"...what's better---cheap happiness or lofty suffering?"
I'll leave this post for a while, curious to see what you feel.
Me: I'm still thinking about it myself, though most of my life seems to fit with the former. i find there are more events in my life to be sad about, to suffer in than there are rosy-purplish ones - but honestly, i still can't figure out how in the hell i wake up every day not necessarily cheery, but certainly accepting and full of appreciation (happy in the greatest of minute)...i've somehow managed to place the sad stuff (and it's heavy duty sad stuff yal) right at my side - i don't think i can exist without it...now, after writing that...i'm wondering if i'm not somewhere 'in' between Dostoevsky's musing, or does between not count?
picture from google via beiderbecke.typepad.com/.../tolstoy-v-dosto.html
Okay, when those years of having more children just pass on by...someone in the relationship is bound to become an obsessive, nut, maniac! It ain't me.
We have had Max, our Dalmation Basset mix, since the latter part of last year (he was so much more smaller than now-yikes!). He is really big and so heavy...
...and Polo (our snowball), just a little pup too at the time---I turned him down to our neighbor, who a day later found Gera alone walking in the house. Polo became ours about 3 mos. after we adopted Max. Gera is a sucker!! Then, last night, Gera's brother calls and says guess what...?
And here you have it folks...this cute little adorable little pure baby Basset who is in no way scared of Max-the-big-bully and who challenges Polo in barking and play biting. I'm horrified when he steps on his own ears, but I think he's supposed to do that. They are almost as long as his little body. The interesting part is we see alot of Max's Basset side in this little one. His butt is the cutest thing - when he's walking.
We're still working on a name for the little guy and thankfully, my mom is taking Polo (yeah, he's the step-child, but will get lots and lots of even bigger puppy love from her). She wanted him from Day 3.
Anyhow, EGAD! House turned kennel! My plants: gone. The carpet: destroyed. Thankfully, there's lots of playing room inside and out. We're open for names. I said Barney, Duke...Gera said Chulo, and something else that is not so challenging in English or Spanish. Suggestions appreciated.
so i'm taking a graduate course in modernism and reading/re-reading some incredible literatures. i'm already gearing to write my shorter paper on Woolf's Septimus and Faulkner's Benjy - all that anxiety stuff. i'm new to Dostoevsky, Proust, Gide - so it is exciting to see what their anxious male narrators do to upset romanticism and safe forefellow penmen.
my breath and life will be three classes worth of teaching developmental writing at the community college and my own study's worth of these works: looking at modernism and a trial interest, my second course, ...the medieval body
i like to think that i don't get so locked into my work, studies, writing, etc. that i forget to go see a movie from time to time - even with bouts of cable addiction. it's not something i would choose on my own to do and it's not something i would do especially if i were single. but anything that draws me away from my books has got to pack some kind of punch.
we saw Avatar yesterday evening and i must say that it is an interesting flick. i was not infatuated so much with all the technology, the animation (if that's what it's called) and if there were any 3-D moments, i missed them all. i do know that Cameron makes an usual point clear: war is useless destruction and sometimes white guys really do want to be something other than white and dominant. moments of juxtaposition that made me blink: the Avatar with a machine gun in its possession. i went back and forth between automatically placing the Avatar in a culture. i really am a movie klutz. At times, they seemed closely related to Africans and at others they were Native American Indians. hmmmm...what does that say about me? in the end, i could not help but think of this film as being a very updated, newer make of Dances with Wolves...but again, what do i know...
It's May 2012 and nothing has changed since November.11. I am all smiles at my relationship and myself. My honey and I continue to amaze each other on a daily basis. We're still ever so 'in' with each other. I completed my MA in literature last May and I'm teaching four college English courses to really smart students. I am hopeful to enter a doctorate program soon. This way, I can run out.All is scary good.
upon hearing your voice life again expands like moon crest like pomegranates swell to the sun and you are patient because god calls
when he came for you this morning you were bent into the flower bed singing black hymns so he left you alone until this third afternoon but even then he found you elbow deep in jewel weed with a mouthful of figs from a nearby tree again he waited because each time seemed to him an inconvenience and a wrong moment
and it was your persistent humming that drove him up and back until he could get his timing perfect he waited another day or so until
your gardening tools rest into porch corners your paring knife shines deeply into a drawer your hair comb lies slanted in a shoebox your wedding band hides in the mattress your fishing rod stays stolen
the sound of your voice desires to sing or hum but this time is perfect he has covered you like lavender-colored silence but he has also added streaks of olive green and pink because this is what the other soul-folk has told him to do and he has become tired in the process and therefore begins to rush sonances of your body he finds you the least complex when you are not outdoors digging in that garden, humming hymns and thriving and for a moment he questions his own timing its perfection and everything goes accordingly until he finds you have buried fruit peels and wandering jew petals underneath your back this does not anger him but it tilts his agility to deliver you and in his own questioning and presence of smells that he cannot privilege all this over powers his choice all this reels his otherwise perfection into letting you go
when i see you sitting in the plush squares of limitless St. Augustine your eyes are lit like crystal warmed soil releases from each of your hands
how did i get to this point this point of knowing you for you are nearly a century old