Frost after midnight

"The only way out is through." --Robert Frost

Finally getting it, sort of

I remember once, not more than a few years ago, I complained to my parents that we were expected to go to school in the beginning of our lives, rather than the middle.  The middle would be better, because we would know enough to appreciate each moment of learning, but we'd not be so old to be unable to continue learning (if we wished to) or to use what we learned. 

It occurred to me that, finally, I'm learning to luxuriate in classes.  Not so much the classes themselves, I guess--my English 50 course this quarter is dull and predictable in its approach, but the material is both unnerving and somewhere between "pretty" and "beautiful."

The learning, though--I'm getting it.  It's nice to feel that stretch in my mind that happens right before something clicks, to listen to someone vocalize something I'd have never thought of and feel the new thought raise goosebumps as it settles into my skin.  It's nice to work hard, to really work hard and make one of my stories better than anything I could have written a few years ago and to know that it's better than anything I could have written a few years ago.

It's just a shame, you know?  I'm finally getting it--I'm understanding what's so great about school, but I've only eight weeks of it left. 

Maybe that's why we send people to school for so long, though.  It takes us a while to get why it can be so wonderful, but after that it's time to move along--like we shouldn't get too used to living with something wonderful, but we should know how to look for what's wonderful in whatever comes next. 

2:15 AM

Lying in bed at 2:15 reading an e-book for class (“The Marriage Plot”) and a train goes through the Goleta station. Probably only two or three miles away if you’re a bird. Possibly as many as four or five with roads.

The train whistles, which isn’t an unusual sound come nighttime, but then I hear it clatter through the station without stopping. Wheels on the tracks, thwacking away without fading for several long and quiet minutes. It’s quiet outside except for that noise.

Then the clatter starts to fade, and a gaggle of happy, screaming drunk girls bike by. I half wonder if they know it’s Tuesday. More importantly, though, do they remember any words beyond “oh my god?”

There is no such thing as writer's block.

Especially when it’s a personal (ish) blog.  And especially when there’s really quite a lot going on.
I’m teaching a class—excuse me, a “student-led colloquium.”  Not supposed to call it a regular class since I haven’t gotten my degree yet and since I’m not getting paid to do it, but I designed the class and the curriculum, everyone enrolled is getting two units (half of what a regular UCSB course will get you), and I have absolutely no oversight.  The advisor has already said she was willing to be my advisor on paper as long as she didn’t have to show up to the meetings (I’m disinclined to call them “lectures.”  “Discussions,” maybe). (Sssshhhhhhh!)

Which is just as well.  I’d be way more nervous if she was there, and there’s way too much pop culture and genre fiction floating around in our discussions for her to enjoy any of the sessions, anyway.  (Ssshhhh again!  Shame on us academics-in-training, enjoying discussions about genre fiction and popular villains! /sarcasm.)

There are way more first years than I was expecting.  There are even a couple of comp-sci and chemistry students, which just about floored me in the middle of class.  It might be silly, but I was expecting more third- and fourth-years, and no one but literature students.

This is better, though.  Definitely, definitely better.

SOPA changes name to CISPA

Ugh.

Nyquil turns me into a lump of useless flesh. I always forget that until it’s too late.

On the other hand, it’s never too early to go to bed when you’re sick.

There’s someone legitimately muahahaha-ing outside my window. It’s kind of entertaining.