Restoration of Faith in Humanity Vol. 1

I left the library earlier this afternoon in a daze, placed my things on a bench while I put on a sweatshirt, and then stepped out into the rain. I ran a few errands around campus, picking up things I had left in places. I was worrying about the fact that I've forgotten things all over. I've been worried that I am losing my mind somehow, or that some form of early onset Alzheimer's is setting in. While in the midst of this quest to collect my belongings I decided to sit in a quiet corner to write down a thought I had. My notebook, however, was missing.

Of course, while in the midst of wondering if my brain is decaying due to losing thing, I lost something else. I quietly panicked and began retracing my steps. I looked in all of the places I had been on campus between the time I woke up and the time I discovered my notebook was missing. Finally, I ended up at a computer thinking that I would try to forget about my loss for awhile. I thought that if I stopped trying to find it, it would find me.

When I logged into my email account I found a message waiting for me from a peer here at school. She had found my notebook. It was safe. She assured me that she hadn't read anything, simply that she'd opened it to find a name, which was written on the inside cover. She explained where she'd found it, described the notebook, and told me where she would be for the next few hours (fifth floor of the library, by a window overlooking the football stadium, wearing a gray sweatshirt).

I rushed to the library. She turned as I walked into the room and recognized that I was looking for someone. She made a motion with her hand and I walked over, practically in tears. She held up my notebook and looked at me.

"Are you looking for...?" She had barely started the question when I let out a rush of air, relieved beyond measure. I thanked her profusely and explained, when she asked what the book was for, that I am a poet and playwright. And that my notebook is an extension of both my brain and my physical body.

I left, but felt that I hadn't done enough to say thank you. She had mentioned in her email that she'd be the one "in the gray sweatshirt, looking like she hates her life". I assumed she had a large assignment due soon. I bought a pack of M&M's for her, and scribbled a short poem about being found onto a piece of paper. I went again to her corner of the library and presented them to her. She looked as if she was about to cry as she stood and gave me a hug.

She said that all she had done was pick it up. "Picking something up is easy," she said. I've been so lonely lately that even the idea of being found and cared for by a stranger was nearly overpowering. It's easy to love your friends, but forget to tell them. It's more satisfying to love or be loved by a stranger and make every effort possible to make sure that they know.

I chock it up to being chalk full of bad grammar

Here's a pet peeve that I have: When people say that something is "chalk full" of something else. That's wrong. It's chock full.

I also get angry when people "chock one up." Wrong again. It's chalk, this time. As in, you're tallying a score on a chalkboard. Chalk it up.

This has come up all too often in the past few weeks.

Futures Presents

My bank account has just enough money in it to keep it open. So does my checking account. My credit card bill is paid off, however. My student loans are waiting for my graduation, but tuition for next year needs to be paid. I have some cash that I hope will last until May. I ordered a few books and they should be arriving in time for me to tuck myself away for a few days and simply read (spring break is coming up). They will be my last purchases for a little while.

Despite my meager bank account, I'm content that the last thing I bought was something that I'm excited about. Despite the failing economy, I'm feeling rather jubilant. Perhaps it's because spring is nearly here. (I took my shoes off and walked through a puddle today. I sat on a bench in the sun reading while my feet dried and warmed up.) I'd like to think, though, that I'm feeling excited at the thought that maybe this country can turn around. That we can learn and grow from this recession and move on in a little less materialistic manner. Maybe people will learn. Maybe I'm giving them more credit than they deserve. At the very least, the state of the nation right now has rocked some people out of their comfortable little worlds.

There's no point to this. I just want to document the fact that I've been feeling hopeful for the past week or two.

Sometime this week I should hear about a summer internship. It's looking good.

I was also told by one of my professors that I should go to grad school. I'm not sure how I feel about that. She offered to help me find, research and apply to programs next year and encouraged me to think about moving to New York. "Hang out off Broadway," she told me. "You'll own it in a year." I'm not sure if that's a good thing. Does that mean I'll fit in with them? Do I want to fit in in New York? Does it mean that I will destroy and rebuild the worlds of the hipster fucks whose pretensions decide what is art and what isn't? I'm not sure how to feel about it all yet. On the plus side, she implied that I have a future doing what I love - writing and theatre. I've decided that, for now, I'm going to accept and appreciate the fact that she thinks I'm talented.

I think the best use of my energy in the coming week will be toward getting things done for this year, rather than worrying about next year and beyond. All I can do right now is wait and hope that some of my plans work out.