There is No Such Thing as a Simple Person.

Every person has a story and everyone is going somewhere. I've heard it said that one should live their life in such a way that if it were a written in a book someone would want to read it. I don't know about that. The thought of whether or not my life would be a best-seller does not particularly drive me. I believe, every man's story is worth telling and worth listen to. I've said it before that getting to know a person is one of the highest forms of entertainment; and there's a subtle truth in that. It is wonderful to learn about a person on level deeper than "Hi" and to try to understand them. Incredibly insightful. I have never been disappointed in the understanding that people should be known, and I've found that even people I may be tempted to label as 'simple' are inordinately complex. The 'why's and passed years weigh on all of us and impressed upon us their seals of maturity, denial, wisdom, and mistake. Unavoidable. Unmaskable.

We are complex because the human heart does not lend itself to being simple. Even so, the greatest minds I've ever know have striven years for simplicity--trying to attain oneness of character. Consistency. I've read of artists who spent their whole lives learning to paint like a child. They want that simplicity back, and why? It might be that as children we were the most alike. We all wanted food and mothers. To be cared for in ways didn't have to understand. In the relative simplicity of childhood, we must have been so close to each other. Now that we're grown, does that mean every man is an island? If we are, we must certainly be an archipelago because we're all connected below the surface.

Sometimes sitting in the cafeteria, I'll see someone, and for whatever reason, they will catch my mind's attention. As I eat my meal, I think about that person sitting down with their friends across the room, and I wonder where they were born, who they love, and how the events of the world led them to sit in that particular chair. Most times, wondering is enough for me, but other times it is not. I can't explain why it's not, but I feel drawn to ask that person a question. Usually, I do not ask. How strange would it be to ask a stranger who they love? I think the answer would be a long one.

I think similarly of shacks and overgrown buildings on the side of a road. I have to wonder when they were built and who built them. I think of how proud the owner must have been when he first walked into his new and beautiful building. What were his plans? I learn names about as well as a monkey learns state capitals, but do I wonder a lot.

There is no such thing as a simple person.

The Man in the Tattered Cape

I saw a man in a tattered cape
Many a time from Robin Row.
So curious he seemed to me
As none of him would show.

Every day he’d pass my way
T’wherever he would go,
Never pausing from his walk
Except on Robin Row.

And from my window sill I’d spy
Seeing whether if the wind
Would whip his tattered cowl so
That I might see if he had skin.

T’was then I let the sin begin.

For one can only see so much
From a window far away,
So I resolved a grave intent
To meet with him one day.

The very next, that is to say.

So as he paused on Robin Row
I grabbed what I might think his arm,
‘Till whooshing fabric whirled around
In twirling folds of dark alarm.

The cape and cowl seemed so deep!
As deep as I imagined from
The window I had occupied
A day ago! But thicker some.

And as I looked for eyes I found
There none to courteously fix
Mine upon. A rainy dusk
Began to fall into the mix.

“Why do you wear this tattered cape?”
I whispered him despite the rain.
“It is so worn and shorn and torn…
Though black it is, I find a stain.”

The man, he only looked at me.
“I wear this cloak for reasons three:
I hate my body, love my cape,
And it is what you’d rather see.

“But,” I said, “It looks so old!
So heavy for the summer heat!
And in the rain it’s soaking through
To make you heavy on your feet.”

But what he said he would repeat.

“But it’s so tattered—drags the ground!
It is too big for you!” I yelled.
When, in truth, I only ached
To see the darkness man un-shelled.

Again, he only looked at me.
“I wear this cloak for reason’s three:
I hate my body, love my cape,
And it is what you’d rather see.”

“But sir!” I yelled. “It must be patched!
And hemmed here where it clearly frays!
I am tailor, sir!” I lied.
“I’ll have it back in one… two days!”

My chest was in a raucous craze!

But the man, as calm as shade,
Turned his faceless hood from me,
And tugged away, and slowly walked
Toward his evening place to be.

I never thought I’d use the knife.
I did not think it’d come to that
But oily red that smeared my hand
Confirmed no wraith beneath it sat.

I swam through fabric dark as death
And shuffled through to strip the cloaked
And found a truly gruesome sight:
My own dead face. Chafed and choked.

The deepest fabric in my hand,
A silent horror for the twin
I felt until I gaped the cloak
And wrapped myself within.

I am the man in the tattered cape
I walk the darkness to and fro.
I hate my body, love my cape,
And pause to mourn on Robin Row

I Wonder Sometimes

Been a while? Yes it has. Campbell internet has slowed down tremendously this year, and it has become very frustrating to download anything or even visit websites with too many pictures. I've heard recently that this might be due to a wide use of Ares, a Kazaa-like peer to peer file sharing network that can't be so easily detected by campus computer personnel. Great job, guys. You weren't caught. But take a look at these internet speeds. They're agonizing! My neighbor across the hall told me it took him twenty minutes to download a song off of Ares that should have taken less than two. There is a reason why file sharing programs were outlawed on campus.

I'm incredibly excited about my free iPod! I finally got enough referrals, and I my account is under review at this very moment. In two weeks, the review should be done, and I should be able to order my free iPod! I don't know if I'm as excited about the actual iPod as I am for FINALLY having achieved a long-sought goal. Back when I was a skeptic, I promised a friend that if he actually got a free iPod from this scheme, I would buckle down and get one too. Well, he got it, and now I have come through on my promise. Once I get my iPod in my hands, I think I'll go for the shuffle (seems like it would make a great gift). Also, I will advertise with my freeipods.com T-shirt that comes with he iPod and try to help out my friends who are still working toward their five referrals. If one of my referrals turns out to be invalid (an unlikely outcome) I'll dive back in head first until I get my free iPod, darnnit! Getting stuff from Freepay has become somewhat of a hobby, I guess.

I'm so, so happy to be back at school for that long, long summer. I'm starting to settle in, and I now have most of my books (save for microbiology). I've tried much harder this year to decorate my room and really make it a comfortable place for me to live. The smell of cinnamon welcomes me every time I open my door in the coldest temperature I can squeeze out of the AC system. Artwork, posters, and random junk adorn the walls, and my surround-sound system, though not great for DVD's, is excellent for playing music. I had a jig-fest to it just last night. The winds of change blow down the new walkways and through the orange plastic fences as things are built and renewed all around campus. I'm very happy with my school right now. This is a year to look forward to, I think.

Still, I keep having this feeling of angst concerning my major course of study. Is biochemistry really my calling? Are labwork and memorization really my passions? Should I change majors? Should I shift? Should I just stick it out and hope for the best? I don't exactly know how to feel. It's not that I'm bad at science, or that I feel this major is too much to handle, but what about other options? Dr. Jung impressed me when he said "...always have a plan B. And plan C and D." He went on to say that Chemistry wasn't even supposed to be his field of study, but look at him now. About of third of the Department Chairmen didn't major in the department they're chairing. Jung was referring to Pre-pharm majors when he said this, but I took it to hear--maybe because it was what I wanted to hear. I'm seriously thinking about shifting my major. It feels too bold and rash, but I can't help but ponder the possibility. Maybe a Chemistry major with an English minor. What I'd really like is the other way around. Maybe an art history minor. I'd definitely like to take the class, but Biochemistry doesn't leave much room for electives, let alone minors. If you don't want to be a chemistry-Biochemistry double major, it seems your out of luck. Before I make any decisions, I definitely want to fist talk with my advisor and see if a change is even possible at this point without an extra semester. The thought of switching majors weighs on my mind more than any other. I'll have to finish my semester out, anyway, so we will see how it goes.

The New Face of Higher Learning

I changed the template of my blogger site! I think I did it because I stopped liking the feeling I got when I looked at my page before. Too many browns, perhaps. I also now have a links sidebar, and that is a plus too, I suppose. I enjoy the feel of this template, and I think I'll be glad I moved away from the old one.

I posted a very long entry a few minutes ago, but after a shower, I decided to delete it. It wasn't particularly personal or poorly written; I just didn't get the right feeling when I wrote it. I felt it was generic and didn't really express anything. Not anything genuine, anyway. It does bothers me sometimes when I delete an entry like that, though. I feel like I'm trying to hide something. The entry I deleted was mostly about Truth and how I felt about it--how highly I esteem trust and how much it means to me that I am or become trustworthy. It is important to mention these things, I guess. There does seem to be a lack of people to trust anymore, but I'm very glad that I have friends I can truly say I trust. But trust is such a broad term, isn't it? I think what I mean is that I can open myself up to them without fear of being torn down. I feel assured that my opinions and feelings matter and make a difference, and their complements aren't simply empty courtesies. That may be over-simplifying things, but it's just a re-cap of what I deleted, after all.

I've had some bad days at Andy's before, but today absolutely takes the cake. See, our opporator, Angie, quit without warning a few days ago. She just up and left, and I dont' know why. I mean, I'm sure she had her reasons, but it turned the whole store up on it's heels. Today was our new operator's first day on the job, and the transitions he wanted us to make coupled with his relitive inexperience and my absolute lack of talent on the cookline sent the lunch rush into a fiery tailspin of utter chaos. We had, I'm sure, ten or more orders up at a time, and we were putting out absolutely unacceptibly long tickets. Up to 30 minustes, so I'm told. I mean, it was pandamonium! I was on the verge of tears as I rushed and busstled, trying my best to make put out orders as fast as I could. We even had waiters and waitresses coming back to help on the cookline. I have NEVER seen such an utter catastrophe in all my days at Andy's, and I've never felt so close to hell on the cookline. I kept my cool as best I could and calmed down the frustrated helpers working around me who were nearly ready to quit right then and there. I must admit, I even throwing down my aprin and walking out the door myself. Mounds of food was being thrown away, and many orders were given to the customers for free just so they wouldn't curse our store to the grave. And even though we were busting our tails and customers were getting angeryer by the minute, the tickets just kept coming up! It was like an endless line of thick-needed shots--like flys we could't swat away! As chaotic as it was behind the line, it was naught to compair to what the poor waitresses has to deal with. To the customers, the waitress was the face of evil that kept their food from them. It made one particular waitress almost collapes in a nervious breakdown, and she is no easy nut to crack. Staff who came in just for a meal ended up putting on hats and getting to work clock in street clothes off the clock. I believe that if there was ever a special place prepared for me in hell, it would have me working like this every day and sleeping every night in the first night of the SUV contest. There was simply nothing to compair it to. I pray--I PRAY--that I Wednesday is nothing like that. If it is, I seriously don't know what I'll do. I guess I'll try my best until the cheeze slides off my cracker, so to speak.

I have many more things to recount, but I really should be getting to bed, but let me at least say that by the end of today, I felt it was all-in-all a pretty good day. The Andy's ordeal was just something I NEVER want to go though again. O heavens! I hope I don't have nightmares about it...