A Brief(er) History of the Niagara, Half Way In, And Last Semester
So, the typical disclaimer which should be unnecessary. Here follows an inner monologue uploaded to a cheesy site. Its not really for you, though I find it pleasing to be able to have my friends look at internal monologues of mine, and therefore if you are offended or concerned, try hard not to be.
To highlight so far: No, I doubt these will make sense to you.
All you can eat sushi with some of the crew. Funny stories about Japan by the first mate and the third mate, who lived there.
BBQ at John's house: the gun room, the models room, the flags outside the house, the cannon in the lawn, the even I thought were hot cars, the hot exchange students, the good beer.
Hitting some of the bars around here. Quarter draft.
Going aloft and being beyond scared.
Constant feeling of out of place, confusion, bewilderment, stupidity bordering on fear. Character building? Who knows?
Watching the sunset at Presque Isle.
Twice. With nice beer. After haning out at a coffee shop.
Firefly, BSG, SG1.
The Ed room and its ridiculous pleasure of resting, hiding away from others.
The beard.
The sail out to Presque Isle Bay, tacking back and forth, the sheen of the water.
Small fuckin' hammock. Cold fuckin' hammock.
To sum up what I can of this place and this thing I'm in the process of doing is difficult. I'm fairly sure, given no distractions (or fewer distractions) this place is making me work through some of my crap (cry cry emo emo emo emo. We all have crap. I just feel strange saying I do), with a specific eye towards reworking my morality. We'll see how that goes. I'm worried that I tend to shy away from thinking about things that are important: regrets, what I want to change about me, what I should be doing... and only sing songs to myself. The labour here, or the labour I'm able to deal with, is simple stuff, not complicated through complex knots or skills: I should be able to think. That I cannot worries me. Or at least pay attention to a book.
That first week here... that was hard. I don't know, for certain, what came over me. Earlham being gone, graduating friends, Connecticut being so damn far away from Lebanon, being ill, a random resurgence of AC melancholy... all served to make the first week, with learning the ropes and all, the hardest I remember. I felt the most... raw, naked, whatever, I have in many years. Especially for such an extended period of time. There, I got alot of thinking done. Maybe things were worked out in my head, though I doubt it. I notice answers are always fluid and never remain for long. The same questions are always revisited. Always. I suppose now, with some sense of my place here, some knowledge of the area, etc, I no longer have the desperate need to feel better by working my own inner turmoils out: then, I did.
Though a pit in my stomach remains. Summer, as I was discussing with Andrew "is like a can of Mountain Dew to the face.
... it reminds me of D&D and buttloads of boardgamage at [my] house and stuff." And despite the hilarity and unique to us-ness of that phrase, it fills me with melancholy; the need to do MORE MORE MORE with every moment, to fill it with friends.
I suppose, still, after three years and more, I'm trying to cope with loss.
Oh, and sailing a square-rigged ship is pretty cool too.
Also, last semester was fun.
(previous two statements to be expanded upon)
To highlight so far: No, I doubt these will make sense to you.
All you can eat sushi with some of the crew. Funny stories about Japan by the first mate and the third mate, who lived there.
BBQ at John's house: the gun room, the models room, the flags outside the house, the cannon in the lawn, the even I thought were hot cars, the hot exchange students, the good beer.
Hitting some of the bars around here. Quarter draft.
Going aloft and being beyond scared.
Constant feeling of out of place, confusion, bewilderment, stupidity bordering on fear. Character building? Who knows?
Watching the sunset at Presque Isle.
Twice. With nice beer. After haning out at a coffee shop.
Firefly, BSG, SG1.
The Ed room and its ridiculous pleasure of resting, hiding away from others.
The beard.
The sail out to Presque Isle Bay, tacking back and forth, the sheen of the water.
Small fuckin' hammock. Cold fuckin' hammock.
To sum up what I can of this place and this thing I'm in the process of doing is difficult. I'm fairly sure, given no distractions (or fewer distractions) this place is making me work through some of my crap (cry cry emo emo emo emo. We all have crap. I just feel strange saying I do), with a specific eye towards reworking my morality. We'll see how that goes. I'm worried that I tend to shy away from thinking about things that are important: regrets, what I want to change about me, what I should be doing... and only sing songs to myself. The labour here, or the labour I'm able to deal with, is simple stuff, not complicated through complex knots or skills: I should be able to think. That I cannot worries me. Or at least pay attention to a book.
That first week here... that was hard. I don't know, for certain, what came over me. Earlham being gone, graduating friends, Connecticut being so damn far away from Lebanon, being ill, a random resurgence of AC melancholy... all served to make the first week, with learning the ropes and all, the hardest I remember. I felt the most... raw, naked, whatever, I have in many years. Especially for such an extended period of time. There, I got alot of thinking done. Maybe things were worked out in my head, though I doubt it. I notice answers are always fluid and never remain for long. The same questions are always revisited. Always. I suppose now, with some sense of my place here, some knowledge of the area, etc, I no longer have the desperate need to feel better by working my own inner turmoils out: then, I did.
Though a pit in my stomach remains. Summer, as I was discussing with Andrew "is like a can of Mountain Dew to the face.
... it reminds me of D&D and buttloads of boardgamage at [my] house and stuff." And despite the hilarity and unique to us-ness of that phrase, it fills me with melancholy; the need to do MORE MORE MORE with every moment, to fill it with friends.
I suppose, still, after three years and more, I'm trying to cope with loss.
Oh, and sailing a square-rigged ship is pretty cool too.
Also, last semester was fun.
(previous two statements to be expanded upon)