The Predatory Wasp - Sufjan Stevens

I like giant pretzels with nacho cheese.

The emotional ailment of yesterpost seems to have dissipated only to be replaced by odd little headaches. They're not overly painful, just slightly distracting. They usually center in one eye socket, making me think they're mild migraines. I'm thinking of getting my head examined, but that probably won't happen for several weeks if it does at all.

My last day at Spring Creek is this Sunday. It feels marvelous to know I will no longer be greeted by an army of wheelchairs and the smell of human feces when I arrive at work. I checked in at B&N again, and the manager on duty said she'd find out what happened to my application. I hope my $8.00/hr requested wage doesn't preclude my employment.

I really like writing. All kinds (well, maybe not research papers and formulative essays). It feels great to know you've written something that other people enjoy. My first short short for class earned laughs from multiple readers and a high-five from one. Apparently comparing women to bathroom stalls is good literature.

The Steward of Gondor - Howard Shore

So lately I've been feeling sick, and I don't know why.

Not sick as in viral or bacterial infectious stuff, but like poisoned-heart sick. I carry this punched-in-the-gut feeling around with me sometimes, and it messes with my head. Granted, this isn't always the case, but it seems to strike most often at school and at work.

Am I in a rut? Am I afraid of something(s)? Yes. But that's nothing new. Now more than ever, I've no reason to feel like this. I've an amazing girlfriend, a major I love (yes, you read that right), and something that looks like it may form into a promising career.

Yet, through all of it, I don't feel right. I don't feel like myself. Perhaps, like Ender Wiggin, I defined myself through my pain for too long. Now that it's gone, I feel incomplete. But then, what is this new feeling if not pain? Yes, it's pain, but of a different kind.

No call from Barnes & Noble yet. Looks like I might be unemployed for awhile. It might actually do me some good.

Purge you, Animose.

Air Castles - Virus

I bring you good tidings of frustrating joy: Erico has finally given me a straight answer regarding their hostage. Apparently, Piaggio discontinued the LT50 series, so the part I require doesn't exist. As such, I have two options: 1) Wait 6-8 months for the Romans to manufacture and ship a headlight faring, or 2) have Erico fit a nonstandard faring on the bike. However, with the nonstandard faring comes another issue: the new faring would interfere with the front turn signals. Don't ask me how; it just will. Now, I can either choose to forfeit the signals and get my bike back sooner, or I can have them retrofit new blinkers at the cost of more time.

Spell it with me, kids. L-U-D-I-C-R-O-U-S.

I've had to kick some rather large scholastic asses around this week: 4 papers, a poetry portfolio, and the usual smattering of busywork. Fortunately, I have only one paper remaining, and it's a measly two-pager on a classical composer outside the Big Three (Mozart, Beethoven, and Haydn for the uncultured). I'm thinking of doing Daniel Turk. I suppose I should decide, as it's due tomorrow.

I aim to terminate my employment with Spring Creek forthwith. I know, I just got the job, but working there made me realize a few things. First, all nursing home work is the same. Sprink Creek's higher level of incompetence is the only difference. Second, nursing homes are a terrible idea. The people in them have no hope of leaving; they're there to die. It's just a condescending attempt by our society to make these people believe we still value them. Sure, I'm sure their children (through love or guilt) are glad they're still alive, but there's no escaping the plain truth: it's a death house. Third, the shockingly young age of some of the residents disturbs me. We just got a new girl who looks several years shy of sweet sixteen. That's just not natural.

As such, I'm applying to good ol' Barnes and Noble. They seek holiday help, but hopefully my stunning good looks and animal magnetism will land me a permanent place. If not, I'll coast for awhile. Employment's a bitch, anyway.

Rejoice: Shadow of the Colossus shall occupy my weekend.

Shadow Stabbing - Cake

Sweet Jesus Christ on His heavenly throne. On Writing is changing my life.

The Cat, the Crow, and the Snake - The Billy Nayer Show

BNS is excellent live. They're fun and funny and full of energy. Their set was disappointingly short, but they played a lot of new songs which will appear on their next CD. Cory said it would be out in about six months. Cory McAbee is the nicest man alive. I shook his hand and got his signature and bantered with him. He was wearing a blue suit with a black shirt. I've never seen anybody rock out on an autoharp quite like him. The bassist looked like a hobo, and Bobby Lurie was normally dressed (jeans and a T-shirt). Sleepytime Gorilla Museum was weird post-goth stuff with a man in a thong hanging upside-down from the ceiling. Very skilled musicians, but I'm not sure I'd call myself a fan.

I also bought a DVD containing the first short films BNS made.

Saturday night, Victoria and I went to the Rialto Theater in Loveland to hear Billy Collins (U.S. poet laureate 2001-2003) read his poetry. His voice sounded like Kevin Spacey, so the experience was rather surreal. The poems themselves were quite funny and very well-written. I purchased two of his books and got him to sign one, which was neat. I like his style quite a bit, and my style may change significantly as a result of hearing him read. One of those moments critics will look back on and say, "There is where his style changed." Maybe, anyway. I doubt critics will care enough about my work to say things of that nature.

I submitted my entries for the scholarship contest. If I don't win anything, I will inevitably conclude my work is worthless and wallow in self-pity for awhile. Afterward, I will most likely change majors to theatre until I get rejected at an audition. Then, on to accounting!