me: "Does it bother you at all that after 11am comes 12pm and after 11pm comes 12am? I have always thought this was retarded." that is a question on the funbag
me: i can't decide if i absolutely disagree with the person asking the question, or if i just disagree with them
Jason Quist: its weird, yes
Jason Quist: but its so ingrained in me that i dont find it that odd anymore
me: well, in my mind how i have always understood it, 12:01 PM is after noon, or post meridian, so why would you call it ante meridian? i realize that my fealty to latin makes me a crazy person that believes words should have meaning and we should stick to them, but come on, we can't go around just flaggarantly breaking all the rules
Jason Quist: well saying anything is before or after something on a circle is just patently ridiculous
me: not when we all agree to believe there are breaks, we have a finite cycle
me: whether or not that takes place inside a longer cycle is moot at that point
Jason Quist: i mean, yes and we did that we just chose weird breaks
me: but we did choose, all that english and language in general is a man made supposition onto an inherently indescribable world
me: the word apple and an apple are completely different things, apples are all different and in a constant state of decay, they are not all the same and even one thing is not the same as it ever was in the past
me: and i realize that i just got super aesthetic philosophy on an idea that one person on the internet disagrees with even though everyone else already does it the way that i think they should
me: but i am trying to exercise control over a world that i can feel myself losing grasp on as i flounder in a sea of uncertainty regarding my own personal situation
me: and i attempt to cling to and reinforce ideals that i need to be in place because while i do not know which tentpoles are still holding this world up i feel as if i must protect them all
me: and if that wasn't the greatest tenuously constructed diatribe in this history of gchat, i will quit right now
Jason Quist: it was. quite good
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
It Felt Like School Outside
When I walked out of work after what felt like a 12 hour day (I, in actuality, had only been there for eleven hours and forty five minutes) the first thing that hit me was that it felt like School outside.
Playing SPUD in the driveway, or ghosts in the graveyard on the block. Sitting out by the pool, the cover just put into place at the end of summer. Putting off papers and classes to read the Death of a Salesman in my favorite spot on campus.
School has a season. Even though the bulk of school happens in the winter and spring, 68 degrees signifies school. A moderate breeze that gets you too cold if you sit in one spot too long, but bounces off of you if you are moving, or deep in thought. The streetlights trademark hue soon to be reflected off of the leaves that add their own autumnal yellow and red to the Orange that is the season. Those very same leaves which add the rustle which is the only soundtrack now that people have retreated inside until spring.
It hit me harder than i thought. This is first true September I will have without back to school. Last year I was unemployed and couch surfing, a time out of the linear progression we need to understand time. There is a time to sow and a time to reap, a time to be in school and a time to work.
The confusing part is that school is tied to a cyclical pattern, and work is tied to an overarching series of years. I was apparently not ready for this time to come while I am so heavily invested in work. I want to be smoking outside of Gries, not stumbling home, hoping for a bed.
Work has become something I do without thinking about. A vacation came and went, but I was not shocked that I had to go back to work, it happened without my overt acknowledgement. Now, I am forced to acknowledge and attempt to file away what it means to need school and neighborhood friends while seeing my friends so sparingly and working.
Playing SPUD in the driveway, or ghosts in the graveyard on the block. Sitting out by the pool, the cover just put into place at the end of summer. Putting off papers and classes to read the Death of a Salesman in my favorite spot on campus.
School has a season. Even though the bulk of school happens in the winter and spring, 68 degrees signifies school. A moderate breeze that gets you too cold if you sit in one spot too long, but bounces off of you if you are moving, or deep in thought. The streetlights trademark hue soon to be reflected off of the leaves that add their own autumnal yellow and red to the Orange that is the season. Those very same leaves which add the rustle which is the only soundtrack now that people have retreated inside until spring.
It hit me harder than i thought. This is first true September I will have without back to school. Last year I was unemployed and couch surfing, a time out of the linear progression we need to understand time. There is a time to sow and a time to reap, a time to be in school and a time to work.
The confusing part is that school is tied to a cyclical pattern, and work is tied to an overarching series of years. I was apparently not ready for this time to come while I am so heavily invested in work. I want to be smoking outside of Gries, not stumbling home, hoping for a bed.
Work has become something I do without thinking about. A vacation came and went, but I was not shocked that I had to go back to work, it happened without my overt acknowledgement. Now, I am forced to acknowledge and attempt to file away what it means to need school and neighborhood friends while seeing my friends so sparingly and working.
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