Sometimes I have time and inclination to ponder deep thoughts in writing. This is not one of those times.
This is just to let you know that this blog:
http://www.childrenofthenineties.blogspot.com
will creep you the hell out if you were born between 1980 and 1995. I don't remember every single thing they post about, but I remember more than enough to shake my head in bemusement and shame.
Check it out.
21.1.10
16.1.10
There's Got to be a Way
Does anyone know how to read multiple books at the same time? Or to read and knit simultaneously? Or to read (properly, not listen) while washing dishes? Or how to motivate myself to do any of these things more individually?
You know, I just read an article about the "Quarterlife Crisis" about how people my age have so much potential and they've been told they can do whatever they want and then they all feel like failures when they just go to an office job every day and they're paralyzed with indecision about whether to travel or have babies or buy a house or jump off a cliff. And in the larger sense that the article is talking about, my basic response is like, "cry me a river, you whiny bitches," because you do the best you can at a given time and if it sucks you do something else that sucks less, etc., etc. Not to say I don't know what they're talking about, but if you want to do something like travel, do it, don't dither about it, because once you're actually travelling, dithering gets you precisely nowhere.
But in the smaller things I admit I kinda see their point. I have four or five books I'm reading right now, and I can think of at least four or five more that I've been meaning to start (or in some cases finish) since forever ago. It's the feeling I used to get on Christmas morning when I was a kid when I couldn't decide which toy to play with first. (Actually, even when I was a kid, it was quite often which book I would read first.) So right now, I want to be reading all these books, and I also want to watch the movie I got from the library, and a movie I got for Christmas that I haven't seen yet, and I'm working on a new knitting project that's very exciting (if you're really bored or really addicted to yarn) and what I ought to be doing is washing my damn dishes so I can cook some dinner, but on the other hand it's raining outside and nothing makes me happy like hearing rain outside when I'm cuddled up in bed, but will I enjoy it as much with my room the mess that it is, and also I've got some good music playing, so where does that fit in?
I know, I know. Cry me a river.
The article mentioned that back in the day, when career options were more fixed (housewivery or secretary school for girls, professions determined on aptitude, class, and parental background for boys), twentysomethings didn't have this problem, blah blah blah. Then maybe people got midlife crises when they realized they weren't doing what they wanted to be doing. I don't know about the mid-life crisis part of the analogy, but I'll tell you when I never have trouble deciding what to read or watch or listen to: when I've got a paper due.
I read a quotation in high school that struck me as brilliant. I had to do a search for who said it (that part clearly didn't stick with me: it's attributed to Mary Wilson Little), but I reproduce it for you now:
"There is no fun in having nothing to do. The fun is in having lots to do and not doing it."
You know, I just read an article about the "Quarterlife Crisis" about how people my age have so much potential and they've been told they can do whatever they want and then they all feel like failures when they just go to an office job every day and they're paralyzed with indecision about whether to travel or have babies or buy a house or jump off a cliff. And in the larger sense that the article is talking about, my basic response is like, "cry me a river, you whiny bitches," because you do the best you can at a given time and if it sucks you do something else that sucks less, etc., etc. Not to say I don't know what they're talking about, but if you want to do something like travel, do it, don't dither about it, because once you're actually travelling, dithering gets you precisely nowhere.
But in the smaller things I admit I kinda see their point. I have four or five books I'm reading right now, and I can think of at least four or five more that I've been meaning to start (or in some cases finish) since forever ago. It's the feeling I used to get on Christmas morning when I was a kid when I couldn't decide which toy to play with first. (Actually, even when I was a kid, it was quite often which book I would read first.) So right now, I want to be reading all these books, and I also want to watch the movie I got from the library, and a movie I got for Christmas that I haven't seen yet, and I'm working on a new knitting project that's very exciting (if you're really bored or really addicted to yarn) and what I ought to be doing is washing my damn dishes so I can cook some dinner, but on the other hand it's raining outside and nothing makes me happy like hearing rain outside when I'm cuddled up in bed, but will I enjoy it as much with my room the mess that it is, and also I've got some good music playing, so where does that fit in?
I know, I know. Cry me a river.
The article mentioned that back in the day, when career options were more fixed (housewivery or secretary school for girls, professions determined on aptitude, class, and parental background for boys), twentysomethings didn't have this problem, blah blah blah. Then maybe people got midlife crises when they realized they weren't doing what they wanted to be doing. I don't know about the mid-life crisis part of the analogy, but I'll tell you when I never have trouble deciding what to read or watch or listen to: when I've got a paper due.
I read a quotation in high school that struck me as brilliant. I had to do a search for who said it (that part clearly didn't stick with me: it's attributed to Mary Wilson Little), but I reproduce it for you now:
"There is no fun in having nothing to do. The fun is in having lots to do and not doing it."
13.1.10
Words Dribbling out my Ears...
So, you know, some of them might as well end up on my blog.
Today I had an essay due. It was a pretty big one, 5000 words (14 pages, approximately) and a solid part of my grade in one of my modules from last term.
Last night, I started it.
Okay, check it, don't tell my mom this. (My mom herself does not read this blog; she says it's to protect my privacy. Because sharing my rambling thoughts with various family members, friends, and complete strangers is fine, but if my mom reads them, well, that crosses a line.) I wrote that whole thing in about six hours, maybe six and a half. Seriously, I went from scratch to 5,040 words in six hours counting an hour and a half to two hours break time.
Now, I know this is not actually ideal, but I gotta say, I'm pretty impressed with myself. It wasn't a half bad paper, either. I mean, not up for the Pulitzer or anything, but a couple of valid insights, some analysis, some jokes, lots of British spelling. It was certainly hand-in-able. (Facebook reveals that while I may have been the last person to start, I was certainly not the last person to finish this particular essay.) Jet lag may actually have helped; I ate much less than my usual amount of caffeine and sugar.
Anyway, that is what's been on my mind lately; it was the second paper due within only two days, so my life since I got back has passed in a jet-lag-and-paper-induced daze. I am glad to report that the snow left on the ground melted following an onslaught of pelting rain and sleet last night. I like snow okay and all, but coming from California seeing it just made me want to cry. And curl up. And get under the covers and sip hot cocoa.
Hey, hot cocoa! That's a brilliant idea!
Today I had an essay due. It was a pretty big one, 5000 words (14 pages, approximately) and a solid part of my grade in one of my modules from last term.
Last night, I started it.
Okay, check it, don't tell my mom this. (My mom herself does not read this blog; she says it's to protect my privacy. Because sharing my rambling thoughts with various family members, friends, and complete strangers is fine, but if my mom reads them, well, that crosses a line.) I wrote that whole thing in about six hours, maybe six and a half. Seriously, I went from scratch to 5,040 words in six hours counting an hour and a half to two hours break time.
Now, I know this is not actually ideal, but I gotta say, I'm pretty impressed with myself. It wasn't a half bad paper, either. I mean, not up for the Pulitzer or anything, but a couple of valid insights, some analysis, some jokes, lots of British spelling. It was certainly hand-in-able. (Facebook reveals that while I may have been the last person to start, I was certainly not the last person to finish this particular essay.) Jet lag may actually have helped; I ate much less than my usual amount of caffeine and sugar.
Anyway, that is what's been on my mind lately; it was the second paper due within only two days, so my life since I got back has passed in a jet-lag-and-paper-induced daze. I am glad to report that the snow left on the ground melted following an onslaught of pelting rain and sleet last night. I like snow okay and all, but coming from California seeing it just made me want to cry. And curl up. And get under the covers and sip hot cocoa.
Hey, hot cocoa! That's a brilliant idea!
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