"It's funny how the more we know the less we seem to really understand..."

Today in my nonfiction reading class we had a discussion about Thoreau's "Civil Disobedience," and I was faced with a horrifying realization: knowledge has 1) made me so much more confused about issues I had once considered myself solid on and 2) I am completely and utterly annoyed by idealism.

One issue at a time:

This isn't the first time I've thought about how much knowledge complicates things. The first time I ever heard the song my post title comes from (Cold Side of the Pillow by Halfpenny Marvel) I thought long and hard about this issue. All-in-all, I'm glad I've gone to college and I'm glad I think about things so thoroughly. It's made me a better person all around, but at the same time, I am beginning to realize that I can't inform myself about every issue in the world to make the "best decision." Sometimes you just have to go with your gut on an issue, even though this is an incredibly unacceptable reason for a belief or a stance these days. So here I sit thinking about life constantly, and gaining no ground whatsoever....

For the second issue, I didn't realize how knowledge destroys idealism until this morning. I usually don't think in an idealistic way, but I wouldn't call myself a pessimistic person either. I've seen the worst in life but I still have this hope that everything will turn out well--that every thing happens to make you a better person. While many people make this statement with naivety, I make this statement out of optimism. So then I started pondering the difference between naivety, pessimism, and optimism, and this is what I've come up with (this obviously only applies to me, but I'm hopeful other people feel the same): we come into the world blissfully naive until that is destroyed by knowledge or experience, then we become pessimistic as a result of knowledge and some of us may never overcome this phase, but once you are able to push through that pessimism, you can chose to be optimistic. So that's what I'm trying to achieve: choosing to be optimistic in the face of tragedy, loss, poverty, and uncertainty.

I clearly think way too much.

Reading Classes, Cardigans, and Procrastination--Oh My!

Almost three weeks before graduation and motivation is running thin. Well, motivation for some things... like finishing the research portion of my senior sem project, or reading for Ed Roger's class (sorry Ed! You're still one of my favorite professors. Ya know what I am motivated to do? Start my postgraduate reading list, find a job, search for apartments with my BFF, or (gasp) write my last major essay for Monica (yeah I'm randomly motivated to write for that class... oh well).

So here I sit on this Monday night with a glass of milk, some classy chocolate in shorts,  a cardigan and my reading glasses checking out essays I'd like to imitate and avoiding writing a book review that's due on Wed. Senioritis, you're killing me.

The Final Visit Day

It has recently come to my attention that I have entered yet another time in my life were I can classify things with the adjective last. This is my last visit day. This is my last poetry slam. This is my last department dinner/bar crawl. This is my last meeting. This is the last event I'll ever plan for Truman. This is the last paper I'm going to write. This is my last few weeks of college.

I'm not sure why it's taken it so long to sink in. Perhaps its because there have been points in this semester where I thought it was never going to end. That I was never going to get that diploma and walk across the stage. But here we are: a month away and it's finally sunken in. It's always a strange feeling to realize that a chapter in your life is coming to a close, but with everything that ends comes a new beginning.

Time Heels All Wounds, Only Just To Open Them Again

Today I had one of those moments that actually makes you stop what you are doing to think. And not just think for 5 seconds, but really stop and think. These moments don't come around often enough for me, perhaps it's because I don't let them, but this morning I was graced with such a moment.

Yesterday I met with a professor about a paper I had written and was told I should try to get it published. As an aspiring writer, I was completely ecstatic. In fact, ecstatic doesn't even begin to describe it. I was over the moon with joy! This semester has really been a battle as far as keeping my confidence up about my writing. Anyway, I called my mom and told her. She was just as happy as I was and wanted to read it. I told my roommate. My fake sisters. A few other friends. Yet this morning, I still felt like something was missing. That there was someone important who still didn't know that great news: that maybe I could be a writer. That my hopes and dreams aren't completely extinguished. And then it hit me while I was drinking my morning coffee and re-reading my essay: I want to tell my dad.  Which is impossible, I know, but even after three years I still have the compulsion to pick up the phone and give him a ring. I want to tell him that his daughter is actually doing something with her "worthless" English degree. That I'm going to be a success. Even though I'm sure he knew all those things when he died, I want to tell him again.

Time heels all wounds, I'm sure, but every once and a while, something comes along to rip the bandaid off and you have to start all over again.