My classes for next semester are as follows:

British Lit II
Intro to World Lit
Dogwood: The World of Publishing
Short Prose Fiction of Spain
Art Seminar: Mannerism
Philosophy of Tragedy


*the peasants rejoice* whooooo

Thoughts

I've been thinking almost too much in recent days, possibly because of the advent of so many new possibilities in my mind. Met today with Dr. Sapp, who liked my resume (go me!) and said I had an excellent chance of scoring some good internships. He mentioned a couple of publishing companies in the area, which would be interesting, as well as lots of opportunities in Manhattan, which I'm actually not eager to pursue. I don't like the city very much, really. I think he was surprised I had no aspirations to work at Cosmo or Glamour--but for one thing, journalism has never been my thing, and for another, I have no interest in being in that kind of high-intensity competitive environment where everyone is judging you not simply on the quality of your work, but your image. My image is not glam enough for that--I'll leave that sort of thing to flanny, future MTV VJ. Another opportunity he mentioned was working with non-profits, especially a woman who does grant-writing for low-income housing in bridgeport, which actually interested me, I don't know why. Actually, since I'm not looking for a summer internship, I don't have to meet with him again until....October.

Turns out that perhaps studying abroad wouldn't have worked out after all, no matter what. I have a double major to finish, obviously, and (I still have trouble believing this) a Fulbright application to begin work on next year, and then there's the possibility that has entered my mind of going to grad school. For what, I am not certain, but through poking around on various programs at various schools it is obvious that you need to have a combination of French, German, and Latin to study Comparative Lit or Art History, and sometimes even just plain English. Sigh. Why'd I have to choose Spanish again? Then again, if I pursued a Fulbright in Spain, it would be very very helpful. So pretty much, if I want to even consider grad school I need to learn Latin and take more Spanish courses, and possibly even an intro French course before I graduate. This may necessitate taking six courses a semester senior year--which might be trouble with internships--but sean made the good point, if I choose grad school, internships are actually not that important. Plus I can skip my AH internship and just take a class or an independent study, which I probably will wind up doing. Sigh. The only time I could take basic Latin would be fall of senior year, so sean has graciously offered to begin tutoring me, in the interim, if I decide I seriously want to pursue this. Dear God. Rae, you may have been right, Latin may have not been such a useless subject after all. Damn you and your toga-wearing compatriots!

So what can I really do about any of this next semester? Not much. I can begin applying for internships for the spring semester in the fall, and I can collect information about various grad schools before that. I intend to corner Regan before the end of term to ask him some questions about the Fulbright thing (is it bad form to hug your professor?), just so I have an idea of his end of the process, and next fall I guess I can start trying to figure out some kind of focus (picking either England or Spain would be a start, I think). Since I can't add on any more classes to next semester, I guess I'll have to wait on coursework. Oh, Dr. Sapp was convinced I can manage a Spanish minor in with all of this. How, I'm not sure. Perhaps a spring internship next year would not be a good choice, maybe I'll just take six classes instead? Who knows.

Whatever the future has, my head is reeling. This is what happens when I have far too much time on my hands to consider my future!!

Good Tidings

It could very well be that I have never been quite so happy; not even on the basis of any one thing in particular, but just in a general sense that my life is going in a direction that I enjoy. Sean, of course, is a large contributing factor to this overall sunny worldview. Not to overload anyone with saccharine, but it is true that when you find someone that you fit with so well, other things seem so much more manageable by comparison. Not studying abroad, for one thing; it's much easier to deal with the idea of not being able to go by focusing on the fact that Sean will be here. We've started looking into stuff for our spring break trip to Italy next year--it's going to be fabulous!

In addition, I figured that I can use spring semester to get an internship for my English major, if possible. Dr. Bridgford mentioned the possibility of getting an extremely entry level internship at the New Yorker, which would be absolutely amazing. I've given publishing a lot of thought recently, and it's an avenue to consider for a possible career. And hey, if I did decide I want to write somewhere along the line, I would be ideally situated to pull strings! I have to speak with a Dr. Sapp about the internship idea.

Finally and most amazing of all, Dr. Regan (who has by this action earned himself a permanent place in my Top 5 Professors of All Time (Dr. Bridgford and Jesus are there already)) wrote at the end of my last paper to ask if I would be interested in being nominated for a Fulbright Scholarship. My jaw dropped, especially since I was reading this at like 1am and already a little cracked out, and then spent another hour scrolling through lists of previous Fulbright recipients to see what kind of proposals they came up with. It's an incredible opportunity, and I'm still shocked that he considered me for it (and oh-so-thanking my lucky stars), even if it is highly unlikely that I'd actually get it. Meredith reports that the application process itself is difficult and very long, and the website listed over 5,000 applicants last year for about 1,000 slots. Plus the host country (which will have to be either Spain or England) has to accept you as well, plus I have no idea what I'd even propose to do.....but still, the idea of it!! A year abroad!! My cosmically-minded roommate is convinced this is God's providential way of making up for me not being able to study abroad. If that is the case, then God is definitely going above and beyond on this score.

Anyway, in contrast to those times when I look into the future and am a little disconcerted or uneasy about what I see, right now things are looking optimistic, and I like this feeling. It's a nice way to end the semester.

The End

The room is quiet. All I can hear is the sound of clicking keys; underneath, the low hum of the machines blankets the silence. My roommate lies on her bed, staring at the wall, saying nothing. Miscellania surrounds me--books, papers, things done and yet to do, lists of goals, projects, desires, all cluttered together, husks of moths around the monitor's flame. There is something in this room; something I hear faintly between the keystrokes. There. There. There--it is the sound of the end coming, slowly and swiftly, by turns; it is walking up the stair; it is turning a key in the lock. It is the image growing blurry as the camera moves backward, out of focus. It is the sound of water trickling down the drain as the tub empties and you suddenly feel the cold. It is the denouement, the maestro's final flourish, the credits rolling across a black screen.

It's everything being over. Ah, summer.

Number 5

So not only does my dad share his birthday with Van Gogh, he shares his anniversary with the birth of another genius, da Vinci. Interesting. I just share my birthday with Jimmy Carter. Oh well; here it is, number 5--any different from the rest, not really. My memories are just a year dimmer, that's all.

Today

Such lovely weather always gives me hope. I'll get through whatever's ahead, I know I will. Whenever something painful or bad looms ahead I try to focus on all the other things I've gotten past, the largest of course being what will be celebrating its fifth year on friday, and I remind myself of how far I've come since then, how proud he would be of me, of all of us. Things will work out as they should.

So Good!

I probably say this a lot--but what an awesome weekend!! Friday night involved the rather anti-climactic white trash party at my future casa, 121, which was preceded by me and Mike dressing up and applying our deliciously tacky tattoos (mine hasn't come off yet.) and followed by some amusing conversations online, although the only one I really remember is talking to rae about "self-help" *cough cough* and thoroughly embarassing meredith by mentioning her in the conversation.

It was Saturday that started the real fun. homemade italian, poker, and rum all make for a very enjoyable evening--especially since I won my first game of texas hold'em!! wheee!!! now my roommate owes me even more money that I will never ever see again. Sunday morning Mike and I had the most amazing steaks ever (I felt like I hadn't had a steak in FOREVER, and I still can't quite recall how long it had been. sooooo goood!) and we watched this disturbing show on Animal Planet called "world's most extreme breeder", about the weirdest animal reproductions. There's something weird about me and Sean's house and Animal planet--I never, ever watch it when I'm in my dorm room, but it seems every time I'm at Sean's it's all I wind up watching! It could be because he has like ten million channels but it's different than here at school, so I can never find a damn thing. Anyway, I learned about the difficult time the kiwi has in mating--apparently it's really hard to have sex if you're a wingless bird, very hard to balance. Poor guy couldn't kept falling all over his girlfriend.

After we got back Sean and I went up to the Zen garden, which is always so pretty, and proceeded to have a Basil Rathbone/Errol Flynn-esque battle with various sticks. I managed to break Sean's stick every time, leading him to denounce me as a "stick-buster", but what can I say? Mine were bigger. Size matters.

After watching "Operation Petticoat", one of the cary grant movies sean gave me, we went to la Salsa...they have like ten different kinds of salsa to pick from, and one in the corner was habanero, which is one of the spiciest peppers anywhere, so naturally sean dunks this chip it in and eats it and, after about five seconds, his tongue is on fire, he breaks a sweat and starts downing my soda. So Mike and I both take a tiny, tiny speck of the habanero (like 1/50th what sean ate!!), and jesus christ did I feel like my mouth was on fire! Never, ever again.

After we deposited "the kids" back at school, the two of us went down to the beach we visited in December, except on the public part where there are no swings and hence not ten million children. It was so beautiful, even though it faced east so the sun was setting behind us and not over the water. I'd love to live near the ocean when I'm older.

So this was my weekend, wonderfully spent with my friends and Sean and my crazy, beloved roommate. It's strange to think that when this semester ends, half of my college career will be over. All I can say is that I am indescribably thankful to be at the point in my life where I am today.

Something to Anticipate

Bridgford described my senior English seminar to me in an email--it's making a book, a book of all the work, ie poetry, I've done while at Fairfield, and adding to it, and publishing it in chapbook form.

That is the coolest seminar I have ever heard of.

So It Goes

Strange occurrences continue--my friend Adamo from Northwest asked me out online last night, in quite an awkward fashion. Wtf? Adamo? Our little art club pal? I haven't laid eyes on him since I graduated! Rae and I laughed about who inherited whose former crush, but I would like to note that hey, who was never liked by dan? And who never liked dan? oh yeah! i may have liked aaron "swamp thing" meadows, but at least he is not drawing furry animal porn these days. actually, he totally could be, i don't know what happened to him.

Another dream about my dad last night, the true herald of the April season. Nine days away and I'm still surprisingly together, though I did tear up at the end of Lost in A Good Book, (spoiler) when Thursday's father stops her from sacrificing herself to save the world and dies in her place instead. What can I say--mix together fathers, daughters, and someone's dying moment and it's hard not to cry. I remember a weeklong string of Simpsons a few years ago which alllll seemed to be about Homer's relationship with his kids, especially Lisa, and one was about him knowing he'd die the next day because he ate the poison blowfish. Would you believe I couldn't stop crying during that episode? Of course he survived, and ironically, even Thursday's dad comes back in the end, a different version of himself but still the same old Dad. That's why I love fiction--no one has to stay dead forever.

Oh well. I'm still here, I'm still me, and there's no indication any alternate version of my dad will be popping out of the timestream anytime soon. All for the best, as I have so many, many times decided, but on a day like today, when it is sunny and warm and you feel like all your relationships, no matter how complicated, will somehow be able to sort themselves out, on a day like today there's no harm in just wishing.

Meisner and Other Adventures

Would you believe I spent an entire Saturday night talking about religion--evolution vs creationism--Meisnering, and chatting?? It was a lot of fun, a very different kind of fun than last night's drunken revelry. For anyone who doesn't know, Meisner is this acting exercise Carla does for theater, very strange and awkward for a newbie, involving "reacting in the moment" and "calling out" whatever emotions you see in your partner. I didn't do so well, because I refused to invest in it and get really emotional. Big shocker--I don't like confrontation, I don't like having to tell someone I'm angry with them, much less yell it at them as Carla cheers from the sidelines, "Go deeper! How does that make you FEEL??". But it was interesting, and we plan to try doing it again next weekend when we sleep over at Sean's--homemade Italian food, plenty of booze, poker, and good times! Whoot!

Drunky Drunk

I have this to say:

1.) Never believe that life isn't full of surprises.
2.) I'm so sorry sean is sick, my poor little boyfriend!! :-( Feel better!

Not too drunk while writing this, so no major misspellings I hope. Glad I went out to the townhouses with the girls and Mike tonight. So good to see Wendy!!! Luke of the beautiful hair was manning the tap, ah, luscious. Carla = so drunk, bc she had only A SALAD for dinner then bacardi, beer, and gin!!

I love the world and tonight the world loves me. Bedtime with lovah!

Marginalia

Sometimes the notes are ferocious,
skirmishes against the author
raging along the borders of every page
in tiny black script.
If I could just get my hands on you,
Kierkegaard, or Conor Cruise O'Brien,
they seem to say,
I would bolt the door and beat some logic into your head.

Other comments are more offhand, dismissive -
"Nonsense." "Please!" "HA!!" -
that kind of thing.
I remember once looking up from my reading,
my thumb as a bookmark,
trying to imagine what the person must look like
why wrote "Don't be a ninny"
alongside a paragraph in The Life of Emily Dickinson.

Students are more modest
needing to leave only their splayed footprints
along the shore of the page.
One scrawls "Metaphor" next to a stanza of Eliot's.
Another notes the presence of "Irony"
fifty times outside the paragraphs of A Modest Proposal.

Or they are fans who cheer from the empty bleachers,
Hands cupped around their mouths.
"Absolutely," they shout
to Duns Scotus and James Baldwin.
"Yes." "Bull's-eye." My man!"
Check marks, asterisks, and exclamation points
rain down along the sidelines.

And if you have manage to graduate from college
without ever having written "Man vs. Nature"
in a margin, perhaps now
is the time to take one step forward.

We have all seized the white perimeter as our own
and reached for a pen if only to show
we did not just laze in an armchair turning pages;
we pressed a thought into the wayside,
planted an impression along the verge.

Even Irish monks in their cold scriptoria
jotted along the borders of the Gospels
brief asides about the pains of copying,
a bird signing near their window,
or the sunlight that illuminated their page-
anonymous men catching a ride into the future
on a vessel more lasting than themselves.

And you have not read Joshua Reynolds,
they say, until you have read him
enwreathed with Blake's furious scribbling.

Yet the one I think of most often,
the one that dangles from me like a locket,
was written in the copy of Catcher in the Rye
I borrowed from the local library
one slow, hot summer.
I was just beginning high school then,
reading books on a davenport in my parents' living room,
and I cannot tell you
how vastly my loneliness was deepened,
how poignant and amplified the world before me seemed,
when I found on one page

A few greasy looking smears
and next to them, written in soft pencil-
by a beautiful girl, I could tell,
whom I would never meet-
"Pardon the egg salad stains, but I'm in love."

-- Billy Collins

Musings

I have forced myself to begin writing again, after an entire semester of---nothing. People are always trying to encourage me in writing by telling me how sure they are that I'll be a great writer someday, etc etc, even my mom, which is weird because my mom hasn't read anything I've written since the poem I wrote for my dad's funeral cards (which now that I look back on it is painfully juvenile, but hey, I was 14 and wrote it in like half an hour), but then I just have these long periods where nothing comes. I remember greg saying he used to make himself write something every day, no matter what, and I've considered that, but then so much of what emerges is just junk. It's like DNA--great swathes of useless jumbles of letters, and then here and there the precise combinations that make life really go BOOM. I don't like writing junk, or at least keeping it around.

I was simply in a poetry mood the last few days. The weather and the beautiful sunsets are part of it, definitely; I just wanted to lie somewhere and read from Billy Collins while the sky was splashed with the most gorgeous array of colors. I read his books over and over again till the poems are like old gloves that I slip on with ease, cool and soft to the touch. Sometimes he slips too into the mundane for my taste, but on the whole, no one has ever spoken to me like his poetry has before.

Sonnet


All we need is fourteen lines, well, thirteen now,
and after this one just a dozen
to launch a little ship on love's storm-tossed seas,
then only ten more left like rows of beans.
How easily it goes unless you get Elizabethan
and insist the iambic bongos must be played
and rhymes positioned at the ends of lines,
one for every station of the cross.
But hang on here wile we make the turn
into the final six where all will be resolved,
where longing and heartache will find an end,
where Laura will tell Petrarch to put down his pen,
take off those crazy medieval tights,
blow out the lights, and come at last to bed.

--Billy Collins

March 30

As it turns out, my dad shares his birthday with Van Gogh; the only way I discovered this was seeing the van gogh-esque look that Google has on today, and then looking it up. Hm. The things you find out--not that my dad would have cared, naturally. Today, as every year, begins the count-down to his anniversary, which then causes me to of course spend a great deal of time contemplating how long it's been, how things have changed, how they could have been, etc etc. Happens every year. Five years is a sort of big one, though, it's the first real marker on the road that will stretch the entirety of my life.

The day after, however, I'm going to Providence with Sean--he to visit Quinn, me to see Sara, and both of us to watch "Brigadoon"--who could forget the NWC performance of that our senior year, with Heather as the vivacious little town tramp? Lol. I'm really glad I'm going, since I didn't get to see Sara, or the other girls, at all over Easter due to my crazy traveling. It was, however, very enjoyable to be with both Sean and Carla. She proved to be a most excellent "substitute girlfriend" or "wife number 2". We even took him to the mall to look at jewelry stores! Except we had to let him sit the last three or four out--the poor child looked utterly drained. We will build his stamina in due time.

Speaking of stamina and other things that could be put in a sexual light......guess who resigned from the Vteam at long last! Yes, many kudos to you, Rae B.C., and also to the young man who, as I had rae inform him, is now actually a man, thanks to her. So now when we congregate at the S-Lo house, there will be only TWO people on the "virgin couch". So ha. No more ostracizing the scarlet woman!

Carla keeps reminding me how little time we have left in the year. Bah. Six weeks is so short--great for Sean, yes, because he can finally escape the hellhole that is UMass, but sad for me. I almost teared up to day when Carla told me how much she's going to miss me over the summer--almost, but not quite. I will indeed miss my dear muffin....I really have been extremely lucky in terms of roommates. God likes me. He better, after certain events *eyes calendar* which make the longevity of whatever husband I choose extremely suspect. I'll have to warn the poor guy-- "Um, not to ruin the wedding day and all, but men reeeeally don't last long in this family. If we have kids, your days are pretty much numbered." Oh boy, can't wait!

Grey Day

Last night TJ, Mike, and Carla all took the relationship quiz that Sean and I had taken. Mike and Carla both came out as "sex-bombs", which kinda explains why they're both so frustrated and, in my cupcake's case, repressed. TJ was some sort of outdoorsy woodcutter guy. I forget.

Rae and AJ's three year anniversary is in two days. Go you, go....go....now go have sex, dammit! It' been long enough already.

Carla, muffin, your time will come, someday. I believe in you!

Richard Dawkins

I had completely forgotten that there was a livechat scheduled with him today at 4pm. Luckily I checked my email when I got in and saw a reminder, so I caught the second half. It was held on the site faithless.org, which is a community of people who don't believe in any religion and believe that religion's hold on society needs to be shaken off by intelligent people. Dawkins, ps, is an evolutionary biologist who's written several really great books on evolution and genetics, including "The Selfish Gene" and my current read, "The Ancestor's Tale". He is most definitely an atheist. Ironically, as I'm watching this chat, I was doing my reading for Catholicism class, and it just became even more apparent, looking at the crap I was supposed to be reading about the "ecclesiology of the early Church", that I just have no faith in it whatsoever. Why have so many amazing minds bent their efforts to the study of such unconsequential matters?

I can't go so far as to say I don't believe in God, because I still do, even though I recognize that none of my arguments would withstand a vigorous debate. Some can even be used by both sides; creation obviously can be shown to have produced through natural selection, but what about the universe at large? The big bang didn't "select" to happen, something had to cause it.

And yet, even if creation occurred due to an intelligent designer, and then the laws of nature and evolution caused humans to become what we call human, why would that give us any special standing in God's eyes? we're just another species in the creation, 6 billion rats on a wheel.

I suppose I might almost count myself a kind of Deist--they believe in an intelligent creator who set everything up and then retired; Thomas Paine and other American founding fathers subscribed to this notion. This is where the Masons get their idea of the "Master Architect" of the universe. Of course this brings the question--how does this affect our understanding of the soul? If God does not act in the world and did not specifically intend for our race to develop, how are we any different than the animals?

I suppose there's still room in the Deist camp to suggest both a life after death and a general presence of God in the world. Of course, if we are no more special than animals, having been created by natural selection, then why do we deserve a life after death? Unless all creatures also go to this life after death? You could side with the pope and say that at some point, God acted and "inserted" a soul into the 'first' two humans. However, as evolutionary biologists will point out, there is no such thing as the first homo sapiens. The argument goes like this: for there to have been a "first" homo sapiens, there would have had to been a time when there were two parents of one species, and a child of a brand new species. That simply could not happen; every child of every generation will be biologically capable of breeding with its parent generation, and therefore cannot be of a different species. How then do we arrive at a different species? Because of transitional individuals, individuals with genetic changes that slowly bridged the gap between what we know as homo sapiens and the homo ergaster or homo erectus that came before. The child, though slightly different than the parent, is still enough of its species to mate with the parent (don't get too grossed out, happens in nature); however, the child of THAT child will not be able to mate with its grandparent, because the biological change will have been too great. When it has a child of its own, it can mate with that child, but the child will not be able to mate either with its grandparent or great grandparent, since the genetic differences are growing even greater. Thus eventually the descendants seem indistinguishable from the ancestors, cannot mate, and are obviously different species. So if that's how we came about, how would a soul occur? It could not happen by degrees as the transition to human-ness did, that's pretty ludicrous. And yet, I cannot shake my belief in a soul making us different from animals, and I cannot shake my belief in a benevolent being who exists in the world, even if he does not act in the world.

Dawkins would tell me that this reflects my inculcation in a religious society and that I'm not thinking for myself. He, like Marx, compared dependence on religion to dependence on narcotics. It seems true that simpler people tend to have very fervent belief in religion, a degree of belief that seems to wane the higher you progress along the educational spectrum. Dawkins pointed out how few scientists and doctors retain their faith, of any kind. Naturally, the egoistic side of me resented being lumped in with the intellectually stunted, simply for retaining a faith. I do think that religion is too often an opiate, and unquestioned by the people who subscribe to it. I also feel it is too controlling an influence in American society, and has been in the world for years. Yet, religion will never go away, because the masses will always need their opiates, no matter how hard you try to educate them. We can try to make it better (teaching evolution as a solid scientific theory instead of letting the wacko creationists run rampant, damned southerners!), but its influence will always be felt.

This is such just a tough subject to wrap the mind around. It's not experimentally verifiable and that's one reason to distrust the existence of god. You could argue that love is not verifiable either, (indeed, a cold evolutionary biologist could argue that the only reason to protect and raise your children is so that your genetic material can be passed on to further generations) yet no one denies it exists. It's just a tough nut to crack.

Someone asked "Why don't we worship philosophers like Socrates the way we worship Christ?" Dawkins replied "Let's not worship anyone. Except our lovers." I like that.

Hello Again

I had a pretty good spring break...as much as I would have loved to have been luxuriating on a cruise ship to some exotic locale, it was nice to loiter about the house in my pjs, watching movies and reading books till indecent hours of the morning. And of course Sean visited for several days, which was nice. However, it was also delicious to return here to my little blonde cupcake, laden with cookies, banana bread, and other assorted wonders from my stay in NoCo. The rest of the year is going to be good, I can feel it.

I did not, unfortunately, get into the Bucknell Seminar this summer, which I pretty much expected due to its competitiveness. That's ok. Despite the nebulous and uncertain status of my religious beliefs, I am a firm subscriber to the maxim that all things happen for a reason (see father's death, not getting into harvard, etc), and therefore it's probably for the best that I'm not spending three weeks in Pennsylvania come June. This way at least I'll be able to get the Harry Potter book right when it comes out! WHOOT!!

Reading an excellent book right now called "The Ancestor's Tale: A Journey Backwards into Evolution" by Richard Dawkins. It's (obviously) going backwards in time along the trail of human/mammalian/vertebrate/bacterial lineage, with each section in the form of a particular ancestors' "Tale", like in Chaucer. Wonderfully done, I must say. How I wish I could have studied evolution, and traveled the world looking at fossilized trilobites and examining the evolutionary adaptions of this or that fish and fowl...ah.

Also, we got Townhouse 121, just like the girls wanted. It's an end house, meaning it's slightly bigger. Excellent!

Spring is almost here, and I am wearing my yellow coat everywhere.

Another POV

Here's what Sean scored on the same Relationship Test I took:


eXpressive: 6/10
Practical: 5/10
Physical: 3/10
Giver: 2/10


You are a XPIT--Expressive Practical Intellectual Taker. This makes you a Manager.

You are cool, thoughtful and intelligent. Your approach and your sense of humor are under-the-radar, your charm is undeniable. You keep everything under control. You have distinctive vocal mannerisms. You may not have much interest in approaching strangers, but when you do, you are successful.

You will probably end up with someone beautiful, fascinating and off-balance. While your partner may steal the limelight, it's you that keeps things running smoothly and provides stability in your relationship. If you are with someone as contemplative and hard-headed as you, you can have a tough time.

Your greatest asset is that you tackle conflict as it rises -- you don't ignore it and let it brew. If you have a partner that *does* let it brew, it will make you crazy! You can find yourself fighting for two -- trying to anticipate your partner's needs and draw their feelings out -- which is exhausting and, well, not your job.

You would never cheat. You would make an excellent spouse. When your spouse's friends met you, they would think, "Crap, why couldn't I get that one?"

Hm. Interesting, very interesting...

Hmm

You are a RSIG--Reserved Sentimental Intellectual Giver. This makes you a People-Pleaser.

Oh, RSIG! You are the most complicated and dynamic of any type. You are brilliant, tender, romantic and a joy to be with. You're the favorite of many of your friends. It's just not a party until you get there. You are bursting with feeling and sentiment and insight but you very rarely express it -- it's not how you want to present yourself to the world. Although you are always studying your non-romantic relationships -- you turn a blind eye to romantic relationships.

You're highly adaptable, and you conform to your circumstances (maybe you're a youngest child?). You would probably be content with almost anyone, and almost anyone would be blissfully happy to have you. But just because you're content doesn't mean you're happy. Don't settle!

You'd rather ignore your problems than rock the boat by creating conflict. Please understand that in the long run ignoring conflict will make you unhappy and your partner exhausted. Try picking a fight just to see how it goes. You'll find out that solving problems is so satisfying for you that it makes conflict worth it.

Your sex life could be fantastic if you could stop worrying about everything so much (did I wash my hands? how do I look? what do I need to do tomorrow?). You need a sweet, expressive lover who makes you feel at ease and never puts pressure on you. If you feel secure with your partner outside the bedroom, it will make all the difference.

You cry at movies. A lot.

Of the 205278 people who have taken this quiz, 5.6 % are this type.

20 Questions to a Better Relationship

Of all of this, I will simply say, I don't cry at movies...often.

Spring Break

I'm so glad to be home. Even if my cats are pretending not to know who I am and all the posters fell off the walls in my room, and even if my mom has the cleaning abilities of a woodchuck when Jen and I aren't home. Ah.

I just read Heather's journal about how she feels like her life isn't quite fulfilling right now, that she's not quite as into Theatre as she should be, "et cetera, et cetera, et cetera!" (sorry, we watched The King and I last night. lol.) That happens to me sometimes too, especially in terms of Art. Sometimes I'm like man, what the hell am I doing? English and Art History? What is THAT? And sometimes I'll be sitting in art class, staring at some Roman portrait bust of yet another dead emperor and I'll think, is this really that important? Am I really doing something valuable?

The same goes for my writing. I haven't written anything since last December, which is kind of natural, since I'll go through these phases when I never write anything. But I worry a lot about writing...I know I'm a good writer, I have a lot of poetry that has real quality to it, but I wonder if I'll ever actually be a really good poet, if I should bother sending my stuff out to publishing houses, or if it will always just be something I do for myself. I'll never stop writing, it's too much a part of me, but will it ever be anything more? I don't know. I'll find out soon if I qualified for the Bucknell Seminar. I really want it, more than I've wanted anything in a long time, but I just can't get my hopes up. Bridgford emailed me yesterday about sending in some poems for a special edition of the Sound, which is really nice of her. It helps to know that a writer like her thinks I have talent; I mean, she's been in the running for a Pulitzer with her poetry. She knows her shit.

As for my life being in order, well, a lot of things are going really well. Housing seems to have worked out, I'm making plans for going abroad next semester, I'll be planning my merit scholar proposal to take advantage of that thousand dollars. Sean, of course, is a huge part of the "life is going well" list. I quit debate, because it just wasn't doing anything for me anymore. What I miss from high school, the way Heather misses choir and theater, is Voices and Art Club. I miss getting together with friends and critiquing each others' work and eating good food, and I miss going to art museums with Sara, Rae, and Mr. Woodford in that stupid school van and eating pizza afterward. I'm glad I work in the slide library, because then I feel at least a little more connected to my major, even if I'm just organizing slides or doing something else really random.

I guess the only thing that I feel is out of order is myself, but that's just the usual quibbles with my own image that I and every other woman have had since time immemorial. I promise myself again and again, I'll either work on it or ignore it, but you know, it's not that easy to do either.

You know, I didn't have my mom buy me this Poet's Market book for nothing. Over break, I'm going to get some stuff together that Bridgford has already edited and send it out. It's time to start doing SOMETHING.