NoraSawyer.com

So, it occured to me that even though I often blog from work, I never talk about work in my little bloggeroo.

Hm.

So, here I am, in mine kleine cubicle, listening to two of my co-workers bicker. One of them (a pretentious pooptart) keeps misusing words. My favorite today:

“I just have certain pre-requiems when I’m going into a relationship”

That doesn’t bode well for his relationships, now does it?

I’m wondering now, though – does requiem have definitions (or homonyms) I’m not aware of? Am I the poop tart here?

Oh, I doubt it.

Happy Birthday to you

Happy Birthday to you

Happy Biiiiiirthday, Dear Brian

Happy Birthday to you.

I’ve noticed in myself a general preference for reading long, chatty blog posts, combined with a tendancy to write short, terse posts in my own blog. This probably says something about my personality, but lets not go there, hmm?

I called in sick today – head cold combined with cough combined with ennui. I didn’t realize it was Friday, though – I feel a bit guilty for having created a long weekend for myself. I guess as long as I’m not having fun, it’s ok.

I’m thinking of

Grad School now. Here’s what I’m scared of:

* failure (I’ll go to school to learn, only to find that I’m unteachable)

* failure II (I’l go to school, only to find I’m irreprably lazy)

* isolation (I’ll quit my job, and never talk to anyone but Brian again)

* failure III (I won’t get in to the program of my choice)

* failure IV (I’ll go to school, and still feel like I’m wasting my life)

* failure V (general, as yet unnamed failure)

And what do I want to get out of grad school, you ask? I dunno. I guess I just want to keep learning. Sure, I could do that on my own – but wouldn’t it be great to just *focus* for a while?

I’m sorry, this isn’t fun reading, is it?

I really am a big ol’ square. L7.

Strange, empty day following the death of a co-worker.

Random Morning N-Train Idea:

Self-help book based around the Odyssey: life is a journey, requiring wiley-tricksterdom and falling for people who turn you into strange and frightening beasts. Also, unweaving-of-tapestries may be neccesary.

Shaw writes:

Well, what is love? To me, love is, essentially, a strong undeniable feeling that an individual holds inside of them.

While Shaw’s definition is a good one, I think that one of the interestings thing about love is that it is not held within us, but rather draws us out of ourselves. As Freud (my guy) points out:

At the height of being in love the boundary between ego and object threatens to melt away. Against all the evidence of his senses, a man who is in love declares that ‘I’ and ‘you’ are one, and is prepared to behave as if it were a fact. (Civilization and its Discontents p 13).

Love, at its best, draws us out of our little ego-shell. Love for another pulls us out of ourselves, and, hopefully eventually draws us into a more universal concern for our fellows. I don’t mean to be all Pollyanna Sunshine here, but its been my experience that love, as a workable lifestyle, is a constant experiment in living outside ourselves. The neccesary daily altruism lovers experience (when things are done in each other’s best interest, not for one’s individual needs and wants) brings about a transformation of self, so that over time a specific love for a specific person can transform into an overall general love (especially if you’re Morman. Kidding).

Bleh. Blogging from work. Eating wasabi peas.

Woke with a headache from strange and frightening dreams: Brian and I waiting in a tunnel for a train that never came. Sitting in a hotel room with a living-dead cat that I knew intuitively was pregnant.

Thirsty and tired all day. Co-worker (36) in a coma following a massive stroke.

Peas making me overheated and restless. Blehs like bookedns.

The penitents in Dante’s Purgatorio are movving towads eden. Their journey ends in a redemption of thier selves – spirtual and physical. Once again, they can be ‘naked and unashamed.’

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