's good because now it gives me something new to listen to until the next one comes out - as if that could be fast enough.  Sometimes this is the only thing I have to live for - that eerie but gorgeous high feeling you get when a piece of music hits you in those familiar places that have no tangible name.  The way they capture and explain exactly who you are and how you feel and what you want and need.  To explain.  I don't mean that in a "boo hoo I have nothing to live for but my emo music" way. I just think that if I can experience more intensity because of this group of people who blend music and words so vividly, that gives me more to look forward to in life.
That constant sweetly agonizing anticipation.

procrastination squared

S and I have this conversation several times a year.  Usually right before we have major essays due - but this time it's for the same class.  The big P word.  We both put it off for as long as we can and then want to smack ourselves over the head for it.  Always thinking "this is the last time I wait so long".  We never learn, and then we're invariably stuck the night before an eight page essay is due, sitting in front of bright screens facing a blank page.  It's the worst feeling.  

He's better at it than I am.  He can pull an A out of his a** without so much as a blink - to be that gifted would be great. 

Hm - look at what I'm doing now, when I should be doing my primary document analysis. 

The self knowing smile sits smugly on my face.