Reflections
Seeing as how I have 39 megabytes of bandwidth left with which to last until Friday, I decided to go to the library to update my blog. My mind is quite heavy with deep thinking, after the weighty discussions we had in my English class. First of all, the joy or agony of half the country hangs in balance today with the election, secondly, I am allowed to register for classes tomorrow, and I've just been given new ideas for classes to take:
-Interpersonal Communications
-Psychology
-Sociology of Religion
-English Civilization since 1603
-The 18th Century British Novel (Which I am most definitely going to take)
-Introduction to Classical Mythology
-Nutrition
-Spain of 3 Cultures
-Boccaccio's Decameron
Seeing as how I couldn't possibly take the 27 hours that requires, I know I am most definitely going to split that up into various semesters.
Another weight on my mind is what exactly to do with this summer. I would like to work and attend classes at UTB to keep up the required number of hours, but what I would really really REALLY love to do is to spend the entire summer in Spain, attending culinary and couture classes in Madrid. Not only would it greatly improve my Spanish (practice never hurts), it would also allow me to begin learning those things I love so much, and would love to have a knowledge of before I get married, start working, have children, etc. and by the time most of the youthful energy I have now has passed, I'll be an older woman trying to make up for lost time by learning all these crafts and hobbies in her middle age. So none of that, I want to learn gourmet cookery and high sewing, and I think this summer would be very good to do that in... but it will probably postpone my graduation.
The final, and least tangible but most profound weight on my mind is the absolute depth of consciousness that the book we're reading for English exposes. It is so profoundly philosophical, as to the realities of human nature, human relationships, and it really makes me see my own inadequacies at analysis and philosophy when reading it. It makes me feel very... uneducated to not have these very profound insights into the characters and the author's symbolism to add to the discussion, as do so many of my peers. I guess in the past year and a half I haven't matured very much as compared to other years, and it's probably safe to say that due to the lack of mature, intelligent people with which I've been able to interact. Not to say that my friends aren't mature and intelligent, just not of the sort that become your heroes, the people you admire and want to be like, and you improve yourself for in order to be more suitable to them. I really felt like that with my teacher, Mrs. Wiley. She was one of the few people I wanted to really be like, really impress. However, last year I wasn't really able to see too much of her, as she wasn't my teacher. This year, I don't have a person who's several years older than me, someone incredibly smart, mature, focused, etc. on which to model myself. By reading this novel, I've come to see how stagnant my mind has become... how little creativity I've possessed in the past eighteen months. Maybe it's a little pretentious and arrogant of me to speak of being this elite, mature, sophisticated individual, but there has to be some point when you say: I want to improve myself and be a better person, and by having these goals, and by progressing slowly, somehow I can achieve those goals--perhaps not in their entirety, but in such a way that they're not haughty pretentions, but rather, desirable virtues.
Damnit! I've been reading/watching/thinking too much "Pride and Prejudice."
The book, "Charming Billy" by Alice McDermott has made me realize that people are not just surface creatures, and that all there is to them is not to be found merely by reading their face. There is so much depth to people that passersby do not see. Secrets, wishes, desires, thoughts that never make their way into the way we dress, the words we say, the way we walk, or conduct ourselves at home, at work, with friends, etc. I consider myself a pretty open person. I hate keeping secrets because I'm bad at it, I hate keeping things from people (unless they're mean) because I hope they too can partake in my joy or that I can give them joy in some way. However, the iceberg sinks so much deeper than I could ever imagine. This novelist shows these threads of personality in such an atypical manner, that characters are still being developed, enriched, and discovered well into the last third of the book. For example, there is none of the "She was blue-eyed and brown-haired, with a countenance that spoke of sweetness and good temper. She was her father's favorite, and was possessed of such a keen sense of right that never did she utter a word against anyone... ever." Rather, tidbits of history, slivers of personality weave their way through the fabric of the story, making each turn a surprise, and rather a puzzle to figure out exactly what's being said, and how each new piece of information fits within the bigger tapestry. Coming to this realization allows me to see the exact same parallel between the characters and people in real life. How although they may pretend to be tough-guys, or sensitive souls, they really do have a secret liking of girly music, or soft poetry, or football or deep, dark things that they think about in the depths of their minds, but have never uttered a word about. And the thing that is most amazing, most intriguing is to know someone for years and years, and still discover new things about them. I feel that that is my biggest threat to happiness: that I will reveal all too soon and too quickly, and that my romance will fade much as the intrigue, suspense, and surprise of me fades with each passing word. I'm not talking about being this super-secretive person with double lives and the like, like the movies oversimplify, but rather being a person who lets time and conversation take their course, but there's no torrent of information to repulse or remove suprise. I think I should like that.
Now that I've finished philosophizing for the day, I may actually allow myself some creative thought to flow into my plans for classes for next semester.
-Interpersonal Communications
-Psychology
-Sociology of Religion
-English Civilization since 1603
-The 18th Century British Novel (Which I am most definitely going to take)
-Introduction to Classical Mythology
-Nutrition
-Spain of 3 Cultures
-Boccaccio's Decameron
Seeing as how I couldn't possibly take the 27 hours that requires, I know I am most definitely going to split that up into various semesters.
Another weight on my mind is what exactly to do with this summer. I would like to work and attend classes at UTB to keep up the required number of hours, but what I would really really REALLY love to do is to spend the entire summer in Spain, attending culinary and couture classes in Madrid. Not only would it greatly improve my Spanish (practice never hurts), it would also allow me to begin learning those things I love so much, and would love to have a knowledge of before I get married, start working, have children, etc. and by the time most of the youthful energy I have now has passed, I'll be an older woman trying to make up for lost time by learning all these crafts and hobbies in her middle age. So none of that, I want to learn gourmet cookery and high sewing, and I think this summer would be very good to do that in... but it will probably postpone my graduation.
The final, and least tangible but most profound weight on my mind is the absolute depth of consciousness that the book we're reading for English exposes. It is so profoundly philosophical, as to the realities of human nature, human relationships, and it really makes me see my own inadequacies at analysis and philosophy when reading it. It makes me feel very... uneducated to not have these very profound insights into the characters and the author's symbolism to add to the discussion, as do so many of my peers. I guess in the past year and a half I haven't matured very much as compared to other years, and it's probably safe to say that due to the lack of mature, intelligent people with which I've been able to interact. Not to say that my friends aren't mature and intelligent, just not of the sort that become your heroes, the people you admire and want to be like, and you improve yourself for in order to be more suitable to them. I really felt like that with my teacher, Mrs. Wiley. She was one of the few people I wanted to really be like, really impress. However, last year I wasn't really able to see too much of her, as she wasn't my teacher. This year, I don't have a person who's several years older than me, someone incredibly smart, mature, focused, etc. on which to model myself. By reading this novel, I've come to see how stagnant my mind has become... how little creativity I've possessed in the past eighteen months. Maybe it's a little pretentious and arrogant of me to speak of being this elite, mature, sophisticated individual, but there has to be some point when you say: I want to improve myself and be a better person, and by having these goals, and by progressing slowly, somehow I can achieve those goals--perhaps not in their entirety, but in such a way that they're not haughty pretentions, but rather, desirable virtues.
Damnit! I've been reading/watching/thinking too much "Pride and Prejudice."
The book, "Charming Billy" by Alice McDermott has made me realize that people are not just surface creatures, and that all there is to them is not to be found merely by reading their face. There is so much depth to people that passersby do not see. Secrets, wishes, desires, thoughts that never make their way into the way we dress, the words we say, the way we walk, or conduct ourselves at home, at work, with friends, etc. I consider myself a pretty open person. I hate keeping secrets because I'm bad at it, I hate keeping things from people (unless they're mean) because I hope they too can partake in my joy or that I can give them joy in some way. However, the iceberg sinks so much deeper than I could ever imagine. This novelist shows these threads of personality in such an atypical manner, that characters are still being developed, enriched, and discovered well into the last third of the book. For example, there is none of the "She was blue-eyed and brown-haired, with a countenance that spoke of sweetness and good temper. She was her father's favorite, and was possessed of such a keen sense of right that never did she utter a word against anyone... ever." Rather, tidbits of history, slivers of personality weave their way through the fabric of the story, making each turn a surprise, and rather a puzzle to figure out exactly what's being said, and how each new piece of information fits within the bigger tapestry. Coming to this realization allows me to see the exact same parallel between the characters and people in real life. How although they may pretend to be tough-guys, or sensitive souls, they really do have a secret liking of girly music, or soft poetry, or football or deep, dark things that they think about in the depths of their minds, but have never uttered a word about. And the thing that is most amazing, most intriguing is to know someone for years and years, and still discover new things about them. I feel that that is my biggest threat to happiness: that I will reveal all too soon and too quickly, and that my romance will fade much as the intrigue, suspense, and surprise of me fades with each passing word. I'm not talking about being this super-secretive person with double lives and the like, like the movies oversimplify, but rather being a person who lets time and conversation take their course, but there's no torrent of information to repulse or remove suprise. I think I should like that.
Now that I've finished philosophizing for the day, I may actually allow myself some creative thought to flow into my plans for classes for next semester.
posted by Annemarie @ 5:38 PM
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