NoraSawyer.com

I woke up this morning from a dream of being a rock star. Or actually a former rock star. But the band was getting back together. I had one of those soulful ‘humina humnina’ voices. And I played the guitar (which caused me no end of stress, as I didn’t know how to tune it.

It was a pleasure waking up this morning to clean sheets. And differently coloured ones. I don’t know why, but more often than not, I’ll just wash the same ol’ sheets over and over. Going into the linen closet for the spare set (the washing machine in our building is busted) was a revelation. Blue sheets. Bluuuuuue.

I like the word busted. Busted.

I need to get to my Grad School applications. What’s holding me back?

Actually part of me still doesn’t beleive I have my BA – I haven’t gotten my grades back yet. What if I really didn’t do it? THey’d have told me by now, right?

I’m wearing a red leather skirt. Feels good. Oh, yeah.

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.