Not Sorry About Anything
I had some weird dreams last night. I dreamed that I was on America's Next Top Model (yeah, I don't even know), and that I kind of sucked (duh). The first photo shoot was a swimsuit photo shoot, and I basically rolled around on the sand a bit and made fake sexy faces or whatever. Tyra made disapproving noises, and I remember not really caring about how badly I was doing and about how I wanted to get kicked off.
And then I had another dream involving the Doctor, Donna, another random new companion, and me. We were running around trying to stop some unspecified alien menace. Mostly I just remember getting a very nice hug from the Doctor. I also got hugged by Donna, but really, it was being hugged by the Tenth Doctor that was truly awesome. It was a very good hug, and it totally improved my morning, heh.
Which was good since I had to go into the lab for the tests my nurse practitioner ordered at my appointment last week. Can I just say peeing into a cup is totally a frustrating, ridiculous experience? The last time I had to pee into a cup was a very long time ago, but I swear it wasn't so hard then. Because seriously, there was a whole page of instructions on the bathroom door. I briefly wished I was a guy, because that instruction list was considerably shorter and simpler. I also had my blood drawn. On the plus side, blood techs never have trouble with my veins, seeing as they are clearly visible. The joys of being freakishly pale. On the down side, the blood tech was not as skilled as the fabulous nurse at my uncle's practice, and thus it actually hurt. It feels like my veins are bruised, ouch.
Incidentally, this whole kinda-high-blood-pressure thing is really annoying me. It's like, now that I've been made aware of it, I can't stop thinking about what it is I'm doing that's leading to it. I mean, it's clear I have a genetic predisposition to it, and as my NP said, there's nothing to be done about that. But I seriously didn't think I was consuming enough sodium to really make a difference, and I get plenty of exercise just walking to and from my dorm multiple times a day, especially since my default walking pace is only a shade under power walk. So I now I keep obsessing about sodium content. This would be a lot easier if I was cooking for myself, but I can't while I'm in the dorms, so I have to make do with my eating out options. It's annoying. Also annoying is that my snack options are limited, and lead to me snacking on processed foods, where at home, I snack more on fruit and home-baked goods. *sigh* On the plus side, brie is low in sodium! So I don't have to forsake one of my favorite cheeses, yay.
In other news, I've just discovered what looks like the best word processor ever. Scrivener looks absolutely perfect for my research paper needs. Because as it is, my process for writing a research paper is spread out across several file formats, paper and electronic, and it is long. No matter the length of the paper, if it involves considerable outside research, I have a long-ass lead-up process to the actual writing of the paper.
Also, when compiling research, I take notes on index cards. It's the way I learned in eight grade, and it's served me well. Basically, I like it because it forces me to reduce research into discrete parts as opposed to an amorphous whole. Also, with sufficiently detailed index cards, I don't need to keep the books themselves. What with the many options of color coding, it's really easy to split research up by theme/concept, subject, and type of source. There's drawbacks of course; you reach a certain critical mass of index cards after a certain point, and it does get annoying to have to constantly flip through them. But it's still far preferable to post-it notes plastered across books, and disorganized, difficult to differentiate notes in a notebook.
Scrivener looks like it offers an amazing alternative though. It basically lets you keep your drafts, outlines, research notes, and research sources all in the same program. It's a project manager more than it is a word processor. It offers what looks like amazing flexibility, and it looks utterly perfect for my research paper needs. Instead of having Preview, Open Office, Omni Outliner, Firefox, and God knows what else open on my desktop, I can use one program. OMG. I imagine it'll be even more helpful for a long research paper or dissertation, which I'm definitely considering my History 101 thesis is fast approaching (senior year, argh). It also looks like a breeze to print and export files from it. So I'm definitely downloading the demo, and I'm going to use it for my Classics paper as a trial run. If it works as well as I think it might, my research paper process has just gotten a lot more streamlined.
Today's poem is a fun, clever, meta sort of poem. I love how unapologetic it is, how it boldly denies so many of the mainstays of poems and poets. And "the stupid equation of grief/and holiness" is such a perfect way to articulate the helplessness and absurdity of grief, and how it's not always made better by religion.
The Happy Poem by Michael Blumenthal
This is a poem against false piety and sadness.
It is a poem against the stupid equation of grief
and holiness, a poem that dares to laugh
at the wilted tulip and the burnt hyacinth.
This is a poem against the wide tie and the narrow tie,
a poem that refuses to turn into another elegy
for Crane or for Berryman or for Sexton or Plath.
This is the poem that was not at the Holocaust.
It is the poem of the happy Jew, against atonement
and low stools, against kosherness and the circumcised penis.
This is the poem that snuck into the Seder
to drink from Elijah's miserable wineglass.
This is a poem against false protestations of love
and avowals of grief, against false sincerity.
It is a poem for Simone de Beauvoir.
This is a poem against the uncirculating gift,
against the inactive sperm and the undropped egg.
It is a poem against blankets.
This is the poem that will love you madly for a night
or a weekend, but will never marry you.
And you will never forget it.
Most of all, this is a poem against self-imposed suffering.
It is a poem against all my own poems that fail to begin
with lines like: For seven years, I have been here,
loving your teeth.
This is my poem. And it is your poem.
And it is not sorry about anything...
Not even this.
And then I had another dream involving the Doctor, Donna, another random new companion, and me. We were running around trying to stop some unspecified alien menace. Mostly I just remember getting a very nice hug from the Doctor. I also got hugged by Donna, but really, it was being hugged by the Tenth Doctor that was truly awesome. It was a very good hug, and it totally improved my morning, heh.
Which was good since I had to go into the lab for the tests my nurse practitioner ordered at my appointment last week. Can I just say peeing into a cup is totally a frustrating, ridiculous experience? The last time I had to pee into a cup was a very long time ago, but I swear it wasn't so hard then. Because seriously, there was a whole page of instructions on the bathroom door. I briefly wished I was a guy, because that instruction list was considerably shorter and simpler. I also had my blood drawn. On the plus side, blood techs never have trouble with my veins, seeing as they are clearly visible. The joys of being freakishly pale. On the down side, the blood tech was not as skilled as the fabulous nurse at my uncle's practice, and thus it actually hurt. It feels like my veins are bruised, ouch.
Incidentally, this whole kinda-high-blood-pressure thing is really annoying me. It's like, now that I've been made aware of it, I can't stop thinking about what it is I'm doing that's leading to it. I mean, it's clear I have a genetic predisposition to it, and as my NP said, there's nothing to be done about that. But I seriously didn't think I was consuming enough sodium to really make a difference, and I get plenty of exercise just walking to and from my dorm multiple times a day, especially since my default walking pace is only a shade under power walk. So I now I keep obsessing about sodium content. This would be a lot easier if I was cooking for myself, but I can't while I'm in the dorms, so I have to make do with my eating out options. It's annoying. Also annoying is that my snack options are limited, and lead to me snacking on processed foods, where at home, I snack more on fruit and home-baked goods. *sigh* On the plus side, brie is low in sodium! So I don't have to forsake one of my favorite cheeses, yay.
In other news, I've just discovered what looks like the best word processor ever. Scrivener looks absolutely perfect for my research paper needs. Because as it is, my process for writing a research paper is spread out across several file formats, paper and electronic, and it is long. No matter the length of the paper, if it involves considerable outside research, I have a long-ass lead-up process to the actual writing of the paper.
Also, when compiling research, I take notes on index cards. It's the way I learned in eight grade, and it's served me well. Basically, I like it because it forces me to reduce research into discrete parts as opposed to an amorphous whole. Also, with sufficiently detailed index cards, I don't need to keep the books themselves. What with the many options of color coding, it's really easy to split research up by theme/concept, subject, and type of source. There's drawbacks of course; you reach a certain critical mass of index cards after a certain point, and it does get annoying to have to constantly flip through them. But it's still far preferable to post-it notes plastered across books, and disorganized, difficult to differentiate notes in a notebook.
Scrivener looks like it offers an amazing alternative though. It basically lets you keep your drafts, outlines, research notes, and research sources all in the same program. It's a project manager more than it is a word processor. It offers what looks like amazing flexibility, and it looks utterly perfect for my research paper needs. Instead of having Preview, Open Office, Omni Outliner, Firefox, and God knows what else open on my desktop, I can use one program. OMG. I imagine it'll be even more helpful for a long research paper or dissertation, which I'm definitely considering my History 101 thesis is fast approaching (senior year, argh). It also looks like a breeze to print and export files from it. So I'm definitely downloading the demo, and I'm going to use it for my Classics paper as a trial run. If it works as well as I think it might, my research paper process has just gotten a lot more streamlined.
Today's poem is a fun, clever, meta sort of poem. I love how unapologetic it is, how it boldly denies so many of the mainstays of poems and poets. And "the stupid equation of grief/and holiness" is such a perfect way to articulate the helplessness and absurdity of grief, and how it's not always made better by religion.
The Happy Poem by Michael Blumenthal
This is a poem against false piety and sadness.
It is a poem against the stupid equation of grief
and holiness, a poem that dares to laugh
at the wilted tulip and the burnt hyacinth.
This is a poem against the wide tie and the narrow tie,
a poem that refuses to turn into another elegy
for Crane or for Berryman or for Sexton or Plath.
This is the poem that was not at the Holocaust.
It is the poem of the happy Jew, against atonement
and low stools, against kosherness and the circumcised penis.
This is the poem that snuck into the Seder
to drink from Elijah's miserable wineglass.
This is a poem against false protestations of love
and avowals of grief, against false sincerity.
It is a poem for Simone de Beauvoir.
This is a poem against the uncirculating gift,
against the inactive sperm and the undropped egg.
It is a poem against blankets.
This is the poem that will love you madly for a night
or a weekend, but will never marry you.
And you will never forget it.
Most of all, this is a poem against self-imposed suffering.
It is a poem against all my own poems that fail to begin
with lines like: For seven years, I have been here,
loving your teeth.
This is my poem. And it is your poem.
And it is not sorry about anything...
Not even this.