Why not post when there is so much to do?

I just returned from watching The Umbrellas of Cherbourg and feel elated. I love good movies! This image comes from the early portion of the movie, when the lovers discover Guy has been drafted. It's a great movie and the best, and possibly the most taxing part of it is, the dialogue is exclusively sung. It was a bit irritating after the first thirty minutes, but you come to expect and enjoy it more and more as the movie continues. And the Technicolor! The movie came out in 1964 and was not originally filmed in color (I think). But the colors in it are so vivid I wanted to wear nothing but bright colors and drape bright, bold wall paper all over my cinder block walls. The movie was so good I felt I was floating when I walked home. It ended happily, but not as I would expect it. Please see this film!

I have two papers due very soon and I have not started on either. I think I thrive on procrastination. It's a nice feeling to get things done when one should, but an equally nice feeling putting things off. And I work so much better under pressure. I think I will go to bed soon and get up at six AM to begin working on my papers.

My friend Cassandra and I are thinking of going to Thailand after classes end. She can only stay for three weeks though. I'm anxious to come home, but I do want to see so many things. I can only hope three weeks will be enough. And what of the rest of Asia? How will I make money? I think I need to become an accomplished writer and live wherever I please with nothing but my computer for company.

I started reading Mrs. Dalloway last week and found Woolfe's writing style to be difficult to follow at first. Now that I am used to it, however, I find it fascinating. She can skip from idea to idea with such ease; the writing does not seem stilted at all. She keeps the mind of the reader constantly at attention. I have had to go back and reread certain passages just because I realize I'm not giving the paragraph all the attention it deserves. Oh! There's one paragraph that I related to, not only as a woman but as a human being who craves attention from everyone around her at all times.

"But the indomitable egotism which for ever rides down the hosts opposed to it, the river which says on, on, on; even though, it admits, there may be no goal for us whatever, still on, on; this indomitable egotism charred her cheeks with color; made her look very young; very pink; very bright-eyed as she stat with her dress upon her knee, and her needle held to the end of green silk, trembling a little. He was in love! Not with her. With some younger woman, of course."

The passage occurs when an old flame returns to Mrs. Dalloway's parlor to tell her he's back in town and is here to seek a divorce for another woman so he can marry her. Dalloway, naturally, finds herself automatically working to reclaim her love, for fear that she may lose him. It's not healthy, but what girl does not do the same?

I'm off to roll about in my bed and which that life were so constantly colorful and I could sing as high as the women do in the film.

i am sorry this is all i can give you

The title is a quote from my brother Will's Valentine's Day card. I keep all four of the Valentine's cards that side of my family gave me the night before I left. They're stuck to my cork board in front of my desk, which is no little thing. The Massey University housing department did not check these cork boards for their... I think accessiblity could be used here. I have to use the hardest thing I have around (usually a book) and hammer the tacks into the board. It rarely works. In fact, it has never worked. I just use holes that are already there. I have no idea what people used that lived here before.

Apart from the cards I have a crumpled ticket from my first rugby game in Wellington. The Hurricanes v. the Chiefs. Very exciting game, but the Chiefs weren't very good and so the Hurricanes won easily. It's a complicated game! I can't imagine ever playing it.

Perhaps more prized than my ticket from the game is the list of recommended books one of my creative writing professors gave me. He focuses on poetry so the list is mostly poets. Alan Shapiro is the only one of the list I recognize.

The three aspects of my life are already on the cork board. And really, if I had to list them in importance I would be hard pressed to pick which one is more important: my social life or my academic career. Of course the family comes first.

Today I listened to a song called "Wagon Wheel" which I then sent to my friend Eric. I think it's a good song for anyone out on the road. Which isn't really me at this point. But since I'm not at home, I find the song relate able.

A friend of mine came into my room this afternoon and declared that my bare walls were making her sick; she's going to help me decorate. The walls are a bright, baby yellow and it does get a little stifiling. But I find I get used to the way a room looks. A person can grow accustomed to pretty much anything. There are darker examples than getting used to an ugly, small room. But I've been so blessed in my life that my little yellow cell is as bad as it gets. Anyone who has seen my apartment in Clemson knows that I am not much of a decorator. But I appreciate the decor once it's up. I like mirrors, which speaks to my narcissism more than anything. Our rooms came with a small mirror. I can see down past my shoulders, but not to my waist. It's good for applying make up. And other girly pastimes in which I indulge.

I apologize for my gender a lot. I've noticed this. It's as if I blame any issues I might have with being a girl. For example, I was in our dorm's basketball team and dropped out. I am not a sports person, as you all know. I felt a need at times to apologize for being such a girl, so easily intimidated by people on a court. This has nothing to do with being a woman, naturally. Oh! and when I cry or want to talk about my feelings I often apologize for being such a girl. What's wrong with wanting to have a 'good cry?' I think in my mind it communicates weakness. Except when other people do it, provided they have a reason. But sometimes we all just cry.

And I ramble. Stereotypically, that's a female trait too. Although I feel this is an untrue stereotype. Men love giving lectures and advice.

Why am I typing blanket statements about the sexes? I took two Tylenol PMs because I have a headache, I may be getting a little drowsy. Good night.

No Right Angles

I don't know what the sound is, but someone...

A few minutes ago I noticed a noise that sounded like an annoying tap. It increased in speed but I continued to ignore it because I figured someone was doing something repetitive and irritating in the room beneath me. As it turns out it was my friend Meg tapping on my window. There was a loud cry and I closed my curtains quickly. Then it registered that it was her. She's sitting out on my balcony (which she's technically not aloud to do, we all have signs on our windows that read "All ledges and architechural features of Hall Buildings are strictly out of bounds. Failure to comply liable to disciplnary action." But she's out there, her dreadlocked hair in a bun, which just fits in my window's opening. We're both thinking about Africa and how lucky we are.

On Thursday I had my Treaty of Waitangi tutorial and spoke with my professor afterward. She's a new lecturer, excited to teach and still using young language. For example, she would say, "girl" after a lot of things she would say to me. She and I spoke about Maori culture and society, of which I knew nothing. Now I have at least a basic knowledge. But one thing we spoke about was the similarities between the Gullah peoples and the Maori. When I went to the Sea Islands to research the Gullah culture I felt as though I appeared a foolish, white girl who was trying to get her kicks by slumming it. I felt condescending. But my professor explained that it is important for non-Gullah people and non-Maori to help protect these vanishing cultures. The society needs help.

Which brings me to Africa. I do not plan on changing the world at all. However, impacting one person's life, letting them know their worth as a human being would be a great priveledge. Still, I feel so awkward and apart, a portion of a priviledged, Western world who has no experience in the ghetto or being poor.

I am too young and too eager to simply give money. I am able-bodied, unmarried, and passionate. Is this not the perfect time for me to go and actively do something? But what is that something to be? Saying I want to go to Africa is one thing, but it's not a country. It's a whole continent, with millions of people with billions of problems. What will I do? What can I do? Something. There has to be something. And I'll find it.

I have real problems with my creative writing class, as it is the first place I have heard about a bell curve. Apparently it helps more people than it hurts, but how can this be? I am not a C student, but our professor told us that the majority of the people will get C's because it is the average grade. If too many people got A's it would mean the professor is too easy. This levels the playing field. I have no idea how. I compare this to Clemson's way of grading, which I feel is far more capitalist and encourages striving for better grades.

Additionally the class wants us to write poems which have a minimum of fourteen lines. How is the creative writing? It's only going to encourage long, wordy poetry which means nothing to the writer or the reader. Our professor told us, in is colorless, odorless way, that "The Red Wheelbarrow" by William Carlos Williams would have received a C plus in his class because it was not fourteen lines. I want to leave this man's tutorial. I was truly disgusted by the way the tutorial (which is only one part of the class, we have an hour lecture every Monday) is run and would like to move to another. I don't think this will happen, but I am debating whether or not to discuss my feelings with the coordinating professor. Maybe he'll sympathize.

Today, before the sun went down, I took a walk and laid down in one of the rugby fields. It was beautiful.

My First Tough Choice

So far in New Zealand I have not had to make tough choices. Most of mine have been pretty obvious at this point: of course I'm going to Wellington because all my friends are going, of course I'll eat another grilled cheese sandwhich because I have no other food options. But today I discovered that I do have a choice to make: whether or not to attend a writer's conference next week instead of classes.

For the New Zealand Post Writers and Readers Week takes place between March 11-16 in Wellington. I just came back from this fair city yesterday, but that doesn't mean that I saw all of the city I want to see. In fact, I saw very little.

What I will probably end up doing is skipping Thursday and Friday classes for the sake of this conference, although I really want to go early. Ian McEwan, the author of Atonement, will kick off the conference on Monday with a reading. Additionally there are lots of interesting discussion tables and lectures throughout the week, such as another reading by McEwan and lots of writers from around the world reading their work and discussing the craft of writing. Oooh! And there's a discussion on the lingering effects of World War Two on literature, with an English writer (McEwan again!), a German author, and a New Zealand writer.

So here's the question: what will help my education more? Will doing something that may impact my writing skills and change me permanently be a better idea than staying at school, which is something I actually came here to do? I may just leave and get there on Thursday, staying through Sunday. Responsiblities are important, but really... I do tend to get obsessed with school as a rule. I am here to learn, but not always from classes. It's what we're supposed to to in college anyway, eh?

Alright I'm going to book something for Thursday and stay through Sunday. The anticipation is palpable...

Hold Me Tight

Ladies and Gentlemen

I just put on my pjs and danced around a bit due to an unforseen fit of happiness. I was listening to Across the Universe's version of "Hold Me Tight" and really getting into it. I picked out my outfit for tomorrow. And that's when I noticed that my curtains were not completely drawn.