Truthfully I'm Dishonest.

Going down in an elevator at nearly one o’clock this morning, I realized I am starting to live out my days, not in days at all.  Time is no longer progressing in what time of the day it is, what day of the month, and what month of the year, but in steps that I am taking.  Whether I feel tired or not is not a question that comes into mind as I walk; only that that last step will never happen again.  I wonder how I will feel as I move further on, out of this ordered lapse.  Right now I am feeling pulled.

I’m sorry my girl hasn’t had the best of mornings, and I’m afraid I haven’t made it much better.  She has a ton of homework; as do I.  But I can’t help but feel that this Sunday might actually work.  Something might actually get done today.  I might actually ignore the television screen and football games.  I might actually get all of my homework done before next morning, and I might actually (though this one is the biggest stretch) be prepared for my Spanish Intercambio by noon tomorrow.

So far, it’s been incredibly quiet.  I know the cars driving by are inevitable, but I don’t hear them yet, and I might go get me some ear wax. 

All in all, give me the quiet right now and for a long, long time.  Please, a day like this morning’s minimal noises would make life so much less heavy.  I’m going to go shower and see if I walk out into a noisy world.  I hope not.  I’m liable to just go drown myself under my own suds if that nightmare comes true, but a man’s got to be clean sometimes, I guess.

Off to bed now, lacking anything of merit to put under my belt today minus some bull-class time & two mix discs.  Feet freezing, stiff futon to look forward to.  Gonna wake with a lasting back problem this time, any bets? 

Come on dreams, be confabulastic tonight, please?  Don’t desert me this time.  Not again.  To warm oceans and Freudian symbols, a soundtrack backing my sleeping life, full in all things loved, sharp rocks to stand on, the Beast killing himself in Beauty’s stead instead.  Hearing, talking out, walking down, waking sweat:  Here I come.  

I just got back from Savannah.  Savannah State University, to be exact- a really hospitable, mostly black school.  I went with fellow classmate Barrett to catch my poetry teacher in his singer/songwriter/poet element, and catch it we did.  Just barely, as in five minutes before he was supposed to begin.  And we stuck out, yes we stuck out.  But he was glad to see us, and we were so there to see him do his thing, and the people there were fantastic.  It was awesome to hear his music for the first time.  There’s a lot of comedy in his songs, even all the ones dealing with the tragic-hero.  Some kid told Barrett the other day he was pissed at Paul for singing the song “The Loner” out loud because he thinks Paul’s depressed, but…who the frick is that kid, anyways, right?  And what’s he supposed to do with a great song like that, hum it to himself?  Anyways, let’s get out of this random chant.  Anyways.

Paul gave Barrett and I free copies of his books of poetry and one of the CD’s he has released.  This is after he gave me $20 for gas to Savannah yesterday, not taking repititive no’s for answers.

The teacher that asked him to come and read invited us to his house afterwards for wings & shrimp.  This guy’s place was flippin’ out-of-control awesome.  The FIRST one was three stories.  on the second story he’s got a porch that has this huge tree next two it, which he was attached a tree swing to, and also plans to put hooks into it so he can climb it like a climbing wall.  Third story had this crazy fold-out television thing and lots of sky views.  The SECOND house ALSO has sky views…we didn’t go in it because it’s his graduate school colleague is living in it at the moment….but….where’d this guy, who teaches at a small college, get all this dough?  Anyways, it was so cool.  You should’ve been there…

Paul’s poetry is something to go home about, by the way.  He tried to take us out for dinner after dinner at the guy’s house, but this was also after he said he was really tired, and after all he did for us while we wanted to come, always!  Plus, we had just called him on the phone, and he had already made it to his king-sized-bed-for-one.  Plus plus, we had already eaten, and he was about to give us a heart-attack from love.  Aw Paul, aw Paul: You’re the bomb. 

Barrett got a ticket from a cop on the way home and the 5-0 said to keep an eye out for deer.  Nuts!  

I don’t know why I post stuff on a blog.  Do you know why you post stuff on a blog?  It is pretty nice to look back on stuff I’ve posted, forgotten that I posted, but other than that, I don’t see the usefulness of this outlet.  Do you feel like you express yourself well here?  In a way that is different than if writing a journal?  Are you encouraged by others hearting your posts or reblogging them?  Is the heart really the right icon to have there?

Will you answer these questions?  Do you wonder where the others find the time for this?

I’ve always wondered how all these famous and inspiring people that have Wikipedia pages made time for all it seems they’ve done.  For a great writer to write all that he or she wrote, how was there time to eat and sleep?

I haven’t even read Cormac McCarthy, but I have a feeling if I do, it’s going to be one of those reads that just makes me wonder why I try.  Do you chase a dream still?  I am still chasing a dream.  I wonder if my teacher sympathizes with this, and that’s why she’s helping me out…or if this is pity.  Does chasing a dream really mean I’m asleep?

And the checkout lady at the library asked if I was faculty.  I was wearing New Balance shoes and a Vikings hat, not exactly Professor-like attire, but I’ll take it!