The weekend with Rachel was next to flawless.
The rugby match was terrible, and I barely played, which I completely expected. It's slowly killing me that the one thing that makes me happier than anything else in the world is the one thing that is making me angry and hateful.
After breaking up a bar fight and having a heart-to-heart with one of my best friends regarding how miserable she is, I turned around in my bar stool to come face-to-face with Rachel. She asked me to be her girlfriend and, of course, I said yes. Come Monday, we talked at dinner and she revealed that she's not positive about putting a label on it yet. I had to let her retract the offer. I had no other choice.
I don't really mind. With or without the title, I know that my loyalty lies with her. I'll be shipping up to Boston once again for fall break (or "reading days" as they are known to VCU's academic calendar, as if anyone is taking those days to catch up on missed class readings). We'll see how I cross that bridge when I come to it.
Though the thought completely depresses me, I am coming to realize that I really, truly, just may never graduate. The School of Mass Comm has ridiculous requisites and formalities that make getting into the Upper School (the Sequence) nearly impossible for anyone pursuing any other academic goals (like [a] minor/minors in non-SMC concentrations, such as the two I am currently pursuing). There's really nothing left to say that I haven't already said or just silently come to accept.
In an only slightly rhetorical question - would I really be the worst person ever if I just gave VCUWRFC the shaft and went to coach for UofR?
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Notes on the Seaboard
And so it goes that something I figured would be a one-time, unrequited jaunt into complete lust and infatuation has turned into something real with very tangible feelings and actions to go with it.
Rachel arrives at National Airport around 3 on Friday afternoon. All I've wanted to do is show her the two cities I love - my home, DC, and my new adventure, Richmond - and as I am now counting down the days, I keep my fingers crossed that I am able to show her just who I am and convince her that I'm worth taking just one blind leap of faith in life.
Rachel arrives at National Airport around 3 on Friday afternoon. All I've wanted to do is show her the two cities I love - my home, DC, and my new adventure, Richmond - and as I am now counting down the days, I keep my fingers crossed that I am able to show her just who I am and convince her that I'm worth taking just one blind leap of faith in life.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
On Relativity and Determinism
As I write this, I am sitting on a bed in an apartment on the campus of MIT in Boston, MA. This weekend has not been one that is easy to put into words. Quite the contrary, in fact. I've typed and deleted attempts to qualify and quantify the events and emotions to this point so many times that I stopped counting.
I think I'm going to give up for now, and leave it at a muddled tentative conclusion of uncertainty, unclarity and falling action.
I think I'm going to give up for now, and leave it at a muddled tentative conclusion of uncertainty, unclarity and falling action.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Držet palce
Translation: Fingers crossed.
Summer is officially over and it's back to school. After sixteenish years, I can't say I'm even remotely stoked to start yet another semester of mindless busywork and intro classes as cosmic punishment for transferring. I still can't get into the Upper School of the SMC, so it seems it's more intros and electives for me. Oh joy.
On the upside of life: RUGBY! Rugby rugby rugby rugby rugby. We have a great handful of new rookies who seem to be loving learning the sport as much as we (the vets) love teaching it. We've always held that rugby is a lot like cocaine; it's not for everyone, but for those who it is, once it's inside you you can't get enough. I'm super stoked for this season. Here's crossing our fingers that everything ends as well as it's starting.
I'm having one of those weird void-like stretches. Every day seems just like the last, and I feel like I'm zombie-walking through it all. I've made some necessary changes - some that feel great and some that hurt like hell - and I'm hoping that they will become the impetus I need to get my shit back in order. I have confidence that I'll be just fine with time and a little hard work, but it doesn't make the current feeling suck any less.
I wish I had more substance to send your way, but sadly, I do not. With any luck, I'll have both the time and the content with which to update this thing more in the future. Wish me luck?
Summer is officially over and it's back to school. After sixteenish years, I can't say I'm even remotely stoked to start yet another semester of mindless busywork and intro classes as cosmic punishment for transferring. I still can't get into the Upper School of the SMC, so it seems it's more intros and electives for me. Oh joy.
On the upside of life: RUGBY! Rugby rugby rugby rugby rugby. We have a great handful of new rookies who seem to be loving learning the sport as much as we (the vets) love teaching it. We've always held that rugby is a lot like cocaine; it's not for everyone, but for those who it is, once it's inside you you can't get enough. I'm super stoked for this season. Here's crossing our fingers that everything ends as well as it's starting.
I'm having one of those weird void-like stretches. Every day seems just like the last, and I feel like I'm zombie-walking through it all. I've made some necessary changes - some that feel great and some that hurt like hell - and I'm hoping that they will become the impetus I need to get my shit back in order. I have confidence that I'll be just fine with time and a little hard work, but it doesn't make the current feeling suck any less.
I wish I had more substance to send your way, but sadly, I do not. With any luck, I'll have both the time and the content with which to update this thing more in the future. Wish me luck?
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Bouře ve sklenici vody
Trans: A storm in a teacup.
I have returned from the Midwest full of awkward stories that, for some reason, don't seem very interesting at the moment. The drive there was 12 hours, and I was stuck in a car with two strangers I quickly learned I could not stand. The rest of the trip was much, much better.
At the very least, though, I can say I am more positive than ever that I am a big city girl through and through.
Southwestern Illinois was absolutely gorgeous, and I saw the rolling hills of the Shawnee National Forest as a stunning backdrop on our day trip along the wine trail. I strongly regretted not having a working camera, as some of the sights are ones I would've liked to capture to share with anyone who might not be lucky enough to ever see them.
I haven't even told a specific story and I'm already bored with this portion of the post. That said - moving on.
No one's really talking much about it, so I figured I'd go out on a limb and talk about the Olympics (mmm, how facetious of me!).
In all seriousness, though, I'd like to briefly discuss (with myself?) something other than a specific sport or event, or even one or two specific athletes. Granted, like every other warm-blooded human, I do have my own collection of crushes on athletes based solely on their skills/accomplishments and/or their looks. For example: though she is completely illegal for me to even look at like that, and when she talks she sounds like she is perhaps not only illiterate but also a complete ditz, I have an entirely inappropriate crush on Shawn Johnson. I don't understand how she is so little and yet so muscular. I fully believe that if I were driving her somewhere and there was only one spot to park on the street and it was too small, she and her little bag-of-rocks arms could move the car ahead of it to make space for me. And that's hot.
No, I would like to propose a different view of ... well ... how we view the Olympics. I don't know if it's just me, but something about the Olympics - every time, without fail - makes me hyper-nationalistic. And not as in, "And I'm proud to be an Am-err-uh-kiiin, whar at least ah know ah'm freee!" No, no, no. I find myself rabidly proud of my family's heritage.
There, my friends, is where I'd like to make my point. I'm half Czech, half-ish Italian with some southern German thrown in. However, I look Czech, relate more with that side of the family, and have claimed much more of that culture than that of the Italian culture. I was raised much more Czech than Italian, for all intents and purposes.
Every time one of the Olympics...es rolls around, I go into heavy-duty FUCKING PROUD TO BE CZECH mode. Example: did anyone know table tennis was an Olympic sport? Me, neither. But it is! It is, and guess what? There is a super-cute Czech girl competing in the singles event. It seems I have fixated on her as my reason to love being Czech crush.
FUCKING ADORABLE!
I have inexplicably run out of juice with which to write this post, so I am cutting it short and leaving you with something to think about yet again. Where is your family from? Are you finding yourself strangely in love with any and every athlete from your family's country(ies) of origin?
I have returned from the Midwest full of awkward stories that, for some reason, don't seem very interesting at the moment. The drive there was 12 hours, and I was stuck in a car with two strangers I quickly learned I could not stand. The rest of the trip was much, much better.
At the very least, though, I can say I am more positive than ever that I am a big city girl through and through.
Southwestern Illinois was absolutely gorgeous, and I saw the rolling hills of the Shawnee National Forest as a stunning backdrop on our day trip along the wine trail. I strongly regretted not having a working camera, as some of the sights are ones I would've liked to capture to share with anyone who might not be lucky enough to ever see them.
I haven't even told a specific story and I'm already bored with this portion of the post. That said - moving on.
No one's really talking much about it, so I figured I'd go out on a limb and talk about the Olympics (mmm, how facetious of me!).
In all seriousness, though, I'd like to briefly discuss (with myself?) something other than a specific sport or event, or even one or two specific athletes. Granted, like every other warm-blooded human, I do have my own collection of crushes on athletes based solely on their skills/accomplishments and/or their looks. For example: though she is completely illegal for me to even look at like that, and when she talks she sounds like she is perhaps not only illiterate but also a complete ditz, I have an entirely inappropriate crush on Shawn Johnson. I don't understand how she is so little and yet so muscular. I fully believe that if I were driving her somewhere and there was only one spot to park on the street and it was too small, she and her little bag-of-rocks arms could move the car ahead of it to make space for me. And that's hot.
No, I would like to propose a different view of ... well ... how we view the Olympics. I don't know if it's just me, but something about the Olympics - every time, without fail - makes me hyper-nationalistic. And not as in, "And I'm proud to be an Am-err-uh-kiiin, whar at least ah know ah'm freee!" No, no, no. I find myself rabidly proud of my family's heritage.
There, my friends, is where I'd like to make my point. I'm half Czech, half-ish Italian with some southern German thrown in. However, I look Czech, relate more with that side of the family, and have claimed much more of that culture than that of the Italian culture. I was raised much more Czech than Italian, for all intents and purposes.
Every time one of the Olympics...es rolls around, I go into heavy-duty FUCKING PROUD TO BE CZECH mode. Example: did anyone know table tennis was an Olympic sport? Me, neither. But it is! It is, and guess what? There is a super-cute Czech girl competing in the singles event. It seems I have fixated on her as my reason to love being Czech crush.
FUCKING ADORABLE!I have inexplicably run out of juice with which to write this post, so I am cutting it short and leaving you with something to think about yet again. Where is your family from? Are you finding yourself strangely in love with any and every athlete from your family's country(ies) of origin?
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Late Summer Late Post
Sorry it's been roughly forever since I posted. I've moved into my new place in RVA with a sweet-ass new roommate whom I absolutely adore, and I am currently sitting in my awesome new room re-packing stuff I feel like I've just unpacked (and some stuff I really did just unpack) for a ridiculously awesome and long-awaited roadtrip to Illinois.
I'll be in the following states within the next 12ish hours: VA, WV, KY, IN, IL. I'm so super excited!
Hopefully I'll be able to give something remotely substantial when I'm there, or more likely, when I return.
I'll be in the following states within the next 12ish hours: VA, WV, KY, IN, IL. I'm so super excited!
Hopefully I'll be able to give something remotely substantial when I'm there, or more likely, when I return.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Terms of Imprisonment
While I thought my first summer living on my own would be a blast and a half, it has turned out to be pretty much everything but. I do enjoy being able to come and go as I please, and keeping my room as dumpy as I want, but I really miss DC. I miss the people up there, though I suppose no one up there considers me a close friend either, save Rach and maybe my baby sister. Alas.
Work is winding down, as is my last summer class, and while I am excited about it, I realize I will soon be bored out of my mind again like I was in early May. I really hope I can find another job, even if it is far fewer hours and far less pay. Well, maybe not far less. Heh.
I really need to start going to the gym again. I feel schlubby and gross, and I pretty much look it and...am it too. I feel like I am wasting away and being useless while I'm at it. It's the worst feeling in the world, and yet something I apparently cannot get myself over.
Oh hello, life. I am so glad you are fifth-grade-emo again.
Work is winding down, as is my last summer class, and while I am excited about it, I realize I will soon be bored out of my mind again like I was in early May. I really hope I can find another job, even if it is far fewer hours and far less pay. Well, maybe not far less. Heh.
I really need to start going to the gym again. I feel schlubby and gross, and I pretty much look it and...am it too. I feel like I am wasting away and being useless while I'm at it. It's the worst feeling in the world, and yet something I apparently cannot get myself over.
Oh hello, life. I am so glad you are fifth-grade-emo again.
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