destiny-->Oregon

The Feast of Love is not that great of a movie. It's the equivalent of a less lewd Closer. I'm assuming that because I did not enjoy the latter I have no room for accepting the former. However, as usual, I'm taken by Morgan Freeman and everyone else pales in comparison. I do enjoy Greg Kinnear's performance. But overall, I'm not that impressed with the movie.

Except...for the scenery. The movie takes place in Portland, Oregon. A town I'll be flying into in two months to visit the University of Oregon with Tim. I'm in love with the idea of moving to the Pacific Northwest, at least for a short-term period and then returning to Chicago for good. I want to live in Chicago, the city, and become the old woman who hits the ceiling above her younger neighbors wall to make them shut up. Add some cats and walls lined with full bookshelves and I'll be set.

dust in the wind

I couldn't help but reference Kansas. Besides the overly epic feel to that song, I can't help but realize how often I don't heed the warnings embedded in the lyrics--days like today make it painfully obvious.

We are dust in the wind. And so are the three accidents my family and I witnessed on our one day trip to Purdue University to move in my little sister to her dorm room. Driving to West Lafayette a semi was smashed up in the front and being pulled out of the ditch as we drove past. Then, on our way back we were fully stopped for a little over an hour on I65. My dad and I got our of the car to not only photo-document the stopped cars and people mingling on the road but also in attempts to figure out what was happening. The whole event was rather exciting which sounds odd considering after an already long day we were stuck on the highway; however, I managed to convince my parents to play my ipod. So for the first forty minutes I sat in the car, windows rolled down, sun setting, listening to Bob Dylan...basically paradise for me.

As we got closer my dad and I started taking more pictures, until we saw enough to know this was not the appropriate kind of skidded-semi-accident to photo document. Instead, a semi trailer was on fire (though it looked really cool) but the driver area looked in tact. The real shock was seeing the shambles of an old sedan in the grass, knowing there was too much damage to the car to not cause significant harm.

My mom and I being very similar creatures couldn't help but suppress swelling tear ducts and hope for a miracle. The worst part was that, windows down, I had the camera, in full view of the firemen sitting on our side of the road. Thankfully, for my own sake and theirs, I understood what had happened just in time to shake my head in utter disbelief and hold my breathe to ease the potential tears.

There was some other accident on the way home, but it didn't look serious at all. But regardless, nothing is guaranteed. My moving out to Eugene for two years, getting into any sort of grad school (getting money to actually go), coming back to Chicago to stay permanently, opening up the Black Sheep Bakery--nothing is guaranteed.

Because we're fleeting vapors, dust in the wind, candle flames in the wind--whatever cliche you fancy. But where does that leave us. Barren and broken.

I have every intention of, when the time comes, referencing Kierkegaard in my personal statement for grad programs. In an early letter of his he discusses his upcoming decision to either go to seminary or study philosophy. And now he' s, in short, understood as a Christian existentialist.

I know that with the mixture of suburbia, non-denominational church influence and my path I've chosen in life I have some solid material to chew on. I want to spend the next two years being devoured by thinkers thoughts and spitting out my own. I'm anxious to learn (above and beyond what DePaul thought was challenging enough), for the first time in my higher educational career--all because I finally have the confidence that I, too can (Langston Hughes) I, too am fully capable of running with the bombastic DePaul University Philosophy majors and frankly, I'm better off educationally than them because I have an open mind to listen to a thinker instead of apply some other philosopher to prove my Philosophical proficiency.

And even in my rant I strayed from remembering how fleeting life is, so much so that I have no reason to be so bothered by my peer's. I want to get my masters. And dammit, I'm going to do everything I can to.

old paintings and fat bastards

Finally, after two months and ten days I've unpacked. I put up my frenchie posters (la tour eiffel, ses monumnets de paris, et parapluie-revel) and shoved as much of the stuff I don't need but can't part with into my closet. I also managed to part with the past year's school notes and papers. But most especially, I've taped up my "...poetically, man dwells..." protocol from Krell's Heidegger class.

I also managed to find an old poem. One which found me at a very uncanny time, considering my aunt's failing health.

my grandmother's painting
hangs in the staircase
of her aunt's house.
neither have visited each other
since they spit their vows
never to step through the threshold
of the other's door.
so in Auntie Irene's staircase,
which she no longer can ascend,
hangs a lonely landscape;
a snow-showered shed
long abandoned by those
who huddled together for warmth
the fire refused to provide,
the trees bent over
from years of battering,
the grass hidden for the season,
and in the gray dreary sky
floats the pride and regret
of both women.

Damn it. I don't want to see another beloved family member waste away at the Oak Park Hospital. The first time was hard enough. And although circumstances are not as grave, Irene still has a long road ahead of her. A path which she must encounter with the utmost positivity, every day. No room exists for refused meals because they're overcooked or too sweet. But unfortunately, even the most dedicated patient can't be this strong. She's in the hands of fate now...funny how it isn't til someone's in their eighties that we can say this, when it's true for everyone regardless of age.

No transition: Fat Bastard. An unusual, but very striking name for a wine label. Currently indulging their Shiraz for the night's end and also while I wait for my sweet potatoes to finish boiling. Tomorrow is my good friend Tim's birthday and I'm making him a sweet potato pie. I doubt it will measure up to his mom's recipe, but hopefully it'll make him happy. He asked for it last year but I went over and made eggs and hash browns for his birthday breakfast instead.

In addition to unpacking, I massively cleaned the apartment and spent three hours studying for the GRE. I have a month and seven days until the big day. I've finished the first section and am currently delving into the math portions. I have to make flashcards for vocab before I go to bed. I need to commit to about thirty vocab words per day.

Finally, unofficial total for books: $350. Order of Things by Foucault is a hundred dollar book.

And apparently fruit flies like wine-especially the glasses out of which I'm drinking. gross.

Post-Master Cleanse=Wine :))

Note to self: never read previous entries before attempting to write a new one, you'll never be able to remember what you wanted to write about. Oops.

I am officially done with the master cleanse. I 'fasted' for eight days, only five of which were lemonade days. So in truth I barely did the cleanse. But my clothes fit great and I feel amazing. I had some eggs over-easy yesterday evening on toast and fruit throughout the day. Today at work I had a half of a chicken breast sandwich and a bunch of snacks just to get through work til I could get to Dominicks and pick up more fruit and veggies and stuff to make trail mix. I really am glad I did the cleanse because I realized how horribly I eat, especially at work. I understand now how important staying hydrated is.

Making the lemonade is actually going to continue as a semi-regular meal, probably two to three days a week I plan on 'fasting' on that and then preparing a really heart-healthy dinner. At least this is what I plan on doing up until the weather gets cooler and I can start running again. My body needs something more than just biking, especially if I'm going to be able to still treat myself to some of the stuff I bake. But in the meantime I'm focusing on a lower processed foods in my diet and upping the raw fruits, veggies, and nuts-especially for snacks. Wine is going to slowly take over the every day consumption of beer (No mas PBR if I can); however, the whiskey is going to stay-come on, it's good for the body...in moderation?

Seriously, I drink too much and I'm really glad I was able to notice the difference between me consuming alcohol (almost)every day and me not drinking for a week-no raccoon eyes, less need to sleep in, more energy.

Here I stand, in my kitchen after making trail mix out of honey-o's cereal, dark chocolate m&ms, double roasted peanuts, roasted almonds, and organic raisins; drinking a glass of red wine after having some red raspberry yogurt; listening to Willie Nelson, Dolly Parton, and Fleet Foxes.

Next big dilemma: Paying for approx. $300 worth of books for autumn quarter. Good thing I'm taking a week off this month.

The Bible as Literature. Foucault and Bio-power. Early American Literature. Modern British Literature. eeeeeks.

Anything to avoid studying for the GRE

Sitting outside on my back porch I found myself not wanting to study for the GRE, sort of in the same way that I've avoided it this whole summer. Well, sitting out with my massive study book, Master Cleanse lemonade, and water I am almost immediately interrupted by some power tool on the third floor balcony. Great, lovely, just what I need to stay focused. I tried to ignore the beast seeing as it was only sporadically in use. Then, the boyfriend of the upstairs neighbor comes home and apparently they've grown apart. I overheard their talk, the perpetual every-two-month-talk about how 'things' need to be adjusted just so they can be 'happy' for another two months. It actually reminded me of the everyday troubles of being in a relationship, especially one which ended in the midst of quite a few talks.

No form of aggression reared it's head, at least not that I stuck around for. However, in the middle of attempting to keep studying I heard a fly buzz (I didn't die right then, don't worry)--oh man, I'm definitely a nerd. Back to the fly, it buzzed, a couple times before I attempted to find it's location. Oh no! Right beside me there's a fly, wait it's stuck in a spiders web. This wasn't even a large spider either; she was one of those baby spiders, the size of three ink blots from a fine point sharpie. The fly's wings were caught in the web and I saw the spider make four or five trips from the center of her web to the fly, all the while, the fly was trying desperately to get away. Charlotte nabbed the fly eventually and I left to go inside.

I was in a minimal category of shock watching what was going on while simultaneously hearing my upstairs neighbor tell her boyfriend another do-over isn't going to fix anything in the long run. Maybe the shock was induced by the thought of me actually sitting to watch a tiny spider capture a fly six times its size; but nonetheless, I was stunned to hear the one while watching the other natural occurrence. Both natural happenings you suppose? Well, what do you know...I guess so.

I attempted to write about what happened with Matt a few days after he left me but I didn't get very far. I knew exactly what had happened but I wanted to really suffer over it, not intentionally, but I really felt like I needed to mourn. And I did. I mourned for a good solid month, probably a little more. Goodness, last week was really hard for some reason.

But today is the day past the two month mark and I feel pretty damn good. Why you ask? Because I have a solid support system in Chicago, yes. Because I have kept myself busybusy, yes. And because I met a guy that told me I'm beautiful, well that helps too, so yes.

Here's my penny's worth on mindsets. Like I mentioned, I wanted to be upset about the break-up, even though I really knew it was meant to be (though not at that time nor initiated by him). So I was hopelessly pathetic the previous weeks, crying randomly, moping around, the usual. But the day that Christine introduces me, backtrack...she didn't even introduce me....the day this guy named James asks who I might be, I all of a sudden couldn't tell you the name of the guy who dumped me, on the phone, while I was on DePaul's quad, the night before I had a paper and a presentation due the next day. Mark?Pat?Matt? it's not necessary. Anyway, all it took was a quick "what a babe" and even though I'm not expecting anything, not even a phone call right now, I'm out of the hole.

Let's hope it lasts. I do believe it will though. I have a lot coming towards me this next year. With that being said, I need to force more analogy scenarios in my brain.