?

Wait for it.

EDIT: I do not know what to do with this post now. It is a monument to failure. Dr. Seuss said it best: it is a quite useless place. 
Included @ 1/21/2004 03:44:00 PM; And so on, etcetera, etcetera.

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Time. I am always pressed for time while I write. Today, I have found my silent solace in the library of Chattahoochee Technical College. I think I will be posting from libraries as often as possible in the future. It is therapeutic.

Once again presuming that someone was paying attention, my last post before the gap left on a cliffhanger. I got coerced into applying to a local college for winter quarter at the last minute. As my broadcast location testifies, the expedition was indeed 'successful'. I am now up to my neck in shit.

My mother is a wonderful woman. I hate her.

I have no money. She has no money. I am supposed to be looking for a new job. I am supposed to be fixing up the house. I am supposed to be getting fit.

"What? You want me to spend three hundred dollars on tuition and books and saddle myself with the responsibility of going to class and writing research papers? Sure Mom! That's a terrific idea!"

I am sure that sounds pessimistic and/or lazy. But I have been to college before and failed spectacularly; I cannot afford magical thinking. I am, at present, still a person with problems.

My class starts at six o' clock. It is now five twenty-six.

The worst of it all is what I did after I got registered:

nothing.

I spent the two weeks of Christmas break hanging out with my friends as much a possible. I did not finish my hurried school research and make sure everything was in order, I did not look for a new job, and I did not catch up on helping mother. Bite me in the ass, indeed.

Self-referential code language, indeed.

To anyone who just started reading this: I said in December, before a hiatus from this blog, that my complacency was going to bite me in the ass. It has.

Now, you see the problem I have with the blog? I cannot constantly restate everything I have previously said for the sake of a hypothetical new reader. I would never get anything said!

My class starts in twenty-five minutes.

I am taking just one course, ENG 191, also known as 'Composition And Rhetoric'. In the state of Georgia, which has an otherwise dismal educational system- even by American standards- we have a wonderful thing called the HOPE scholarship. Helping Outstanding Students Educationally. Yes, it is a mangled acronym. Who cares? The HOPE program will pay all your tuition to any state college if you meet the following requirements:

1.You must have and maintain a 3.0 cumulative GPA

I did not graduate from high school with a sufficient average. To get the scholarship after high school, a student must achieve a three-point-oh after a minimum of thirty attempted and earned semester credit-hours. I attempted and earned twenty-seven semester credit-hours during my previous college excursion. I have a GPA of exactly three-point-oh, despite how badly that whole business turned out. To get the HOPE scholarship, I need only complete one additional course and score a three-point-oh or above. I found all this out during my frantic college research in December.

ENG 191 will transfer to any college in Georgia no questions asked, and I took no english course last time. It seemed a good choice. My mother wishes I had signed up for full time classes.

My class begins in eight minutes. I am going to the classroom.

May you all have a nice day today. 
Included @ 1/08/2004 05:03:00 PM; And so on, etcetera, etcetera.

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Until I am stable enough again, I am afraid all my posts shall be nameless.

Blogger taunts me with its reversal of my words; the oldest post should be at the top, and the page should load at the bottom. That would feel weird, but that is the way it ought to be.

Because if you just started reading, you do not know why I said I would not name my posts. Scroll down. When I fix this, eventually, you will need to scroll up.

Anyway.

<POST> 
Included @ 1/08/2004 04:49:00 PM; And so on, etcetera, etcetera.

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I used to waste sometimes fifteen minutes trying to think of a title before starting to write a post. There I am, raring to go, full of word, lots of high-pressure thought to sink, and what do I do? I blither about what I am going to call it.

IT DOES NOT NEED A NAME.

Somebody wrote- I know who, I just cannot recall his name; I will look it up- that unnamed poems are like unnamed children. I once fancied myself a poet, and immodestly admit that in high school I crafted several ouerves which did in fact not kill anyone. I was very proud of that.

A poem is, to me, a word. The title of the poem is how you say the word; the text of the poem is its definition. It is a formulation and subsequent concentration of meaning into a single capsule. It represents that thing I am trying to figure out how to say, If I can only figure out what it is that I am trying to say.

And blog posts are, for me, alike to poems in that respect of being a distillation of state of mind, boiled down and refined and ready for reader ingestion. So I feel their names are important. But it is better that they be nameless than unborn.

So is born another word.

<POST> 
Included @ 1/08/2004 04:37:00 PM; And so on, etcetera, etcetera.

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It is now seven-sixteen post meridiem, on January seventh, the year two thousand four. I am at Cobb County Central Library, where I had my first ever job. I got up the nerve to come back here again late in November, and things are fine now. I have my library back. The library closes at nine. They are very strict about that.

I better write fast.

Better yet, I better post this as I write it, as I will probably be interrupted by the computer-use timer as well as the closing doors.

<POST>

If I am presumptuous enough to believe that a few people were following my blog in the fall, I will now be hopeful enough to believe that I have not lost them all in the gap. I further will hope that a new reader might still stumble upon my blog and make sense of it.

Yes, I am delusionally optimistic today. And how are you?

At present only the day of the week is listed before each post- that will change- so if you cannot tell or do not know, my last post was quite a while ago. I got distracted. I am, in fact, still distracted; but I am heartened that I have now summoned the focus to compose sentences.

I should have written an outline for this post.

<POST>

Two minutes left on the thirty-minute timer.

I am at the library because

<INTERRUPT>

Well, pleasant surprise: Blogger keeps the library computer-use timer from closing this window automatically. I logged back in. I have another thirty minutes.

<POST>

Sometimes my mind starts yelling at me louder and louder about something it wants to say, about something that I want to say, and I do not know what it is that we want to say even but I keep wanting to say it and meanwhile people are expecting me to say something and I am frantically running around in my brain searching for the thing it is that I want to say that my mind keeps telling me is there, somewhere, if I would only just look a little bit harder or maybe it is in a book somewhere that I read once maybe if I just go back and read it again but it does not sound like I remember it did somehow I thought it was the thing but it is not the thing it is something else and all the time my mind is yelling at me to say the thing and I still do not even know what the thing is but I know it is there somewhere I just need the words they must be in the dictionary no not that one not that one not that one not that one not that one not that one be quiet I am looking already no not that one no not that one and all the time people are still expecting me to say something and wondering what is taking him so long and I still do not know how to say it and then all at once it comes out and it sounds and looks and feels and smells and tastes like this:

WORD

It is very quiet in the library. That is why I am in the library.

<POST>

It feels good to be writing again. Except now, of course, I have to come up with something to write, again.

<POST>

Now I am just playing with the post bu

<INTERRUPT>

tton. Stupid timer. I am going to move to another computer.

<POST>

No, wait, I am not: the computer that was free is not any more. The librarian nearest the computers said that patrons are not supposed to take more than two consecutive computer sessions, even when no one is waiting. Which is the sort of attitude which got me in trouble when I worked here. I want to move to where I am sure he cannot see me. I am going to log off. I may end up continuing this from home.

<POST> 
Included @ 1/07/2004 07:24:00 PM; And so on, etcetera, etcetera.

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