Wednesday, October 3rd, 2007, 12:45 p.m.
Why is the sky blue? Why?
Headlines in the Star Tribune Today:
Do officials need all that leg room?
Tribe puts money to good work
A Mexican cowboy extravaganza
Lack of proof cost Spears custody, lawyer says
Ducks and more ducks
Meth scare at St. Paul Middle School
Wednesday, October 10th, 2007, 9:11 a.m.
I feel so alone
but don't a lot of people?
It makes no sense then,
for us to feel this way.
Wednesday, September 26th, 2007, 1:16 p.m.
I lie here on the grass in the middle of campus and watch the world and its inhabitants pass by. I feel sick to my stomach because for some reason they are all so annoying. "Did you buy your Homecoming t-shirts yet?!" Everyone is so excited for Homecoming and to wear t-shirts that say "It's 10 a.m. Where's your beer?"
School spirit?
Homecoming is just another excuse to spend the weekend in an overly-intoxicated state. Do you really need an excuse? It happens every weekend anyway.
Tuesday, November 13th, 2007, 10:58 a.m.
I hate when people make me feel stupid. A lot of times I make myself feel stupid. I hate that too.
Wasted nights lead to wasted days.
Showing posts with label college diaries. Show all posts
Showing posts with label college diaries. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Sunday, January 22, 2012
from the college diaries
I know I've been posting a shit ton in the past few days but that's because I've been doing a lot of reading and poem revising and for the past 23 hours I've had the house to myself, which WOW, opens up a river of thoughts. Mainly I've been cultivating thoughts for my critical thesis, but also exploring new photographers and just thinking a lot, I guess. And I've been writing a lot in my journal, which led me to thinking about writing in my journal, which lead me to thinking about all the journals I've ever filled, which led to a very insightful and entertaining past 45 minutes or so.
The particular journal I've lost myself in is from 2007/2008, i.e. my sophomore year of college at Winona State, i.e. the year before Evelyn. It's funny, to read things I would have never remembered thinking. A lot of it is random scribbling, fleeting thoughts and ideas, like most of my journal writing is. And some of it cracks me up! Like this:
Tuesday, October 2nd, 2007, 8:41 p.m.
Is it a good sign if my own poems make me want to cry?
Today at dinner I looked around and realized I was the only person in the cafeteria sitting by myself. And at this I was thrilled. People often bore me to talk to, but to watch them I could do for quite some time.
This just makes me laugh because it's so honest and still somewhat true. Sometimes.
I found other fragments that were much more somber, like this:
Tuesday, October 9th, 2001, 10:56 a.m.
Thoughts I had during class/things people said that made me think:
"Something terrible always happens"
"[Poetry] or [literature] is the most fun you can have with your clothes on." --Dr. Armstrong
Sometimes, I just get so upset with myself. And suddenly I question everything I have done, everything I believe in.
Am I wrong?
The most frustrating part is that no one can answer this question, and maybe this is why people read the Bible and believe in God.
?
Maybe I'm boring you with all of this but it's so interesting to me to revisit my old thoughts. Just a few more:
Tuesday, October 16th, 2007, 7:52 p.m.
"Beauty fades" -- if you agree with this you are looking at the wrong kind of beauty.
I skim through pages of "Ideas to Write About" and "The Poet's Companion" but I can never find anything that strikes me as interesting.
I re-read everything I've ever written, but none of that strikes me as interesting either.
Why do some people walk like they have a load of shit in their pants while others walk like they have a cracker up their ass they don't want to crack?
HA! I'm still laughing out loud at that last part. I wonder what led me to think that. Last one for now:
Monday, October 22, 2007, sometime during class
Is there any symbolism in the fact that, in a classroom of 50, I am using a wooden pencil and every other person has a mechanical one, or yet, a LAPTOP?
I pick up my blue plastic sharpener and feel bizarre gratification as I twist my dixon ticonderoga until the tip is smooth and sharp.
The particular journal I've lost myself in is from 2007/2008, i.e. my sophomore year of college at Winona State, i.e. the year before Evelyn. It's funny, to read things I would have never remembered thinking. A lot of it is random scribbling, fleeting thoughts and ideas, like most of my journal writing is. And some of it cracks me up! Like this:
Tuesday, October 2nd, 2007, 8:41 p.m.
Is it a good sign if my own poems make me want to cry?
Today at dinner I looked around and realized I was the only person in the cafeteria sitting by myself. And at this I was thrilled. People often bore me to talk to, but to watch them I could do for quite some time.
This just makes me laugh because it's so honest and still somewhat true. Sometimes.
I found other fragments that were much more somber, like this:
Tuesday, October 9th, 2001, 10:56 a.m.
Thoughts I had during class/things people said that made me think:
"Something terrible always happens"
"[Poetry] or [literature] is the most fun you can have with your clothes on." --Dr. Armstrong
Sometimes, I just get so upset with myself. And suddenly I question everything I have done, everything I believe in.
Am I wrong?
The most frustrating part is that no one can answer this question, and maybe this is why people read the Bible and believe in God.
?
Maybe I'm boring you with all of this but it's so interesting to me to revisit my old thoughts. Just a few more:
Tuesday, October 16th, 2007, 7:52 p.m.
"Beauty fades" -- if you agree with this you are looking at the wrong kind of beauty.
I skim through pages of "Ideas to Write About" and "The Poet's Companion" but I can never find anything that strikes me as interesting.
I re-read everything I've ever written, but none of that strikes me as interesting either.
Why do some people walk like they have a load of shit in their pants while others walk like they have a cracker up their ass they don't want to crack?
HA! I'm still laughing out loud at that last part. I wonder what led me to think that. Last one for now:
Monday, October 22, 2007, sometime during class
Is there any symbolism in the fact that, in a classroom of 50, I am using a wooden pencil and every other person has a mechanical one, or yet, a LAPTOP?
I pick up my blue plastic sharpener and feel bizarre gratification as I twist my dixon ticonderoga until the tip is smooth and sharp.
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