There is no more joy in writing

What I wonder is if there was any joy at all to start?

Back paddling up tributaries

Three semesters ago, I felt that I was going down the right path. Two semesters ago, I began meandering down some unknown tributary thinking that it was the correct thing to do.

And now, I am here in search of meaning. In a class where I felt I would find no meaning. In a class where I've realized that there is no meaning. And in this, I've learned that I must turn back.

Well, I'm back now!

And I'm moving forward as fast as I possibly can. Rebirth. Renewal. Revival.

Nothing lost, all things gained.
Time lost, skills gained.
Goals lost, goals regained.
Mind lost, soul gained.
Friends lost, happiness gained.
Prestige lost, sanity gained.
Opportunities lost, life gained.

On the verge of a nervous breakdown

Since June 2009, many things have changed, but the most recent is that I will no longer teach ESL at Casa Marianella. Nine months there. NINE! I could've gone one full year, but I just can't. And for this, I'm terribly sad.

School is absolutely consuming my life. And my internship adds extra stress by subtracting heavily from my already scarce free time.

For example, I've got a paper due tomorrow, which I'm only starting now. I will get it done, but I am sacrificing a bit of my health and mental stability for it. It's actually due at 5 p.m. which gives me more time, but guess what I'm doing between 10 and 5 tomorrow? Class for two hours... then internship.

I hope that this isn't the beginning of a meltdown for me.

As I eavesdrop, I realize

That we are all the same. That we all want the same things. That we are no different from each other.



And that everything's a crapshoot. Random draw. That one will get picked. And the others left behind. Does it matter who wants it more? Does it matter who needs it more? Does anything matter any more?

NoooOF COURSE!ooooo

Completed readings for the semester thus far

Barabbas, Pär Lagerkvist
The New Jerusalem Bible (various books from Old and New Testaments)
Phaedo, Plato
The Importance of Being Earnest, Oscar Wilde
Heartbreak House, George Bernard Shaw
An Inspector Calls, J.B. Priestley
The Winslow Boy, Terence Rattigan
Under Milk Wood, Dylan Thomas
Waiting for Godot, Samuel Beckett

I could've been a Smith...

...somewhere down the road.

Thankfully, we've got patrilineality.

And I've ended up with a far less common last name.

The dried ear corn of Sojourner Truth

Don't really know how to go about blogging these days. So, let's mix things up.

Remember that candle metaphor I used in one of my entries back then? No wax, all wane.