Encore: Absorbed

DIARY

The second indulgence of the month.

By early last week the burst of energy that I'd carried over from the election, R.E.M. and Gothic Funk #1 had diminished.

I've felt underwhelmed and overwhelmed.

The humorous clichè (cliche??? clicheè???) everyone's tolerated is "I'm never getting married and applying to grad school in the same year ever again."

Hopefully, not.

I missed the application deadline to UBC Vancouver, but emailed them, saying I could have it in by the next business day afternoon, if they'd confirm it would be accepted. I didn't hear back from them for almost two weeks, at which point the secretary wrote and said "Your application is now two weeks late, so we will not be accepting it." It's been that sort of a month. Getting mugged, phone turned off, application rejected due to a stupid miscommunication, and George Bush getting elected.

It's been that sort of a month.

Things are looking up today, but I don't want to bring us that far yet.

I got the new Eminem album.

Eminem is what I call threshold.

The Smashing Pumpkins, Tori Amos, and R.E.M. were outfits that not only seemed to define high school life for me, but carried over to college, and reached back into childhood. It's an intangible thing... it doesn't work.

The "threshold" groups, however, are liquid emotion. They tug and play dirty with me. I think everyone knows some music that does this... music worthy of respect and awe... music that can move you incredibly. It's worthy of awe and wonder and respect and it almost... almost moves across into the sacred.

That's an indulgent way of looking at things.

There's a lot of music like that for me, but the most persistant are Björk, Outkast, Radiohead, Lush, and Eminem.

Eminem makes me angry.

Angry in a very productive way.

So I spent the last week catching up on anger and rallying my forces for this week.

There are casualties.

For example, I've dropped my NaNo... for the meantime at least.

I'll pick it up later.

* * * * *

On Wednesday, I didn't finish work until 5:15. Everyone else had left. I went down to the lobby then crossed the street to 676. The air was filled with snow and driving sleet. Jess swung by before six... we returned to Hyde Park to pick up luggage, and soon we left Chicago through the backdoor (S. Shore Drive) and hopped on the Skyway.

Much of the trip we couldn't break 30 mph, and we didn't get in until almost 3 AM, Michigan time.

Thanksgiving, our house was busy and full. Craig, Craitlin's boyfriend, is very energetic and lively, and his voice sounds like a party to begin with. Add onto this my brother's austere presence, and my sister's careful humor, my parents, grandma Coyne, Aunt Georgia, Jessica, myself, and one brine-soaked turkey. Not to gloat, but I'm glad I am not a vegetarian on Thanksgiving.

We had a grand old time.

Afterwards I went shopping for Eventime goods. I got a folder and 2005 datebook and practical things like that.

I resisted the temptation to pick up a Tigers hat. Cash is low. It can wait. Baseball season just ended.

On Friday, Cody and I drove to Flint and visited Mrs. Perkins-Harbin.

On Saturday, when my mom and Jess went shopping for wedding dresses, I'd planned on going to Detroit to research YGB, but woke up late and in a foul mood. Instead, I drove to the Atlas where I wrote for two hour, and planned my strategy for the next month, then got my hair cut at Meijers. And went home.

On Sunday, the weekend having taken up more space then I'd expected, but over, as always, way too soon, I went to St. John Vianny for the first Sunday of Advent. It's as good a start as any. The sun gleamed in the rough cut stained glass and the priest... I forget his name, but he's one of the most wonderful priests I've heard... brought several catechuments through the Rite of Acceptance. And the organ blasted, and I sang with all the scrubbed people around me.

Later, back in Flushing, my mom and Jess and I went to lunch at the A&W downtown with grandma Coyne.

Then, home.

Then, Jess and I left, and returned to Chicago, arriving in time to watch Desperate Housewives.

And here I am.

* * * * *

I won't get into it much now. I'm too tired. I have too much to do before I go to sleep, and I'm already looking at not-enough sleep.

Mosh is slow and ponderous, but it's powerful.

My First Single and Meanie are songs I've come to love, even though I didn't think much of them the first time I heard them.

The album sounds... a little conflicted.

Still, it has the effect. When the new R.E.M. drove me to too much contemplation, Marshall put me back behind the steering wheel, and my feet were happy to find the accelerator. It was time for that to happen.

Today was one of the most effective days I've had in a long time.

I heard back from three people I'd written about Letters of Recommendation for grad school.
I registered for the GRE ($115?! Holy Shit!).
I bought a book on healthy eating, since I practically inject cholestrol.
I've done more... worked efficiently and fast. Followed through on my plan.

And now... there's more to do.

So I'm going to go do it.

Let it build.

From the front to the middle.

~ Connor