Session of Little Intrest
Current mood: catalyzed
I want to write, but the words are lost. I was lying in bed earlier, wide awake with stray thoughts; all but gone to me now. I want a better understanding of myself and why I am the way I am. Ultimately I am constantly trying to dissect every random feeling or thought that finds its way into my consciousness. It's no good, at least not right now. I'm too easily distracted. My cat is snoring. The day is wearing on me, and what's left of my momentum is being reserved the restless dreams I seem to be having so much more often these days. I don't ever try to figure them out, mostly because I don't care, but also, I'm not sure they're worth it. Five more minutes of fighting with my need to verbally express myself tonight. Maybe I'll try again tomorrow. Maybe something will become more clear to me, maybe I will have a better sense of myself. Maybe, or maybe it'll be exactly the same.
Monday, October 6, 2008
"Sometimes you walk the line, sometimes it walks you"
Sitting here, staring at the TV, thinking back on all the things I thought I had to say... I don't know if it's really worth it now. The later it gets into the morning, the more I rethink many of the things that have brought me to this point. Still struggling to better understand a person I have known my entire life. It almost seems that sometimes the decisions we make enable our inevitable internal cloaking. Do we discover who we really are, or do we become who we need to be in the moment? Are we products of our environment, or are we products of each environment?
Sitting here, staring at the TV, thinking back on all the things I thought I had to say... I don't know if it's really worth it now. The later it gets into the morning, the more I rethink many of the things that have brought me to this point. Still struggling to better understand a person I have known my entire life. It almost seems that sometimes the decisions we make enable our inevitable internal cloaking. Do we discover who we really are, or do we become who we need to be in the moment? Are we products of our environment, or are we products of each environment?
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Kicked Out Of Culinary School
I guess I don't really know where to begin. It's been far too long since I have sat here and dealt with myself, it feels unnatural.
For the past few weeks I have been in the preverbial corner, thinking about what I've done wrong. The adminstration at my school didn't see fit to let me take classes this term due to my own, admittedly less than perfect record. True, I have had my educational barriers and shortcomings, as many my fault as external, but as of recent, I had been doing much better. The disciplinary act itself was more a scare tactic than anything else. The administration holds the point of view that if I am suspended for doing poorly and am forced to start paying back my loans, I will see that I can't abuse the money that isn't mine to begin with, so that when I come back I will work harder to secure my standing in school and I won't lose loans at the same time. I guess I can see where they're coming from, but ultimately, as a stubborn and free willed person, the decision to do well in school can only be mine, and threats, or any other manor of deterrance will not be a factor. Here I am though, half way through my suspension period, and what I realize is that this is a catch 22. What the Sullivan University administration is trying to demonstrate is that by doing poorly, I am wasting money, but the truth is, that by going to Sullivan I am wasting money, and more than just that, I am wasting borrowed money, coupled with my time, my effort, and my energy.
What I expect out of a culinary school, or any other school, is an education worth paying for, by which I mean, something more than I could achieve on my own. I want to be taught be those better and smarter than me, so that I may gain more knowledge than I started with. I want to be challenged regularly, and taught to think quickly and adapt to any given situation.
The more time I spend away from school, the more it becomes clear to me, that Sullivan was not the right fit for me, or for Sullivan for that matter. The School wants someone who will be happy with the bare minimum, and I want more than that. It's best that we parted when we did Sullivan, otherwise it could have ended much worse. I could have walked away with just barely enough knowledge to get a lower paying job than I have now. My debt to you is far surpassed in zeroes than in accredidation. Thank you Sullivan, but I can watch all the Food Network I want now, since I'm not allowed to go to class, and it won't take up the time of the professor to cue up the VCR. I can read my text books and pass the state certified Sanitation Exam, rather than stay up late searching for a four letter word in my seek and find homework. I can work in a restaurant that seats 300 at a time, rather than stand by casually and watch someone painfully stack an entree into artsy towers for their dining room of 30. Maybe one day, Sullivan, you and I can look back and laugh, maybe, when I don't owe you any more money. Though, somehow, I don't think the debt you've accrued to me, will ever be paid. I must say, I learned a lot from you Sullivan, yet, none of it was outlined in my course catalog, and I don't think it will amount to any transferrable credits, but our time was not entirely wasted I suppose. Thank you Sullivan for giving me this valuable time of self discovery and introspection, I think it has served us both to our advantage.
Um, okay, I think that turned into bitter rant in even less words than I thought it would. Oops.
For the past few weeks I have been in the preverbial corner, thinking about what I've done wrong. The adminstration at my school didn't see fit to let me take classes this term due to my own, admittedly less than perfect record. True, I have had my educational barriers and shortcomings, as many my fault as external, but as of recent, I had been doing much better. The disciplinary act itself was more a scare tactic than anything else. The administration holds the point of view that if I am suspended for doing poorly and am forced to start paying back my loans, I will see that I can't abuse the money that isn't mine to begin with, so that when I come back I will work harder to secure my standing in school and I won't lose loans at the same time. I guess I can see where they're coming from, but ultimately, as a stubborn and free willed person, the decision to do well in school can only be mine, and threats, or any other manor of deterrance will not be a factor. Here I am though, half way through my suspension period, and what I realize is that this is a catch 22. What the Sullivan University administration is trying to demonstrate is that by doing poorly, I am wasting money, but the truth is, that by going to Sullivan I am wasting money, and more than just that, I am wasting borrowed money, coupled with my time, my effort, and my energy.
What I expect out of a culinary school, or any other school, is an education worth paying for, by which I mean, something more than I could achieve on my own. I want to be taught be those better and smarter than me, so that I may gain more knowledge than I started with. I want to be challenged regularly, and taught to think quickly and adapt to any given situation.
The more time I spend away from school, the more it becomes clear to me, that Sullivan was not the right fit for me, or for Sullivan for that matter. The School wants someone who will be happy with the bare minimum, and I want more than that. It's best that we parted when we did Sullivan, otherwise it could have ended much worse. I could have walked away with just barely enough knowledge to get a lower paying job than I have now. My debt to you is far surpassed in zeroes than in accredidation. Thank you Sullivan, but I can watch all the Food Network I want now, since I'm not allowed to go to class, and it won't take up the time of the professor to cue up the VCR. I can read my text books and pass the state certified Sanitation Exam, rather than stay up late searching for a four letter word in my seek and find homework. I can work in a restaurant that seats 300 at a time, rather than stand by casually and watch someone painfully stack an entree into artsy towers for their dining room of 30. Maybe one day, Sullivan, you and I can look back and laugh, maybe, when I don't owe you any more money. Though, somehow, I don't think the debt you've accrued to me, will ever be paid. I must say, I learned a lot from you Sullivan, yet, none of it was outlined in my course catalog, and I don't think it will amount to any transferrable credits, but our time was not entirely wasted I suppose. Thank you Sullivan for giving me this valuable time of self discovery and introspection, I think it has served us both to our advantage.
Um, okay, I think that turned into bitter rant in even less words than I thought it would. Oops.
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
The Arrival
Building a relationship with a parent seems like it should be the sort of thing that requires little to no effort. Seeing your parents as actual people is something that happens to all of us at some point, but sometimes that actualization is hard to come by. I knew my dad was someone other than just my dad the day he asked my mom for a divorce. I was fouteen at the time and lost in my own high school drama. In the last nine years though, I have just barely come to know the man behind the face I recognize to one day be my own. The furrowed brow and crow's feet that I will adopt, the tired eyes and thoughtful stare I already wear so well.
We've been making plans recently, for him to come up and see me...a twelve hour round trip for a less than twenty four hour stay is about all it comes down to. He's making the effort, but it seems a little forced. Maybe I want too much of the person.
We've been making plans recently, for him to come up and see me...a twelve hour round trip for a less than twenty four hour stay is about all it comes down to. He's making the effort, but it seems a little forced. Maybe I want too much of the person.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
The Disconnected Series, Volume I
Sometimes I want so badly to purge myself on these digital pages and empty my emotional resevoir of all its contents. But I slowly come to realize, that I am not in need of that kind of therapy anymore. Everyone needs to vent sometimes, but in the process of growing up fast, I lost the need to act out as a result of not knowing how to handle myself.
I played those three punk rock chords hard for many years, and lived the life of every outsider teenager. My ideals were tattooed into my very skin so that I would always hold true to them; unity, equality, truth, and justice. I marched, rallied, protested, demonstrated, and lived for what I believed. But we all grow up, right? And not just in the stagnant growing into oblivion way, we all grow up to gain perspective on our lives and most importatnly that which makes us who we are. At some point, our childhood becomes our adolescence, and our adolesence becomes our attitude. The preverbial punk rock doctrine of beliefs, which in its own right is a contradiction of the punk ethic. It means nothing of course, but it is not completely valueless.
There were many armchair sessions spent talking about my father, with whom no descernable relationship existed, even though I saw him every day. Neither of us grasped that concept of communication, which is now spread over 300 miles and a telephone bill. He sends me checks in the mail every month, and somehow, without guilt, I cash them. We're still trying to make it work, the only way we know.
I played those three punk rock chords hard for many years, and lived the life of every outsider teenager. My ideals were tattooed into my very skin so that I would always hold true to them; unity, equality, truth, and justice. I marched, rallied, protested, demonstrated, and lived for what I believed. But we all grow up, right? And not just in the stagnant growing into oblivion way, we all grow up to gain perspective on our lives and most importatnly that which makes us who we are. At some point, our childhood becomes our adolescence, and our adolesence becomes our attitude. The preverbial punk rock doctrine of beliefs, which in its own right is a contradiction of the punk ethic. It means nothing of course, but it is not completely valueless.
There were many armchair sessions spent talking about my father, with whom no descernable relationship existed, even though I saw him every day. Neither of us grasped that concept of communication, which is now spread over 300 miles and a telephone bill. He sends me checks in the mail every month, and somehow, without guilt, I cash them. We're still trying to make it work, the only way we know.
Monday, May 7, 2007
Spin Me Right Round Like A Record Baby
I've been bidding on a couple of records on ebay recently. Simultaneously I have gotten a new love for ebay, while also reminding myself how much I love vinyl. Not that anyone cares but I bid on the album "Sudden Death Overtime" by the
straightedge band Slapshot and won. I got it extremely cheap especially since the record is totally out of print and in near mint condition. When it comes to music, I'm a snob and total nerd. Record collecting is what I do instead of drugs and alcohol, it keeps me sane and happy. But for the last few years I have neglected my records and now I feel like I have a lot of catching up to do.
straightedge band Slapshot and won. I got it extremely cheap especially since the record is totally out of print and in near mint condition. When it comes to music, I'm a snob and total nerd. Record collecting is what I do instead of drugs and alcohol, it keeps me sane and happy. But for the last few years I have neglected my records and now I feel like I have a lot of catching up to do.
Growing Up
I've been sitting at the computer typing and backspacing for twenty minutes trying to hammer out the opening line. I've looked over the disheveled apartment for some inspiration, but a sleeping basset, and cat that"s cleaning herself on the back of the couch are lacking in epiphanies. I ate cereal for dinner because last night when I went through the drive-thru at Taco Bell, the guy taking my order recognized me. I don't think I have ever felt so fat. Definately going to the gym tomorrow. Maybe I'll run five miles.
"Punk rock won't pay the bills, so we've gotta get started early."-Milo
"Punk rock won't pay the bills, so we've gotta get started early."-Milo
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