Lost In The Woods

I'll admit, I've been in a funk this past month or so. Maybe I wouldn't have so much contempt for you-know-who if our little episode had happened during a less loaded period in my life. But it triggered lots of self-doubt and was just ill-timed.

My association with this person will be strictly professional come January, even then I won't have to deal with them directly but once or twice. The graduate applications will be submitted by the time of my birthday (1/11 - I expect checks in the mail from each of you), and from then it will be out of my hands until I hear back. Whatever the decisions may be.

What I'm saying is while I'm not quite out of the woods yet, I see a village in the distance. Could be Bowling Green. Could be New York. Could be someplace I haven't even thought about yet. (On that note, I've got a resume to prepare. I hate entertaining the very thought of me not getting into a graduate program, but there's always a chance.) All I know is it's not going to be Bloomington.

And it's definitely not going to be Seymour.

Special thanks to Neil Young and The Clash for bringing me out of this dark place. Funny I write this on such a sunny day.

At least I've learned some things from this. I saw a two month old entry where I said I would miss IU and not harbor any bad feelings. On Halloween I was given every reason in the world to get my ass out of here once I was done. Bad feelings? Well, they are aimed at one specific person. He has probably moved on, whatever. He's wired different from the rest of the human race.

I've also learned that no matter what the message is - preacher or professor - people can be total hypocrites. Everybody has a side they don't show often, whether it's a shy little girl or boy inside a very extroverted person, or a complete jerk hiding within a very cool and charismatic exterior. It probably goes without saying that I learned how NOT to do things, as well.

It makes me feel like a complete idiot. How much derision have I had towards what Frank Zappa called the "check-mailing nincompoops" who waste their time and money on glorified snake oil salesmen turning a profit off our own inherent fear of doomsday and Armageddon? And yet I did the exact same thing with (fuck it, might as well) Andy.

The big lesson from all this is that until I met Andy I was still marching to my own drummer. I didn't owe anyone anything and sought out to impress no one beyond myself. Perhaps I should go back to being my own person again. At least then I won't have anyone to disappoint, amuse, or amaze but me.

I've got to admit, it's getting better. Getting better all the time. (It can't get any worse.)
Alex