Well, I had planned to update this site on its anniversary, but it seems that I missed it by a few days. Oh, well, as they say, better late than never, I suppose. Thanks for the reminder and the good wishes, Corey!
My second semester of college is finished as of last week. I'm still waiting to see my grades, but I believe that they'll turn out fairly well. Summer classes start on May 31, and my first class is something called "Quantative Methods in Psychology." It sounds likes it will be really interesting, and I can't wait until it starts. After that, my last class of the summer starts on July 5, and it's called simply "Ethics," and then I'll have a couple of weeks off before the autumn semester starts. I've registered for 5 classes in the fall, which are:
Sensation & Perception
Sociology of Music
African American Literature 1845-present
I usually register for five courses, so that I have the space to drop one if it ends up being too much work to handle during one semester. I might have a problem doing that this semester though, since all of those classes sound like fun. Such is life.
During my month off, I've challenged myself to write 31,000 words during May. Technically, that would work out to 1,000 words per day, but I'm not really counting them like that. As long as I end up with the right total, I write more or less per day or even take a day off when I feel like it or when other things won't permit me to write as much as I'd like. What can I say? My game, my rules.
Today, May 8, is kind of a melencholy day for me. It's the anniversary of something that was once very important to me and made me very happy. Lately, though, it's become a happy-sad date. When I think back to the good memories of the person I associate with today, I'm happy because I remember the fun we used to have and all the interesting things we used to do and talk about together. Those days seemed to be brimming with potential and promise. Now, though, I think of this person and everything's clouded and uncertain and weird. He's not the person I thought he was, or at least he's not that person anymore. I don't understand how he kept up such a convincing pretense for so many years. I was completely taken in by the person he appeared to be. I find it hard to believe that he could change so much so quickly. Or, maybe, he's only changed in his regard to and of me.
Lately I've been feeling that Louisville is located roughly in the vicinity of Jupiter. I haven't been "home" to E'town in months, mainly because it doesn't feel as if there's much of anything there for me anymore. I can't decide why it feels this way. All the family I care about lives there, my writer's group is there, all my "friends" are there. But the thing is that lately, I just don't feel like any of those people really care very much at all what's happening to me. It's almost like I don't even exist unless I'm standing right in front of them. I feel like if any of those relationships are going to continue to exist, it all depends upon me. Like if I don't always make the trip to E'town, I can't see anyone. They certainly don't visit me here. Someone's even said to me "You never come to the writer's group anymore, so I haven't even seen you lately. And you expect me to drop everything to come to Louisville and hang out?" If only he knew how much it hurt to hear that. I don't know if it would have mattered though, because by that point, it seemed like he and everyone else was either pissed off at me or completely indifferent to me.
I don't want to sound like I don't want these people in my life. Hell, they're all I have, such as it is. I'm just saying it would be nice if it seemed like they actually wanted to be my friends.
On that note, good evening friends, strangers, insomniacs, and other denizens of the late night hours. See you next time!
"Stranger Than Fiction" will be a recurring forum for my random thoughts, rants, raves, political diatribes and various other late-night meanderings of the mind. It will be updated as often as the mood strikes.