The Zen of Stupidity

I wrote this in a journal sometime in August and unearthed it last night. I think I may have been onto something. My question is, who was that person? Where has all of that optimism and insight gone in the last eight months?

8/11/05
How many things in this life do we leave undone for fear that we'll look stupid? And in spite of all our grown up, mature inhibitions, how often do we end up feeling stupid anyway?

Coming off of the heels of a harrowing attempt at love, I'm feeling a little stupid these days. I certainly look stupid! I looked stupid in love, with my silly smile and failure to process any thoughts not related to The One. And now, out of love, I look even stupider, with my deflated hopes and puffy eyes.

But that, I realize, is the juice of life. It's the good stuff. The taking risks, taking plunges, believing in the unknowns. This is what life is about. It's running out and banking on the highly unlikely, fully aware that we're going to look and feel stupid when it's all said and done. If I go through each day deciding what NOT to do for fear that people will laugh or I'll feel silly or embarassment will stain my cheeks, then why get out of bed? What have I gained if I haven't risked a thing?

Wisdom is finding a place in life where you don't care how stupid you look. This is maturity. This is happiness. We should all strive for the zen of stupidity.

Spring Fever

I can't concentrate on anything today. The window is wide open and this amazing early-spring breeze is circulating through my office, making it seem obscene to pour my energy into things like end-of-year reports and budget balancing. Scantily clad students are lying in the sun all over campus today, and I can't say I blame them. Spring in Ohio is a WAY bigger deal than it is down south. We bundle up in October and stay that way for the duration, spending as little time as possible outside, because we'll be plagued with slush and salt and dirty snow (and besides, the sun's only putting in a rare appearance). Those first few days of spring, when everything is melted and the trees are starting to flower and you can smell the green in the air, feel like manna from heaven.

Naturally I'm feeling pretty good these days--large doses of sunlight will do that to you. And I'm feeling restless. I blame spring for that, too--nature's on a crazy frenzy to bloom and reproduce, so doesn't it make sense that people start to feel the same way? It doesn't help that people are pairing off left and right, and my sister is seriously pregnant, and my ambiguous relationship continues to get more and more confusing as I refuse to confront it. I hate it when I get like this, focusing too much on my state of singleness and ignoring everything else that's great about my life.

OK, so I haven't written about my Philip Seymour Hoffman obsession lately. This month in O magazine, they asked him what his favorite books were...and of course he and I have a shared favorite (A Thousand Acres, by Jane Smiley, in case anybody's wondering). Peacegrrl Seymour Hoffman...I like the sound of that. I can't wait to see him play a mean bastard in the new Mission Impossible movie, even if it means enduring a few hours of that crazy fucker Tom Cruise. And I'm extraordinarily pleased to see that PSH finally has a fan site , even if it's a little lame. It's a start.

Well, I've managed to successfuly kill about an hour and a half on this post, so I guess I'll get back to today's version of "work," which basically entails listening to Interpol and pushing paperwork around my desk. Happy springtime!
-pg

The moodiest person I know

That would be me. I'm honestly starting to think I'm some kind of freak. Last week and the week before, I was a bundle of nerves, stress, and depression. This week, I'm a bundle of nerves, stress, and strange euphoria. I look back at journal entries from January, when I was on an optimism kick, and I wonder, who the hell was that? Then I look at stuff from last week, when I was doom-and-gloom and thoroughly obnoxious to all of my wonderful friends who are good enough to put up with me, and I think, well, who the hell was that?

Grr. My life is filled with uncertainties, and I deal with uncertainty as unproductively as possible. I worry about it, talk about it, write about it, obsess over it, and don't do much about it. Cases in point: I need to finalize my degree plan so I can graduate in August...but instead of going through the somewhat tedious process, I simply COMPLAIN about it. I don't sleep well, so I take sleeping medicine, but then I proceed to worry about the implications of taking it--will I get addicted? Do I really need it? Am I going to start sleeping too much? I need to confront a relationship that has gotten complicated and started to spill over the borders of a platonic friendship, but instead of having the talk, I worry about having the talk: have I been misinterpreting everything? Will I get rejected? Will I get depressed if I get rejected? How depressed? BLAH.

I am in a funk today. I slept without a sleeping pill last night, which means I had an actual dream (instead of the normal Ambien blackness). It was one that goes on forever, continues after you wake up, hit snooze, and doze back off; one that sticks with you all day. Super wierd, all about Casey (formerly The Guy, remember?), who I haven't spoken to in forever, so I have absolutely no idea where the hell it came from. Don't you hate it when you have a dream like that, that clings and leaves you with an anxious, confused feeling? At least I'm in a good mood. The semester is very quickly coming to a close, summer stretches out with at least the strong possibility that I will graduate, and the sun is out. Life could most certainly be worse.

Ah...Texas.

All pictures courtesy of islegavia, who actually survived an entire week with me and my family (and we both came out alive!)

The Alamo...

...and the Alamo Crackers.

Me and my tacky Texas mug

Huntsville Prison...also known as The Walls

Big pecan (actually, it's really just a big hunk of painted cement)

Only in Texas.

More about the trip--and my sloppy life--coming soon...

-pg

On the road again

So I got back from Indianapolis about 48 hours ago, and in a little more than 12 I'll be on the way to Texas. Thank goodness I have a washer and dryer in my apartment, or clean underwear would definitely be a problem after my 2-week travel marathon. Islegavia has decided to brave the wilds of H-town with me, so I'm hoping it's a success. My family--mom with a broken arm, sister three months pregnant (and quite grumpy about it), aunt Hazel crazy as always, and Tequila the Wonderdog--who actually ATE her way out of her harness--should provide endless hours of entertainment. It will make for some good stories, at the very least.

So I turn 27 in a few days, and I'm reflecting on the fact that birthdays start to suck after around age 17. When you're little, it's as if a special holiday has been set aside just for you, complete with ice-cream cake from 31 Flavors and matching Strawberry Shortcake dinnerware. When you're older, it's just about getting older. Sure, you might get a free margarita out of the deal, and some well-meaning friend will try and get you humiliated by the waitstaff at Ruby Tuesday's, but overall the shine has definitely worn off. I'm about to round the bend to 30, the biological clock is ticking as always, and I don't feel like I've accomplished much of anything. Welcome to the self-pity-fest known as the quarterlife crisis.

Well, with a stack of things to do before I can blow out of here I guess I'd better quit reflecting and get to work. By the way, Peacegrrl's World reached a milestone last week: 7,000 hits (since I put in a counter, anyway, and I can't remember when that was). Cool. I know this blog can be terribly whiny and self-indulgent, but I hope it's at least a little entertaining, too. Thanks for reading!
-pg

Damn you, chocolatey goodness!

So I just ate a king-size Three Musketeers bar. It's divided into two little bars, so that ideally you will eat one and save the other for later. As if. Three Musketeers is not a choice candy bar, it's the one I get because it's supposedly "big on chocolate, not on fat." But that fluffy crap in the middle is SO not chocolate. All you're really getting is the outside shell, and of course the miniscule amount of real chocolate in that little half-bar isn't enough. The point is that now, having consumed the whole thing, I have both a sugar high and a mild stomach ache. Blah.

What else can I complain about? Well, I'm missing South by Southwest, a big film/music festival down in Austin this week. Who's going to be there? Oh, nobody big. Just a whole crapload of famous people and under-appreciated indie bands...and NEIL YOUNG. Piss. But it's ok--Death Cab for Cutie and Franz Ferdinand will be in Austin on March 29th. Definite possibilty for when I'm down in TX for spring break...provided islegavia is up for it. Speaking of whom, islegavia's
window is famous! Immortalized forever on urbanohio.com! Who knew.

This week I am uncharacteristically happy because I'm off to Indy for a conference this weekend. Having never explored the great midwestern cities, this is kind of exciting. Actually, I'm more excited about escaping from the sea of drunken undergrads just in time for St. Patrick's Day. Several of my favorite people are job searching this weekend. I wish them luck, but it's a major downer because I don't want them to leave. There are many "worst things" about working in higher ed, but I think one of them is the fact that there are no constants. Your student population obviously changes, but so do your coworkers. Most folks don't stick around for longer than 3-5 years. For me, so dependant on my surrogate family of colleagues, this is a major drag. And yet another factor in my ongoing inner debate about whether or not to stay out in the world or go back to TX and be with my family.

Alrighty, an hour and a half left in the office and I need to have something to show for it, so I'm out. Safe St. Patrick's Day to all...
-pg

A Phillip Seymour Hoffman love story.

Ok. I realize, as I have stated time and time again, that I am the only female alive willing to admit that I find Phillip Seymour Hoffman remotely attractive. This isn't an actor with a fan site full of screensavers and wallpaper and gushing comments. But I can't help it. I love him. And now he has an OSCAR, so back off!!!

Oh, Phillip (can I call you Phil?), when did my affections begin? Maybe it was when you played that junkie on the 1991 episode of Law and Order. Or maybe you won my heart when you tried to bring father and son together in Magnolia. In any case, State and Main and Empire Falls pretty much sealed it. Sure, they say you're chubby and unattractive, but I say you're portly and endearing. If you ever get lonely, just call the peacegrrl.

Alrighty, enough of that. Last night was the annual pg oscar party, and hilarity certainly ensued. I annoyed everyone during the montages with my endless proclamations of "I've seen that! It's good!", and was even more obnoxious when all of my oscar predictions came true. But my friends endured all of it, and seriously cheered me up after a depressing weekend. I'm so relieved that the semester is half over, and that ACPA and Spring Break are just around the corner. And that I'm only on duty on more time this month--my weekend was total hell. I am not exaggerating--I was up both nights until 4am dealing with alcohol abuse in some form (including some girl-on-girl fighting in one of the halls!), and my pager went off so many times that the battery literally died. Blah! At least it's over and I survived. It's a new week, and I vow to keep my pissiness to a minimum. Maybe I'll give up pessimism for Lent?
-pg