Lost Wallet

It's snowing in Oberlin. It has actually been snowing since Friday night. I'm sure we are approaching the one foot mark of snow.

Last year I was horribly ill during the one big snow on Valentine's day leaving me unable to go outside. So lets say I'm really happy with the snow. Never mind exam period. On my way back to my room yesterday I saw a particularly nice snow drift and plopped down to make a snow angle! That was a really deep snow angel.

Two some hours later after finishing my Philosophy take -home exam I decided it would be a good time to eat and go to the japanese history study session. It was at this time that I realized i was missing something, something rather important, that held my license, student id, and credit cards. I had lost my wallet.

I nearly turned my room inside out looking for the wallet to no avail. I began to panic, what if I lost it in King when I was taking stuff over there with my room mate? What if I lost it in the snow? That was two hours ago and it was still snowing! I went ahead and printed my philosophy final to go ahead and turn it in in King while I looked to my wallet. So then philosophy was completely out of the way but I still had no wallet. I dug around in the snow where I made the snow angel and scanned the entire path I walked from king to my dorm several times. Still no wallet.

I called Safety nd Security to see if they found it and checked the lost and found at Wilder Desk, but still not one had turned in my wallet. I ended up skipping the Japanese History review session, I was too stressed out to deal with it, plus in my current state, it wasn't like I would retain anything. So I turned to Ni and said I was leaving.
"But what about the review session."
I shrugged and said, "I'm prefectly confident I'll do fine in this class. I did all the readings and attended every lecture, I'm not worried."

A girl standing near by was clearly shocked by my lack of stress about teh course. Ni offered to give me notes of the review session, but I told her I would be fine without them and that she didn't have to unless she wanted to, then left.

I scanned the way I had walked from King several more times after I returned. The last time I had ventured out after once again turning my room inside out I saw a curious spiral of snow form on the ground at my feet. As I watched it, It exploded upwards and I quickly found myself engulfed within a snow tornado. it was cold and the snow moving in the forty mph winds stung. This happened several times as I ventured to my snow angel and dug in the near foot of snow gathered there. I didn't find my wallet.

Ultimately I told myself to relax and wait till morning. By the time I had realized the wallet was missing it was dark, and the darkness was most likely teh reason I had yet to find the wallet. I set my alarm to wake me up far earlier than I needed to wake to go to my Marine Science exam at 9:00 in the morning, and went to sleep. Let's leave it at last night's dreams were really really weird. yeah, damn those satanic cursed babies and bunny rabbits, never mind the people eating giant octopus tentacle like worms. they suck too.

8:30 in the morning this morning, I ventured to my snow angel one last time. The side walks had been plowed, and I sincerely hoped my wallet hadn't fallen along the side walk and been buried that way. In the snow angel I once again dug around where my pockets would have been and finally found my wallet buried on the left side of the snow angel. The smile that split across my face in that moment made me feel wonderful. I shook the snow off the recently recovered article and returned it to its rightful place in my right back pocket. The smile almost never left my face as I walked over to Severance where I would take my Marine Science final shortly, not even when we found the doors were locked and had to wait outside in the cold.

Once we got inside and began to warm up I realized that my butt was cold. I guess it takes a while for a wallet left freezing in the snow overnight to warm up.

Active Dreaming

I've been stressed, exams are approaching far too quickly for their own good, and I am tired. I should be working on my Japanese final project presentation, but I'm just not ready. It'll happen in due time and before the due date. I know it will. For now I'm just breathing.

Anyway, when I get stressed, I tend to dream alot more, and with a lot more vivid dreams.

Last night's dream included my parents inviting some people to the Opera my brother was playing in, but the invitees had to come up from Texas or some far southern location, a portion of the dream was of them speeding down the highway to arrive to the show on time. None of this included me, for I was on the edge of a narrow cliff in a river valley looking down upon the still, black waters of the river. On the ledge with me were three small children, the oldest no more than 10. Of these children I only knew one, that being Brayden, a child I know in reality. Who knows where the rest of these children came from.

The four of us stood in our swimming gear on the cliff ledge. I was the caretaker, and I knew my mom was further off in the distance with Delaney. We were planning on doing a little bit of diving, but I was having second thoughts. The water was black (but not in a filthy sense, it was just....black) and as a result I couldn't tell how deep it was. I could see rocks protruding from the water near the edge and feared we would injure ourselves jumping in. But before I could stop him Brayden leapt off the ledge and disappeared into the water.

He resurfaced by one of the rocks and yelled out, "OW!".

"Brayden! Are you okay?"

"I'm okay, I'm not bleeding." And with that he started swimming to shore. I did not trust him to be okay. Not bleeding is not the same as uninjured. I yelled for him not to move until I came down to check on him, but was already on shore and about to disappear into a cavern that lead back to the ledge. With another urgent yell, I get him to pay attention and not leave. I look into the water nervously. I'm alot bigger than a 7 yr old, and I didn't want to leap into shallow water. With a deep breath I take a running start and jump near the edge of the ledge as possible for maximum distance. I landed a lot further from shore than Brayden and came to be fully submerged in the deep midstream water. And here I got into trouble.

It occured to me just as I came to be fully submerged, the water is deeper farther from shore, but the current is faster too. I found myself caught within the current, fighting to stay in place and inable to surface. After a struggle, I surface, gasping and swim to Brayden where he clung to the very rock he landed by. The water was deep here too, but not so fast. I checked him over for any wounds.

"I didn't get hurt," he claimed, "I was jsut shocked when I hit the rock." An lo and behold, he was completely uninjured. He had broken the plastic on him fin where his heel had struck rock, but he was perfectly fine.

That's the part of the dream I remember most vividly. I cannot remember much of any sensation during the dream, but I do distinctly remember the feel of the current and the drag against my limbs that prevented me from swimming up and out of danger, pressure on all sides with more on one side pushing me with the current.

My dreams are a little too real sometimes.

You promise?

This is a poetic form of a scene from one of my many stories. This one is actually a collaborative work with two friends, tentatively titled Unveiled, but desperately in need of a better name.

A young boy,
The prince,
Stood before the portal.
Enemies are fast approaching outside.
With his and held out to his childhood love
He cries out,
“Blue! Come with me!”
“I can’t,”
Said the girl,
A common girl.
She could not go
For the portal would only hold two
And the boy prince and his brother must go
The prince protested,
Blue smiled,
“You have to go.
Don't worry….I’ll be right behind you.”

“You promise?”

“I promise, I’m always right behind you.”

“I’ll wait for you on the other side!”
With that, he fled through the portal…

And the portal closed.

The boy’s memories are lost along the way,
He forgets what he’s waiting for.

Meanwhile the girl and the guard, her sister,
Have been left to die.
Oh how the flames did rise
On that little hut,
With the guard and little Blue inside.
The guard dies,
But Blue survives

Scared and alone.
Scarred and forgotten.

End of the Semester

The end of the Fall Semester is fast approaching. To say I feel the beginnings of stress would be an understatement. There are way too many things I have to do before the end of the semester, this can't be good for my health. Presently, I have all the things I need to get done before the end of the semester written on some purple post-its Jen bought for me. The post-its are oddly fitting for the occasion; written in a darker purple font on the note is, "I can't have a nervous breakown...It's not covered by my health insurance."

Despite the severe stress I can see on the near horizon, I am not working. I'm actually chatting with friends I have not seen or spoken to in a long time. Thus I make myself happy. My happiness comes before school, duty and stress. Why should I get myself sick and miserable over something I don't really like or want to do? I'll write more later, I don't feel like blogging.

House Drama

I have not written in quite some time, but at long last inspiration has struck again. Returning from the sitar and sarod concert in Finney, I stopped in the lounge to see what had been written in the house journal since my earlier entry this same day. People have stopped signing their names. I stopped too, no one else was signing, but I think I will begin to sign again.

In the newest entry a girl wrote about her feelings when stuck in conversations with those who talk too much, that go on and on and leave no chance for the listener to speak. That is often my position in conversations, unable to get a word in edgewise, especially here at Oberlin. I often don't speak at all at lunch. This girl was bothered by it. Directly below her entry another girl responded "Drama drama drama" and then she commented on people making drama where there was none.

I was seriously offended by this. How dare she? And neither signed, I don't know who among the people I live with is upset and feels like me, and who is a bitch. I responded, "That was mean! Some people are bothered by things that don't bother you at all." Don't cheapen the pain. That's one of my main issues with the term 'emo', it cheapens other people's suffering, for some, their genuine feelings are mocked. I'm not complaining about the world for lack of anything better to do! Maybe all I see are terrible things and awful people, and the names you make for people like me only prove me right!

I spoke with my room mate. Our house journal sure is angsty. I wondered, has our house always been angsty? Well, lo and behold, there on the shelf are all the previous house journals!! My room mate went upstairs to our room and I stayed behind to read.

The first thing I found was that this was not the first house journal of the year. The first had been stolen, this was the replacement. The beginning to the journal was filled with entries claiming happiness at having a journal again, sadness because they miss the old one, and insecurity: they had written personal things down, and someone just up and stole it... I saw ethical debates on white and black, and just as many complaints about having so much work and being worn out as our current journal. And I only saw two names...

More went on in this year for Baldwin, more that I think I had better leave private, just for us. It was a hard year, through hardship the Baldwin community grew closer, and someone lamented that is was a negative force that caused it. But, names. Consistently, only one or two wrote their names by their entries. Why?

I replaced the journal on the shelf and went up to my room. I spoke with my room mate about what went on in the past, then commented on the names. I said that I felt people should write their names by their entries. She disagreed.

But this is supposed to be a close knit community, shouldn't we know what each other think?

No. People are always angsty when they are young. What if they become politicians and someone connects her to what she said in her house journal in college?

So what? People change, will I be judged years from now on what I write in my journal now?

Our conversation ended. I began to write. I think that we should stamp our names by what we say. It's what we believe, right? We should stand by it! Not hide. I know somethings are personal, but really, if you're going to write in a public journal...

I just don't know. I realize that if I were to look back at my old diary, my old poems I would see a different person that I am today. Does that mean I don't want it connected to me? I do! I know I was dark, I was depressing, and I laugh now at my old angsty ways, but I would not disclaim them. I would say I have changed, but I would not deny my past self.

I am no longer my past self, but my past self is still me!

Broken-Tail-Squirrel

There is a philosophy paper I should be writing write now, or even a japanese paper that needs to get done by Friday, but I've already written a third of the philosophy paper tonight and don't have mind enough to continue.

Instead, I want to write about my favorite squirrel. Simply because.

My favorite squirrel on all of campus is Broken-tail-squirrel. I met him last year, or rather I cam across him repeatedly as he schizophrenically did whatever it is squirrels do with their time midwinter with two feet of snow on the ground. He was scrawny, very thin. Thin enough that I wondered if he had enough fat to survive the rest of winter, and February here is no were close to the end of winter. We had flurries in April last year, and it took well over a month for the two feet of snow that fell on Valetine's day to dissipate. I saw Broken-tail-squirrel shortly after this large snow, he was digging about in the snow, and like his name implies, his tail was broken in two. That latter half swung back and forth as he hopped around. It seems to have snapped clearly, but remained attached so that the tail arched as usual up to the break, then the rest of it hung vertically and dragged on the ground.

I'd never seen such an injury in an animal before. I wondered if there was an open wound that might get infected, or if the bit of tail dragging behind him might impede his survival. He was so tiny, I was sure I would never see him again.

Yet the next day I saw him, as active as any of the other squirrels, his tail dragging behind him. When I saw him, which was at least three or four times a week, I would comment to whoever was with me at the time, "Oh look, its Broken-tail-squirrel." Around mid-March I stopped seeing him. Slightly disheartened I figured he had finally fallen ill, or starved or been killed.

It wasn't until after all the snow had melted in late April and the temperatures had finally begun to rise that I saw him again.

On South Campus, in the same general area where I used to come across Broken-tail-squirrel, a squirrel darted in front of me on the side walk and up a nearby tree. He stopped around my head's height on the trunk and observed the surroundings. I glanced at him, as is my habit of following the activities of the squirrels around me and giggling at their antics, and found that he had an abnormally short tail. It was only about half the length of the tails of its peers. I had noted that some squirrels did have very short tails, but there was something odd about this one. The tip didn't taper off as most squirrel tails do. It just stopped.

Not thinking any more of it, I continued about my day. I don't recall if it was before seeing this particular squirrel or shortly after, but my room mate and I came across a soggy piece of fur on the sidewalk on the way to lunch on day. Looking at it I commented that it looked like a squirrel tail. It was the same grey fur with white over fur that most squirrels of this area have, the exception being the large and somewhat creepy brown squirrels. The bit of flesh was stuck to the sidewalk and the ragged fur blew in the wind. My room mate said it was disgusting. It didnt particularly bother me.

That is until I thought of Broken-tail-squirrel! I thought, what if the broken half had fallen off? How many squirrels are missing large portions of their tails on this small campus? Not many! Broken-tail-squirrel must have still been around, and here was his broken tail!

When I next saw the peculiar squirrel with the abnormally short tail I observed the tail. It cut off abruptly with the long fur from earlier on in the tail hanging loose where there was nothing underneathe it. This was Broken-tail-squirrel! He had survived the winter, and though he still looked very small, he was healthy and vibrant.

When I returned to school in the fall I found him again, he is still around, though now his tail seems to have round out where fur has grown over what was likely bare skin before. I look out for him when I am outside, just to make sure my favorite hardy little squirrel is still around.

Other people's issues

Lay your worries down on me,
My shoulders are strong,
and I have long since learned the art
of shrugging off the harm.
So lay you worries off on me
so I can shrug my shoulders clean,
Then when I take my leave of thee
We will both end up free.

As of late, I have noticed that I have become somewhat of the person to go to (even to those I hardly speak to) to spill all their problems. They bitch and complain and spill their worries, I nod sympathetically and offer what advice I can, tell them I understand. Then they say, "I'm sorry, I just laid all my worries on you/ just told you my life story," to which I reply, "That's okay, I'm a good listener, it doesn't bother me."

I wonder, have I always been this way?

At my boredest...

It turns out I'm at my boredest in Philosophy....who'd have thought. I mean, its not like I've mentioned it at all before and complained about the class....yeah.

I tend to spill out poetry when bored and already two things have been created in philosphy, one complete and the other just a jumble of thought.

Completed:
Philosophy just might be
The most backward subject
I’ve studied.
Round and round
The argument goes
And still a conclusion
We forego.
This is this,
But this is not.
We are brains!
We are minds!
And while we argue
What are functional and natural kinds
I watch the bee fly
Into the ceiling light.

and the jumble of thoughts....

What if when I saw red, I saw what you saw when you saw green? and I always described it the same way as you because I was always taught to describe it that way too. So when saw a fire burning bright red and described it as such to you, you imagined it like you see red, but I saw and imagined it like you saw green! We would never know we saw different things!

Philosophy

Philosophy sucks. Philosophers are idiots. They ask all the wrong questions and answer them all incorrectly. The subject as a whole seems totally useless since there is no practical application for their studies. I'm taking a class on Philosophy of the Mind and its place in nature. The class started with the professor claiming that philosophers wanted to know more about the mind so that they might come to know whether or not the mind can live on after the body dies.

We started with Cartesian Dualism. There were some obvious issues with Dualism, like the fact that mind and body are completely different substances, so people argue about how then can the mind control the body, or the body affect the mind. So then we look at Identity theory and Functionalism and blah blah blah. In Functionalism they basically argue that the mind and brain are a computer......wow. And computers can live on in the after life, I'm sure.

We continue on about what is the science of the mind? Is it psychology? Neuroscience? Either way, it seems that they constantly argue that the mind is somehow related to the brain and is just physical. The way I understand it, we could be robots!

I personally think psychologist are full of shit. If they cannot explain the crazy dreams I have, I think they are missing something then. And neuroscience? What about individuals? If things are all just brain functions, then so much for personality. It would be nicer to think we are more than just moving sacks of flesh.

I guess the base of my qualm with philosophy of the mind is how they went into this wondering if we can exist in some way after death, yet they toss aside any idea that recommends a description of the mind in which we are more than robots.

I am not a religious person. However, I know for a fact that I am more than my brain functions. I refuse to accept these idiotic simplifications of humanity and all life in general. If that is faith, then so be it.

Back from tutoring

I just got back from tutoring at the nearby elementary school. I tutor two fourth grade girls in math. It went well, though one is just plain wild.

I'll be alone for alot of this evening, my roommate is meeting up with her boyfriend and his friends from a neighboring college to go see the Iron and Wine concert in Cleveland tonight. Therefore my currnet dilemna is whether or not I want to go eat dinner in the dining hall or save my meal for later in the week and just eat something else tonight. I am rather feeling like cooked food (however bad it might be ) over microwave mac and cheese rigt now.

Outside, two people just walked by. I couldn't hear them. You would think I shouldnt be able to hear them, however, in the evenings there is often some loud mouth talking that I can hear clearly despite them being three stories below me.

I just noticed there is a peculiar fruit haning from the tree just outside my window. They look somewhat like small bananas, but light brown in color. I would say they are seed pods, but they look so big to be so.

We're having a bit of a drought here. All of the students couldn't be happier about it, cause who wants rain when they can be plyin ultimate frisbee or study outside rather than in? I, being the lover of late Autumn and Winter that I am, am wishing for rain and a significant drop in the daily temperature. I need cool temperatures to be comfortable. I need cool temperatures to sleep well. Currently I havent been sleeping too well because it is too warm at night. The temperatures are only just beginnging to cool enough at night that I actually turn off the fan by the window, though this is mostly out of pity for my skinny room mate who doesnt have enough fat on her body to preserve sufficient body heat to survive the winter without praying for spring after the first chill. I, on the other hand, anxiously await the first snow.

I've always loved something about winter. I love the pristine snow covered environment after the first big blizzard, I love seeing my breathe when I exhale, I love having a reason to snuggle into the deepest depths of my blanket. The first day of Autumn has passed, yesterday was it? Now I just need to have patience for the temperature to drop and the first frozen precipitation to fall, hiding the hideous filth with which we cover everything so for a moment before we clear th roads and salkt the sidewalks, everything is clean.... and everything is beautiful.

Finally,

Okay, I have finally finished my Japanese homework, there was more than I thought there was. The last thing I needed to do was fill out a worksheet about the reading we had been doing. The last question asked us to translate the last four lines from Souseki's "夢十夜：第一夜", or " Ten Nights of Dreams: the First Night", or something like that.

The whole story is about a woman dieing an a man coming to terms with it. When the woman dies she tells the man, "Wait for me by my grave for one hundred years, then I will come to you". At the end of the story, the man has been sitting on a rock by the woman's grave for one hundred years, but she has yet to come. The final line is along the lines of, " At that moment he felt (thought?), 'One hundred years have passed'". And that's it, the story ends. Its rather sad, he waits all those years so that he may see the woman again, but she doesn't come.

Such a depressing dream... I have my share of those. I'll share them with you at a later time, but now seems like a good a time as any to hit the hay. Good night.

Boredom: the first day

This isn't really the first day of anything, unless you count the first day of this blog. I was just reading my past post in my Japanese blog and noted that I had no comments whatsoever. I have many friends taking Japanese, however they are all too lazy to take the time to read my journal in another language. So on a whim I started a second blog, this time is English which will probably closely mirror my Japanese blog, except in a language more easily read by my peers. I'll have to put this down for a little while, I kind of still have Japanese homework to do before I can goof off like this. Until then...また後でね？