big kid tested motherfucker approved.
I feel centered and confident - two things I definitely never would have said three years ago... or two. I'm house-sitting for my parents while they spend a single romantic night at a bed and breakfast in St. Augustine. Mom just called me with happy tears in her voice; there's no power at the bed and breakfast, but there are classic books next to the Victorian tub, a pond and orchid greenhouse visible out the window, complimentary wine and beer all day, and they're going on a ghost tour tonight.
My stepdad will leave for Afghanistan on November 30. We talked at length last night about nuclear proliferation and the dearth of strategic thinking in America and what he thinks about the fact that he probably killed someone in Iraq. He cried (again) talking about his Iraqi friend who was murdered. His emotional cache is not something that many people tap into, but he's such an intelligent and loving person.
When I got up today after they had left, I read the newspaper, filled out several pages of the application for the UCSC PhD program in History of Consciousness, looked for jobs in teen parent mentoring in San Diego, organized my thesis binder, and started WROTE this paper on the conditions for existence of meaning; it may be a scattered and disparate set of things which belies that I feel "centered", but I'm doing it all with a firmer feeling of peace and me-ness than I may have ever had. I revel in the growing set of options from which I'll choose my future in May.
Chicago next week; 25 thesis pages by Thanksgiving (and the completion of the "dry, historical" section); breathing deeply; telling you I love you; listening; learning... there are a lot of things to celebrate.
edit: I chose my music for this weekend well - Lizz Wright, Gnarls Barkley, Hymie's Basement and Continuum: "Fear is a friend who's misunderstood, but I know the heart of life is good."
My stepdad will leave for Afghanistan on November 30. We talked at length last night about nuclear proliferation and the dearth of strategic thinking in America and what he thinks about the fact that he probably killed someone in Iraq. He cried (again) talking about his Iraqi friend who was murdered. His emotional cache is not something that many people tap into, but he's such an intelligent and loving person.
When I got up today after they had left, I read the newspaper, filled out several pages of the application for the UCSC PhD program in History of Consciousness, looked for jobs in teen parent mentoring in San Diego, organized my thesis binder, and started WROTE this paper on the conditions for existence of meaning; it may be a scattered and disparate set of things which belies that I feel "centered", but I'm doing it all with a firmer feeling of peace and me-ness than I may have ever had. I revel in the growing set of options from which I'll choose my future in May.
Chicago next week; 25 thesis pages by Thanksgiving (and the completion of the "dry, historical" section); breathing deeply; telling you I love you; listening; learning... there are a lot of things to celebrate.
edit: I chose my music for this weekend well - Lizz Wright, Gnarls Barkley, Hymie's Basement and Continuum: "Fear is a friend who's misunderstood, but I know the heart of life is good."