About a month ago, I posted messages to everyone I knew regarding the City of Mankato doing an inspection of my house. This is to make sure everything's up to code. As soon as they came over this morning, I ducked out of the house, past both the landlord and the inspector, so as to avoid any questions as to why the window on the staircase is broken, and has been, and finally covered up with a plastic sheet of insulation; or to ask why the banister at the bottom of the staircase is completely missing; or why the front door has a broken frame.
I am hoping that today goes well.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Monday, February 23, 2009
Recap. Monday.
I would consider this moment at 11:50pm on Monday just as good of an opportunity as any to recap.
Ten and a half hours earlier, you grappled with your mother over the telephone and inevitably made her cry. This was the first time in your life that you ever stood up to her and didn't allow her to walk all over you. Don't try and lie to anyone who might be listening or reading, because you cried too. But you asked her every question that you'd been internalizing, as Midwesterners do, over the course of the last three years you've been in College. You asked her if she resented you for never majoring in something where you might make her money. You asked her if she was mad that you moved out of her house when, her other children stayed home, and never thought twice about it. It was at this point which, you put on your copy of Springsteen's "Nebraska" and sang songs about dying and knew that someday you would too. You never liked Springsteen until the day before when you got yourself a record of his that wasn't "Born to Run," but rather, the Springsteen that nobody ever cared for. You moved on, from the questions and comments about your lack of self-esteem or the emptiness of your self-gratification and what's really wrong. You told her you needed to move out of town. That you didn't want to die in the Midwest, but knew you needed to move in with your girlfriend, work for a little while, and inevitably take off to somewhere unfamiliar with her. No one will be surprised, and that's gratification in itself. It's fine to not have a cut-out plan. It's fine to carry a map around with you, even if you fold it the wrong way. As long as the roads and interstates line up. As long as there's a song playing that you don't know every word to, but would like to.
Then, four hours later, you went for a long run. A vicious run. A youthful run. A chase. You showered and shaved your face. You made spaghetti--enough for five people--but just for you. Chased it with two cups of coffee, and then decided that the coffee was goddamned, because it made your legs shake again. Switched to Rolling Rock.
Ten and a half hours earlier, you grappled with your mother over the telephone and inevitably made her cry. This was the first time in your life that you ever stood up to her and didn't allow her to walk all over you. Don't try and lie to anyone who might be listening or reading, because you cried too. But you asked her every question that you'd been internalizing, as Midwesterners do, over the course of the last three years you've been in College. You asked her if she resented you for never majoring in something where you might make her money. You asked her if she was mad that you moved out of her house when, her other children stayed home, and never thought twice about it. It was at this point which, you put on your copy of Springsteen's "Nebraska" and sang songs about dying and knew that someday you would too. You never liked Springsteen until the day before when you got yourself a record of his that wasn't "Born to Run," but rather, the Springsteen that nobody ever cared for. You moved on, from the questions and comments about your lack of self-esteem or the emptiness of your self-gratification and what's really wrong. You told her you needed to move out of town. That you didn't want to die in the Midwest, but knew you needed to move in with your girlfriend, work for a little while, and inevitably take off to somewhere unfamiliar with her. No one will be surprised, and that's gratification in itself. It's fine to not have a cut-out plan. It's fine to carry a map around with you, even if you fold it the wrong way. As long as the roads and interstates line up. As long as there's a song playing that you don't know every word to, but would like to.
Then, four hours later, you went for a long run. A vicious run. A youthful run. A chase. You showered and shaved your face. You made spaghetti--enough for five people--but just for you. Chased it with two cups of coffee, and then decided that the coffee was goddamned, because it made your legs shake again. Switched to Rolling Rock.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
"I'm working on drawing a straight line / and I'll draw until I get one right" - Frightened Rabbit
The wind's coming in from the southeast today, which is unusual if you know anything about this town. It's a swift wind. The kind that puts things that aren't strong enough to hold up with the wind's presence on the ground, and keeps the things strong enough to hold up, up. I've learned that it's simply a windy city, generally speaking, and in the last three years (or nine semesters) I haven't noticed this until now.
*
As it turns out, I might be an alright writer after all. I've never been one to give myself a whole lot of credit, and it's not as an esteem issue, but rather a matter that I prefer not to. Last night saw me at a workshop for screenwriting, workshopping a series of events and conflicts I had put together. Around ten pages of material. And it went over pretty well. Writing it, I had kept in my mind that I wasn't going to try to make anything special of it. At this point in my undergrad status, I'm just trying to make it out. But, the screenplay I've been working on, people are saying, is promising. "Like a Wes Anderson with even darker humor." "Everyone around the main character thinks he's a real piece of shit. A real likeable guy, to the eyes."
*
Class was cancelled this morning and it's been delightful. I fed myself breakfast and moved on to sip coffee, smoke a cigarette, and watch the film adaptation of Flannery O'Connor's Wise Blood. I wasn't happy about it or sad about it--the movie that is. It was just okay. I was happy either way, as I haven't had class cancelled on me in quite some time. And even though I have a million things I ought to be doing today, I think I can justify that everything will be fine for a day without me. It has been a nice morning. An indulgent morning.
*
The landlord called to reveal to me that one of Mankato's Official House Inspectors would be by to make sure, in an event that apparently happens every three years, that our house is up to code. I have significant doubt that the house is. He seems to think we'll be fine. Either way, a scenery change couldn't hurt, if it comes to that. One more blow before the bomb explodes for good.
*
As it turns out, I might be an alright writer after all. I've never been one to give myself a whole lot of credit, and it's not as an esteem issue, but rather a matter that I prefer not to. Last night saw me at a workshop for screenwriting, workshopping a series of events and conflicts I had put together. Around ten pages of material. And it went over pretty well. Writing it, I had kept in my mind that I wasn't going to try to make anything special of it. At this point in my undergrad status, I'm just trying to make it out. But, the screenplay I've been working on, people are saying, is promising. "Like a Wes Anderson with even darker humor." "Everyone around the main character thinks he's a real piece of shit. A real likeable guy, to the eyes."
*
Class was cancelled this morning and it's been delightful. I fed myself breakfast and moved on to sip coffee, smoke a cigarette, and watch the film adaptation of Flannery O'Connor's Wise Blood. I wasn't happy about it or sad about it--the movie that is. It was just okay. I was happy either way, as I haven't had class cancelled on me in quite some time. And even though I have a million things I ought to be doing today, I think I can justify that everything will be fine for a day without me. It has been a nice morning. An indulgent morning.
*
The landlord called to reveal to me that one of Mankato's Official House Inspectors would be by to make sure, in an event that apparently happens every three years, that our house is up to code. I have significant doubt that the house is. He seems to think we'll be fine. Either way, a scenery change couldn't hurt, if it comes to that. One more blow before the bomb explodes for good.
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