In-Between Seasons

Discovery consists of seeing what everybody has seen and thinking what nobody has thought.
--Albert Szent-Gyorgy

So, I'm trying this site out. Just maybe.
I've found so many lovely people on here from the dear ole homeland, that I figured, why not?
So here I be.

I'm in the library. Again. I'm always in the library, it seems, sitting at a computer screen looking, apparently, like an all-knowing goddess of knowledge for all of the computer-fixing, how-do-I-find-it, what-do-I-do questions I receive. It's amazing the power a desk position can give you. The honest to goodness truth is that I barely know any more than the rest of you guys. But you wouldn't know that because I'm sitting behind a desk. I've decided that perhaps, if I am ever a brilliant author whom young college and high school student study and sweat over, I will introduce (or more likely re-introduce) the desk as a symbol of position, power, and dominance .... kind of like an alter in Greek temples. *Sits tall and serene* "Yes, come my children, my little freshies, and I shall impart to you the wisdom and mysteries of the MC library. Reserves are to your left, and no, it won't print if you hit that button. Try this one instead. Ah yes, perfect." *heavenly chorus*

Yeah, I'm going overboard. Sorry. I just escaped a mid-term for my literary theory class, so my brain is totally fried and little nutso. The test wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, but then, again, we didn't know what to expect except that all of the theorists, their theories, Eudora Welty's The Golden Apples, and a play by Tennesse Williams would be on there. Funny, but dear Pottsie forgot all about Welty and Williams. It was all fine by me though. I call Dr. Potts "Pottsie" with the utmost respect; it's just that last fall Dr. Randle in one of the most amazing classes I have ever experienced dubbed the Faulkner-obsessed prof that, and it's stuck .... for me at least. Now that the mid-term's over, though, I would gladly discuss any of the theories for you: Care for some New Criticism? Or perhaps its evil twin Deconstructionism? Oh do try some Gender Theory it's one of my favorites, and, while you're at it, sprinkle on some Psychoanalysis. It's a classic. So yeah. Lit theory--I'm your girl. I get the feeling that I have too much fun in the class. I hope I'm not irritating. It's just interesting stuff and most of the group is tight-lipped and I'm usually not when it comes to literature. I talk too much, darn it.

Outside it simply reeks of mulch ... which smells like nasty horse manure (yes, there is a good kind of horse manure smell, but this is NOT it). When I first caught a whiff of it, I thought I had stepped in a pile of dog mess. Nope. Just the whole environment smells like Phoebe Buffay's Smelly Cat took a collosal dump the size of my campus. It's been two days and it still reeks. I love earthy smells, but this is not one of them. I love the smell of damp grass and dirt after it rains. Wet mulch is in a category all its own. Lord willing the scent doesn't stick to anything else.

Ryno has taken it upon himself, as someone has every semester, to educate me. In a way it's remotely flattering because he bestows this knowledge believing that I am capable of absorbing it without my brain exploding. So far, it's been entertaining but not damaging or, honestly, educational. And, despite Ryno's efforts and arguements, I've come to the conclusion that all alcohol tastes like Robitesen Cough Syrup. If you can't taste it, then it bubbles and burns like eating pop rocks. Not my favorite. Last weekend, I joined Em and Ryno for movie and drink night at Carrie's. They drank Rum Runners, and I sipped on a Coke. That night, Ryno finally realized that when I say "I can taste alcohol in anything and I hate it" I'm not kidding. Today, we came up with an side joke: "Cheese." Jim and Ryno are going to have a buttload of fun using that to play with people's heads.

I still can't get used to everyone growing up and getting married. It's so strange to me. Not bad, necessarily, just strange. I keep talking about "the wedding," and people keep thinking it's mine. No, not yet, not for a while. "The Wedding" is Ryan and Julie's in twenty four days. Wow. In twenty-four days Julie will have a new last name and be a married woman. In twenty-four days, Ryan will be a married man--yes a man, as hard as that is to believe--with a career around the corner and a ring on his finger. How strange is that? I've known these kids for years, Ryan all his life, and now they're not kids anymore. Or they are and they think they aren't. Which is it??

I can't wait for the leaves to change colors. Life keeps on spinning, churning, growing, and it's a beautiful chaos.