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.

I'm Back!

Height

Three arched-ceiling stories of separation
Is all it takes
For me to stop considering their wants.
Their thoughts,
Which pulled at my curiosity
As they passed inches from my shoulders
Have ceased, now that all I see
Are hats, hair, and similitude.

Perhaps this is where perspective comes from,
The inability to care about the tops of heads
The minute manifestations of singularity,
Slumped shoulders, a quickened gait,
So easily ignored.

If I, from my third-floor, library perch,
Can't associate the faceless masses
Filling sidewalks, destined for work,
With individuals, with sadness,
With a rushed cup of coffee
Or a dropped phone,
And an almost-silent curse,
As the bent-over break in traffic,
The diverging flow of heads and hats
Are the only evidence I have that something happened,
What must the sixty-floor man think,
Corner office filled with framed faces
As specks of color scuttle below
So easily reduced.

And what of the churches rising from the house-lines
Towering over the run-down rentals,
The men behind stained glass peering down
At the tops of heads?
If it's the eyes which are windows to the soul
Do they see me walking below, my head,
My red jacket, my metronomic stride,
Or do they only see the multitude
The sidewalked masses?

Poem:
I spent a lot of time in a library looking out a window, and this is just one if the things u noticed. When I pass a stranger on the sidewalk, a part of me wonders what's going on in their head, what their life holds or means to them. But when I looked down, nothing of the sort occurred to me. Perspective is a funny thing.

Observation/Me:
For those of you who don't know, I spent the last week in Springfield, Missouri. Missouri State University there has the best handball program in the country, and their coach told me to see if I could enroll there after seeing me play in Kansas City. I went down for a tournament they held last weekend and stuck around to meet with their graduate school and attend some practices. Unfortunately, none of the departments or office had funding available, so it doesn't look like I'll be going there. While there, however, I had a lot of free time. As usual, I wasted the overwhelming majority of it, but I did do some blogging-style stuff. I didn't get it uploaded because I was mostly on campus, and since I was using my iPad (and the Internet there was only accessible to students), I decided to wait raher than wander until I could find free wireless.

Another thing which was noteworthy about my trip was my accommodation situation. I stayed in my car. I do this at most tournaments I attend in order to save money. I could have stayed with someone from the handball team, but after talking to them I got the imorssuon they were much more interested in drinking than I was, so I opted to keep staying in my car. Cntinuing my quest to conserve the number of dollars I have, I also bought pretty basic food. Essentially, I became a hobo for a week. It was not the incredibly fun time I was expecting. It turns out sleeping in a car is uncomfortable and that eating cold deli meat sandwiches for almost every meal is less than stellar. With that in mind, here's some stuff I wrote last week.

I went to walmart to purchase some food, bought the cheapest deli meat, cheese, and bread I could find (based on price per ounce), and still wound up spending almost twenty dollars (after you factor in the bagels I also bought. And sales tax. And a pumpkin pie). I thought to myself, "for that price, I could just eat at a buffet and save some money. But having consumed almost all of that food, I am assured I made the right decision. It lasted me four full meals and I still have five bagels left. The buffet would have replaced at best two meals, and probably would have resulted in severe discomfort. Granted, I am currently in moderate discomfort, but I believe that to be the fault of eating an entire pie. I think I may have consumed approximately one too many of those in the past twenty-four hours (give or take a few pieces). It can't possibly be my fault, though; I blame whoever it was that made pumpkin pie so delicious.

I wrote that on Monday. Walmart is selling pumpkin pie for less than three dollars. Enough said.

Later in the week (Thursday or Friday), I wrote this:

I realized yesterday that my diet of bread, meat, cheese, and more bread wasn't really fulfilling my fruit and vegetable requirements, so I walked into walmart with the intent of rectifying the situation. Ten minutes later I emerged with the makings for even more sandwiches and blueberry muffins. And an apple pie. I ate a muffin, consuming somewhere in the neighborhood of three and a half blueberries, and thought maybe I could have gone about acquiring fruit in a better way. A couple of sandwiches and a piece of pie later, and I am full, but not quite content. I'm currently craving salty snacks and thinking back on the chocolate cake a narrowly talked myself out of buying.

The upside of eating bland sandwiches for a week is that my first meal once I got back was amazing. Flavor, while perhaps unnecessary, is amazing! More about my trip will follow shortly, I hope. It's good to be back.