I
When reflecting on what I wanted to say about the end of last month, I read the first in this series, written in 2003. It started: It’s that time again—when I stay awake for 98, 73, 61, 55, and so on hours on end, barely snatching sleep in car rides provided on someone else’s dime as they’re worried I’m too far beyond needing sleep to safely maneuver a motor vehicle on my own … .
This was the first late November of the last five where I’ve been forced to acknowledge I’m no longer 21 and capable of such feats of sleeplessness. And for what it’s worth, though I’m too familiar with the frayed edge for my preference, at least I’m better now at recognizing it.
II
In case you missed it:
- Only Collect, written by a 23-year-old historian.
- Singing: The Key To A Long Life, written by the venerable Brian Eno (via kottke).
- All Streets, a map of all 26 million road segments in the continental United States.
- A Happy Sky Over Los Angeles, Astronomy Picture of the Day for 3 December 2008.
III
A tour of Fallingwater was the birthday gift I couldn’t give myself for the last three years, and I’m glad I waited to share the experience with friends.
The trip inspired me to spring for the 50mm f/1.4 lens, to take better pictures, to re-learn how to focus.
IV
I spent my first Thanksgiving away from family with classmates under similar circumstances. I baked cookies, drank beer, slept in.
V
The toll for November 2008: two scarves — vestiges of my first DC winter, two USB drives (one recovered), a debit card, the truck I grew up with, five pounds of fat, innumerable hours of sleep. As much as I regret starting graduate school during an election year, I’m glad I’m making the commute, skimming 300-page books every weekend, fiddling with WordPress, and writing papers where I have to cite my references.
I’m also in the market for a new scarf.
VI
There is no number VI.
VII
That said, December 2008 may yet be worse, roiled by more conflict between things that have to be done, things I’d like to do, and total time in which to accomplish them both while maintaining my mental and physical health.
While I know some classmates are living in dread these next couple weeks, I’m sincerely enjoying writing my final paper. I think it’s because — even though I scarcely plan what I learn — I’ve long known why I write, why I force my language into and upon that accrued knowledge. When people ask what I intend to do once I’ve earned my degree, I answer it’s too soon to tell. The career isn’t the point, and though I acknowledge that the lines on my résumé are helpful, the degree isn’t the point either.
VIII
To a degree, I know what I’m after in life, and I know that it just doesn’t happen spontaneously.
And I know I’m almost demonically lucky. Still, I burned — worked tirelessly, desiccated emotionally — to arrive at this point.
I believe that when opportunity knocks, it knocks quietly and leaves quickly, like a shy child selling candy. It is incumbent upon us to listen intently, to recognize that trembling door. And when we greet opportunity on the other side, rarely does it enter. It expects us to follow.
IX
Friday morning now, and my typing for the remainder of the day ought to be spent on CSS rather than introspection.
That first paragraph written five years ago ends: So much has come and gone in four days. I don’t really know where to start or why I’m writing this. Same reasons I’ve always written, I suppose.
For now, back to work.