J: If you don't stop those self-defeating lies you've been repeating

(...Since the day you brought me home.) I know you're strong.

Yeah, that's a Weakerthans lyric up there. A few weeks ago Cary namedropped them on his blog, which got my curiosity up. He recommended a few songs, a few of which I downloaded, along with others he did not mention (in sum total, five, all enjoyable: Aside, Left and Leaving, The Reasons, Civil Twilight, and Plea from a Cat Named Virtue, whom which I've drawn the title.)

I'm feeling pretty good right now. It was a gorgeous day, nice and warm, good for walking around. I've got some good stuff ahead of me, and all my stress is now behind me. I feel quite proud for having survived, I'm just relieved it's all over with.

And I mean, I know the score. Everyone goes through the same March Massacre, and really, there isn't much worse about what I've just gone through than your typical undergrad. But this is SWP and I've got to feel everything 75% more intensely than your average person. It's a well-documented fact I don't deal with stress well. If you've been following this blog (and clearly I needn't even ask, if you're reading this,) you will no doubt the thrilled with the conclusion of the month long epic that has been my March.

So Wednesday, I came home early. I hung around Innis all afternoon as usual, so as to keep my options open but by 5:00 I'd basically decided I was not going to AmLit. The paper was in, I wasn't interested in the lecture topic, and I'm so good about attending lectures I owe myself the occasional skip (at least, when you consider how often some people skip.) I dedicated the evening - the parts that did not concern Lost - to organizing my Lear presentation, which I've had on the docket since February, but had neglected, gathering bits and pieces of material as it came. Scraps.

Thursday, a fairly nondescript day wherein my TA did not point out I hadn't appeared in two weeks (not surprising, except in my frenzied paranoid brain.) I was paired with another dude to discuss the French student revolt of May 1968. This topic is not new to me, having seen Tout Va Bien, last year, where "May '68" is basically a refrain. It didn't take long for us to distill the article, and then we got to talking, about literature (which, as an English major, I should be far more interested in than I am,) and film. Particularly, he asked if I'd seen any Bergman (yes.) I don't know why this conversation is noteworthy except that, well, I'm never that talkative. Prior to the TA's arrival, we were talking about the class, particularly the imbalance of Germany versus all other nations in the curriculum. I defended, saying that the first half is basically the Germany story, which bleeds into the USSR story. I'm English by descent, but that doesn't mean I want to hear more about the UK than about Germany. Another girl concurred, declaring, "I like Hitler." Laughs. Me: "Don't say that too loud."

Thursday night, the last thing I had to do, writing my Shakespeare essay. At this point I'm pretty exhausted, and just relieved that I have one class where I can hand in my essay on Friday when it was due Monday and not lose any marks. I really felt engaged with the material (Nature as a thee in Lear) but I may have gotten too soft and wound up in the realm of the abstract. It's either my best essay, or worst. Or in the middle. Who the fuck knows. I sure don't. It was writted fairly quickly (I like to think the ideas came gradually and were well prepared to be written) after the Office. So that's under 2 hours between 9:30 and 11:30.

So I woke up this morning after an erratic sleep. One of those dreams where you're more tired upon waking than you were when you lay down. It was pretty frantic, dizzying. I couldn't possibly recall the chaotic plot (if it can be said to be) of the dream, but I will summarize the craziness with the following phrase: "Time traveling Run-DMC." Which of us were time traveling and for what purpose, I can hardly remember, but there you go. Let your imagination run wild - mine sure did.

My head is a very strange place to be lately. Actually, I'm not sure that's a recent development. So I got up today, abuzz for the prospect of a new day. The last things on my list. I was on the subway daydreaming about my presentation when a guy across from me, seemingly out of nowhere, grabs the crossbar overhead (the one you hold onto when there's no seats) and starts doing chin-ups. I've been commuting for nearly 2 years now, and I've never seen such a thing. This city can still surprise.

So I got to the classroom, and was the first to arrive, right before the girl who was the other person set to present today. She saw me arranging my papers and asked whether I wanted to go first. We flipped for it. I won, and volunteered to present my scene first. It was earlier in the play anyway, and I wanted to get it over with.

The presentations were different in tone. Whereas she had meticulously-written cue cards, I mostly went off the top of my head (having mostly internalized the scene) winging it as I read over the scene, occasionally referring to my notes, repeating myself, rambling, mumbling "where am I going?" at points of uncertainty, and occasionally making humorous asides. I spoke mostly on the theatrical effect of the scene, noting that at first I had my doubts, thinking "Okay, so here's a guy talking about the weather report for two pages." Laughs. Then as I'd re-read, I realized the scene was of vital importance to the play as written by Shakespeare. Not only that, but it was an excellent performance piece (which in my dry occasionally recitations, I butchered.) 20 minutes went by alarmingly quickly in this way, and I closed with the theory that the Fool is Cordelia.

The conversational trend continued afterward, as a random girl from the class approached me to make small talk as we walked in the same direction but not, ultimately, to the same building. Whether there's potential or not, it never hurts to get chatted up by a random girl, even if the conversational topic is the presentation I'd just done.

So I felt great for the rest of the day. Walked out for comics. Spent the rest of the evening kicking around and enjoying the now-unlimited (at least for a few weeks) prospects of relaxation. It's good to be free.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto