Tired? Long day? Join the club. (In 2 Parts)

Part I: The Complaint (the second part is less complainy)

I've found that you can never know how exhausted you can get until you're there. Honestly, I thought today wouldn't be too bad. In fact, I thought it might even be relaxing. Can you believe that? I know that I can't, not anymore. I started my day with the alarm on my phone buzzing in my ear at 7 a.m. To say I was reluctant to rise would be an understatement. I felt like lying around for the rest of the day. You have to admit that at some point a bed and sheets become so comfortable that it feels as if leaving them would be, dare I say, sinful. I don't think I need to explain, but getting up was a battle of wills that I don't always win. Of course, any forms of grogginess were completely defeated by my early morning workout, which isn't all that routine due to the whole "gotta keep your body guessing" thing. I then went and had breakfast, giving in at one point to the temptation of a slice of bacon.

After that I met with someone who had a friend's things, this friend in question had to return to China and has entrusted me with his belongings that he had to leave behind in the hopes that I might one day return them, and of course the meeting was a total flop. The objects in question were forgotten, and that didn't surprise me as much as left me disappointed, because I'm not entirely sure what he left here. This was followed by a return to the dorm, a shower, a checking of email, and a stroll down to lunch. I ate alone. That's fine as long as I have something to think about, and I usually always do.

Once this is completed I venture down to a building that few seem to go into except the rarely seen art majors, in order to go to my ceramics class. There, I work on throwing clay and a slab project involving the use of engobe slip (it's like watered down, colored clay that you can use as a paint to put color on your clay that isn't a glaze) for over three hours.

Once I left this site, I went back to my room and had the wonderful idea to take a nap. Little did I know (I know, ominous, right?) this "nap" would lead to me feeling even more drained of energy than before. Does this ever happen to you? Does your body suddenly realize that you're allowing it to rest and takes this time to remind you of the ridiculous amount of sleep debt that you've built up over the years? I think that's what happened. Anyway, I continue with whatever work I have after a brief dinner, all the while lying in bed because the energy just isn't there. I arise to meet someone for a research meeting on the film, "Lawrence of Arabia," of which I've actually already done a lot of. In order to ready myself for this get together, I decided to buy some coffee, but as I write these words, it doesn't seem to have any effect whatsoever. Bummer. On a bright-ish note, they did push the meeting up an hour so that I can wait even longer... LIFE!!!

Part II: Something other than Complaining

To be fair, because I'm so tired at the moment, I know that I'll sleep well. And who knows?! Maybe I'll have a fun and interesting dream that I'll be able to share with other people and/or this blog! I'm worried about my ability to get this research done, but I have the utmost confidence that this coffee will eventually kick in and allow me to kick ass AND take names (I hope).

On another note, my life's not bad, and there are far worse things to be doing research on than one of the best Epic movies of all time. OF ALL TIME! I do think that this experience will help me to better appreciate the times in my life where I actually get a chance to rest and relax and take things at a slower (more reasonable) pace. At 23 years of age, I don't think that will necessarily be happening any time soon, but it is something that I have a tendency to look forward to.

A part of me is lazy by nature but another part of me wants to always go at 110% all the time even though I know that that's mathematically impossible (AND I HATE MATH!!). I'm filled with contradictions much like this post may or may not seem to you, the reader. Currently, I'm going to try my best... to try my best, and hope that that gets me somewhere nice and appreciable.

Until next time...

Much love,

Nathan

What A Day!

I can't say that today was a total waste or anything really negative like that. What I can tell you is that even more things have happened. One of these "things," is the ultimate knowledge of my standings with the Graduate School Programs that I applied to. Out of eight of the schools that I applied to, I have gotten into three. Now, this may not seem like a lot, and if you look at the amount of schools I got into while applying for undergrad, you might be right (I got into eleven out of eleven), but for grad programs, particularly an MFA in Creative Nonfiction (or writing in general) that's pretty bad-ass (or so I've been told). According to Tom Kealey's helpful guide book, "The Creative Writing MFA Handbook: A Guide for Prospective Students," I haven't done too badly.

Why didn't I apply to more places? That's a good question (Me). Since Kealey says that someone looking to get into an MFA program should apply to 8-11 programs, I decided to go with the bare minimum, like Jennifer Aniston's character, Joanna, did with the pieces of flare at her work in the movie, "Office Space." This isn't because I necessarily had certain schools that I wanted to attend, but rather mostly due to funding. As both a student AND a writer, I'm (probably) not going to be blessed with the greatest of financial circumstances and spending roughly $400 dollars on eight schools is a small fortune to me. I'm not saying, in any way to anyone else, that you should go with the very minimum or even that you should have a minimum of eight (I'm sure you could do less, but your chances would be diminished), but that money is a huge deciding factor.

Money may be the reason why I haven't made a decision yet (as I clearly have a decision to make). I have yet to receive anything resembling financial aid packages, and I greatly desire to have assistance in this area. Help for this would be greatly appreciated. In fact, I don't know how I could adequately show my appreciation except maybe dedicate a book or work of some sort to my (hypothetical) benefactor.

In the long run, I'm not sure if this matters or if I'm just thinking about things that will inevitably have little consequence. Truly, the program I choose will most likely determine a good majority of my future, and frankly, that scares the hell out of me. I'm not sure what to do except don a smile and keep on being (acting) happy. I'm not feigning joy, don't get me wrong, but I am beginning to have realizations about my current circumstances and where my decisions will lead me. I would like to know where I'm going, but, in Life, the path is often unlit and any metaphorical torch we're carrying only allows us a fraction of discernible foresight (or something like that). Unfortunately, I think I'm turning into a calculating realist (Or is that a pessimist? I can never tell!).

I will say this: Wherever life takes me, so far, it's been a very interesting ride. Until next time, stay amazing.

Yours,

Nathan

P.S. When throwing clay, whether that be a pot or what have you, make sure you aren't wearing shorts or, at the very least, have something to protect your legs, because clay water is very cold.

Long Time No See

It's been quite some time since I last used this blog. This is partly because I had completely forgotten the username and password to it. Silly, I know, but these things happen to those who have recently developed a bad habit of being absent minded. I try not to be, but these things happen.

Anyway, life is great. So far, I've already been accepted to two graduate programs for MFA in Creative Nonfiction. One of them is Creative Writing and Publishing Arts. I've received three rejection letters, and I'm ok with that. I still have two more to hear back from, but I'm feeling pretty good about the whole thing. It looks like I'll have a future or something like that.

Now, it's time for me to write the next Great American Novel or Collection of Essays or Memoir or something. I'm not sure. I have no idea what will happen next, and I think that's what makes life BRILLIANT!

There was a time when I would have laughed at anyone who would have said anything like I did in my last paragraph. I think that everyone should have or create a positive outlook of some sort at some time in their lives. Good news of this magnitude happened to be just what I needed to inspire a little optimism or something like that.

It's still my motto that: "I will always try something once, within reason." I plan on having countless many more experiences and adventures, and I hope that I can share them with anyone willing to read this.

Thank you and have a wonderful day,

Nathan

A Little Something of my Hybrid Essay

(Mind you this is only a rough draft and just a little section)

I was sitting in the cold, organized white doctor’s office in the famous Cleveland Clinic. It’s a stereotype and this is what sterile looks like. I was alone, sitting in this weird chair that reminded me of the dentist. I looked over to my right and I saw the empty visitors’ chairs where my parents had promised to be.

At this time Dr. Woodard walked in. He’s a tall black man with a build like a fridge. His voice is high and soft. He sits across from me to tell me the results of the tests and scans. I have what is called an osteoma. It’s a tumor. This one is connected to the wall of my left eye socket. Typically, osteomas are just a shell of bone, ‘simple’ to get rid of. You drill into it and break away the bone, “like an eggshell.” Mine, though they didn’t know this at the time, was special, a rarity, of solid super dense bone, all the way through.

He tells me it’s pushing my eye over and out. That it’s growing towards my brain, slowly. He tells me he wants to perform brain surgery. He explains I could have permanent double vision, go blind in my left eye or even die. He lets me know that if I don’t have surgery, I could die. He doesn’t give percentages which I know would help, and I don’t ask.

The weather in my mind begins to pick up and a little voice tells me, “You’re going to die.”

I called my dad and gave him the news. Then I drove back to campus where I promptly filled up an empty coke bottle with bourbon and crème de la menthe. I thought it would be the equivalent of a mint julep. This is the first time in my life that I get drunk, and I drink to forget. The dark clouds subside, for the time being.

**A few weeks later**

The rain was falling hard. Just a kind of hissing sound like the world was the mouth of a snake. The heavens had been blanketed with gray, and everything seemed to turn a shade of blue. Things were getting rowdy in my head.

I don’t remember most of the day, but I do remember rushing up to my room, my mood a mess. My roommate looked up from his work as I slipped the scissors into my jacket pocket. I didn’t care if he knew. What was he going to do?

“I’m going out.” I said. He was silent, getting back to work, as I stepped out the door and went downstairs. I left the dorm building and quickly walked down the street and then turned going down another. I made my way to a bench that was just hidden by a spruce tree, and took out the scissors, my weapon of choice. Well, not really. It was all I had. They weren’t even very sharp. I held the blade to my wrist, down the road not across the street. I had it in me to do it.

The storm inside my head grew worse. I wouldn’t allow the uncertainty of my tumor or the surgery to be what takes my life. I had control here, me. Lightning struck and I saw faces. I pictured everyone I cared about and I just couldn’t do it. I wept.

My mind brought me back to a conversation I had with my father:

“You know what the worst thing you can do to a loved one is?” he asked, out-of-the-blue.

“No, what?”

“Suicide.”

“What?” I knew he was throwing me a hint. He clearly thought for some time that I was suicidal, which currently, I wasn’t. Unlike me, he was never one for confrontation.

“It’s selfish. You kill yourself and leave all these people behind blaming themselves. They always think they should have known or there was something they could have done. You never really get over it.” I don’t know how you should respond to something like that. It may seem harsh, but granted, my father spent hundreds of hours consoling and basically acting as therapist for countless ‘victims’ of suicide.

A Subjective Definition (Friendship)

This is an idea. It's just the beginning. So, don't take it too seriously:

Friendship. What is it? It's difficult to put an exact definition on it. It's elusive in the mind, because of what it is. Here's how the Oxford English Dictionary defines friendship: http://www.oed.com/view/Entry/74661?redirectedFrom=friendship# to go along with that here's how they define friend [n] (because it's in the definition of friendship almost every time): http://www.oed.com/view/Entry/74646?rskey=NxZ5NY&result=1&isAdvanced=false#.

It's funny there are so many ways that you could put this. To me, for example, a friend is some one who you spend time with (on a regular basis), they're someone you have to, on occasion, have an experience that has an impact on your life. They have to be someone you can be intimate with and have no trouble feeling vulnerable with. They're someone who invites you to go out and have fun, and help you when you're down. I've also had friends that I've spent little time with, but still managed to have many moments that have significantly impacted my life and I wouldn't trade for the world. I may not know these people as well as I'd like, but I feel that I know them well enough.

Other people may feel differently, and give friendship a different meaning. Many people vary on who they give the labels friends, acquaintance, and stranger. They're interchangeable between different people. It's about individuality and subjectivity.

I believe deciding who is a friend is a very subjective process. Although dictionaries may have a certain definition that doesn't mean it's the set definition, and thus makes it difficult. Also friends in different countries and cultures changes things.

I thought of this when I recently had problems with 'friends.' Really they're a clique. I didn't fit in, and they would gang up on me from time to time. I've learned my lesson: if you don't fit in, get out. They wouldn't invite me to things even after expressing that I wanted to spend time with them. I thought including people in things and spending time with them was something friends do. I guess they see friendship in a different light. However, this was and is (somewhat) an unhealthy relationship I seem to be having. They're very nice and caring at times but I am constantly getting the feeling that they don't want me around. They see me more as the older (only a year or two) person who happens to be there. I have other friends who I've known for years, but up until recently this year I have been basically ignoring. I feared that I had alienated them. My ignoring them is mostly due to drama that would be caused, but after being in this other circle of friends I've learned to appreciate the ones I have. Some of these people, you could argue, I don't know very well, but is that what makes them a friend?

In the end I can summarize it in a literary way, that the concept of friendship is left up to the individual interpretation of the person who is concerned with the labeling of people around them. It's all subjective just like interpreting literature is (mostly fiction, poetry and creative nonfiction). Both the person as an individual and the group or societal interpretation hold up. So, not only is it subjective to the individual but there are set rules and definitions set up by society. They differ between cultures. So, what does this mean? Is this saying that friendship is both subjective and objective? I'm not sure. I'll have to get back to you.

Much love my 'friends,'

Nathan

One of those kind of days.

Ever start off the week and wish it was over? Yeah, I'm there, right now. I have a lot of work to do for classes, but not what I would consider ungodly. It's completely doable. I just need to not waste my time, and it would be somewhat extremely helpful if I didn't have to go to work or my classes. It would definitely give me more time. I can do it. I just don't want to.

I do have one question though. Have you ever had a crush or been infatuated with someone, and they are well aware of this, and they tell you about this guy they like, wish they were in a relationship with, but can't because they missed out? This happened. It sometimes happens to me, but it usually occurs without them knowing my feelings about them. I can completely understand being rejected, as much as it hurts, because you have feelings for someone else, but to reject me without rejecting me is more than demoralizing and more than I can stand. I guess the whole cuddling thing and when you told me you weren't wearing pants to go to sleep but I couldn't come up really means nothing. I thought that maybe this person was, at least, sending me signals. I suppose they don't know what they're doing, which I can understand.

I'm going to say what I always say, "I'm done with women and pursuing a relationship." Of course, I'm constantly saying it and never doing it. I'm, for all intensive purposes, a hypocrite. I don't care though. I'm a hopeless romantic who's mostly hopeless. It's all right though, I'm used to it.

On another note (cliché!) I am currently going through a good deal of seemingly random pain in my head/face/eye area. I don't suppose that this is part of the healing process, and it has me worried. The more I worry, the more it seems to inexplicably hurt. The pain also occurs when I'm not worrying, and sometimes when I'm asleep. I'm not sure what to do. So, I'll have to wait until I see the doctor... Hopefully it's just due to stress.

Hope you're doing better than me,

Nathan

Memoirs and China

I just started working out again. Aside from simply being healthy and feeling lame because I haven't worked out in a while, I need to do this. I was told by the professors taking us to China that we need to get in shape. This is mostly because we'll be doing lots of walking in China. I have a feeling that the Great Wall won't be the easiest time especially if I'm out of breath within seconds of seeing it. Ok, that's a hyperbole, but still, I would like to lose some weight and get in shape regardless of whether or not it's necessary.

Another thing... I'm having a problem writing this piece for my Advanced Workshop in Creative Nonfiction. I have to eventually come up with 35-40 pages of some form of creative nonfiction. It looks like I'll be doing a memoir or a hybrid of immersion/personal/memoir. I started out with something on my feelings which, in my case, has mostly been anger and depression. Those have been two major problems and emotions that are very influential. It's lead to a memoir-like essay on suicide, which I did have to deal with. Also I've had different experiences with suicide other than my own. I'm not sure what to do. I've never tried to commit suicide before but I have thought about it. That only happened though when I thought I would probably die. I do know some people who've attempted suicide, succeeded or just thought of it. I'll probably talk about that stuff. I'm not entirely sure. This is going to get super personal and I'm worried. However, as they say, "It's like ripping your guts out and putting them on the page." That's what you have to do, not only for good writing but for yourself as well.

Hope everyone is happy and safe and warm. Godspeed.

Nathan