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Sometimes I feel like no one knows me; sometimes I feel like there is little to know.
That bizarre nervous energy is back. This time, though, I feel like I could actually use it, actually channel it into work, or into reading the n things I have to read, but none of my books have arrived yet and my professors are being slow about posting actual assignments. I can only program so much (which is actually kinda a lot, but I got in the zone on Friday and Saturday and hammered a bunch of it out) before the actual specs for the assignment are posted along with the promised architecture hints/strong suggestions.
An interesting side effect of this energy is that my writing, though perhaps not gaining any more content, becomes more flowery and I get less fastidious about removing things that may sound melodramatic, sappy, or otherwise better suited to pretentious 'zines or high-school diaries than the moderated output of a supposed adult. I've been growing increasingly unfond of words, especially for the purpose of expressing feelings - as I've grown more conscious of the connotations and implications of various turns of phrase, I realize that damn near anything I write could be more easily misconstrued and misinterpreted to say something I don't really mean. That includes this very paragraph, and this entire entry.
I went skiing, this morning, with boots that actually fit this time. The snow was better, and since I remembered to check the bindings the night before I managed to get to the slopes by 10 or so this time. (Okay, so I had to turn around twice, once for my pass, once for sunscreen.) I found a few extremely hot and near-empty cruisers - I could ski those all day, except it was cold and they were serviced by a long, slow lift - and pussyfooted my way down a couple steeps that were still a bit rocky. I turned in for lunch, then looking at the bright red stripe across my nose and cheeks, decided my sunscreen must be broken and headed home.
When I got back here my face was normal-colored again, not sunburnt after all. I feel like a pansy for skiing a grand total of under three hours before quitting, but that might be the part of me speaking that always had to drive two hours to the slopes and had a father that was utterly determined to make the most of each day. It's easier to justify to myself here, so long as I remember to take half-days whenever I get the chance. I suspect this actually has something to do with the energy, and if I can keep it up (perhaps replace it with climbing or something once it gets warmer, though that's harder to get out and do alone) through the semester I might do well for myself.
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An interesting side effect of this energy is that my writing, though perhaps not gaining any more content, becomes more flowery and I get less fastidious about removing things that may sound melodramatic, sappy, or otherwise better suited to pretentious 'zines or high-school diaries than the moderated output of a supposed adult. I've been growing increasingly unfond of words, especially for the purpose of expressing feelings - as I've grown more conscious of the connotations and implications of various turns of phrase, I realize that damn near anything I write could be more easily misconstrued and misinterpreted to say something I don't really mean. That includes this very paragraph, and this entire entry.
I went skiing, this morning, with boots that actually fit this time. The snow was better, and since I remembered to check the bindings the night before I managed to get to the slopes by 10 or so this time. (Okay, so I had to turn around twice, once for my pass, once for sunscreen.) I found a few extremely hot and near-empty cruisers - I could ski those all day, except it was cold and they were serviced by a long, slow lift - and pussyfooted my way down a couple steeps that were still a bit rocky. I turned in for lunch, then looking at the bright red stripe across my nose and cheeks, decided my sunscreen must be broken and headed home.
When I got back here my face was normal-colored again, not sunburnt after all. I feel like a pansy for skiing a grand total of under three hours before quitting, but that might be the part of me speaking that always had to drive two hours to the slopes and had a father that was utterly determined to make the most of each day. It's easier to justify to myself here, so long as I remember to take half-days whenever I get the chance. I suspect this actually has something to do with the energy, and if I can keep it up (perhaps replace it with climbing or something once it gets warmer, though that's harder to get out and do alone) through the semester I might do well for myself.
click