Beds

I'm sorry to have to say this, but my life might be over. I might never make it out of bed again. After a week in my car (during which I actually slept quite a bit), my reintroduction to soft surfaces was a significant occurrence. I grabbed my technology and vowed to myself never to leave again. I blogged on my iPad, browsed the internet, checked my email, etc. And then I fell asleep. It was glorious. Unfortunately, this process was repeated a number of times, and eventually I came to the realization I was not to be trusted with a giant pillow that cradles my body perfectly while keeping me warm and content. Very anti-productive.

So hear I am at the desktop near the kitchen vowing to actually get some typing done. The first order of business is to finish a poem I started a while ago:

Bus Ride

I'm sitting here in shorts

watching the 30-degree exterior

in millisecond-snapshots

framed in the black metal

of the bus's doors

while across from me

a girl huddles,

clutching her knees

and her knapsack

with her mittened hands

as the faux fur hood

half-drawn, obscures most

of the loneliness.

 

Summer's end an end

to the final familiarity,

the heat the last reminder

of China, family,

and the warmth of friendship.

 

A ball unto herself,

the people rise and fall

from the red seats around her,

like bobbing corks

or whack-a-moles

puffy jackets
brushing her elbows

brief contact

until someone scoots away.

 

More from Missouri:

I was trying to remember something from Missouri that would portray what I took away from the experience, and I think this anecdote will serve nicely. It turned out that, as with every college sport I've come in contact with, the handball scene includes a significant amount of drinking. I had the pleasure of overhearing a girl say the following:

"I used to be concerned that drinking would kill brain cells, but my dad likes to say that it's just weeding out the bad brain cells. It's like natural selection for my brain!"

I don't know what part of this is the best. The fact that natural selection is probably something she learned about during one of her (probably few) sober days in class? The fact that natural selection obviously works completely differently than she thinks, and in a just (if ironic) world, will probably have its way with her? Or the fact that it was her DAD that said it. And then the guy she was talking to said, "That's a great way of looking at it!" I hope it's a Missouri thing.

Also while I was in Missouri meeting with graduate departments, I was generally discouraged by their lack of interest. Then I met with the Religious Studies department. The guy was fantastic, southern accent and all. Perhaps it was the fact he was being the stereotypical, smiling, hospitable gentleman that led him to humor me while slipping hints that I might not be up to snuff. It started with him inquiring into my background of Religious Studies. When I replied that it was negative (although my philosophy major certainly relates), he said I would probably find the courses quite challenging. He started talking about getting me into what amounted to remedial courses and catch-up stuff before I asked him about financial aid. He hemmed and hawed for a bit and then asked me for my GPA. After I responded, his tone changed considerably. Talk of remedial courses ceased, he regretted the lack of assistantships, and said he'd get me in as soon as my application was submitted. The change of tone was fantastic to hear. I know Missouri State isn't exactly the cream of the crop, but it was just nice to know I was wanted to be in a graduate program somewhere.