The Unrecognizable Chord Progression

Bless the gifts of adolescence for making such cavernous emotions fleeting, bless the strength and stupidity for making them linger. Faced with, *gasp*, nothing to do and nothing to read this Friday evening, I return to my print seduction. Rereading my rants of this past year, I'm chuckling, a little bit sad, but mostly, curiously nostalgic.

Where did all those tumultous feelings go? Am I getting better at churning through the mourning process, better forgiving, quicker forgetting? When I stop and think about it, asides from the absurdity of reflection, I'm torn. Half of me craves the storms of sadness, craves the excitement of loss -- no, more of the perpetual re-creation and reinvention of such inert hell. The other side, ever the pragmatist, marvels at my progress, remembering the pain and longing and sad hope in rejection. I look back at how I was, and can't piece together how it is that I am, existing in joy and challenge and ambition, today. What particularly struck me was the dates of entries, how half told reminisces tumbled forth, never really admitting anything, awash and tangled in my eloquance. (Chris you are totally right). I spit out half sentences, curious and trying to convince myself to not let it be happening, as if not believing could've saved me from giving a piece of my heart to Jon.

And then finally semi-OK, standing on my own feet, and Noah hit me like a ton of bricks. There. I said his name. See? I really did. It was more of a thunderstorm, really, quick, angry, brilliant, terrifying, quenching, and making the dry nights all the more heart wrenching. I still belive that he, and his absence, hit me so hard because it illuminated my loss of control. Yes, I lost control when I got drunk that night. I was not in control when I let my grades slide all semester, mourning something I never had, and believing my immortality. I still believe thats what positive I take from my experience with Noah -- the reminder of the problems of guarding my emotions so tightly, that feeling to the extend that my head is mostly above water, is OK. I lost control this spring because I was too far gone to notice, too deluded to realize. The catastrophe of that night woke me. So Noah Hallet, where every you are, hear this. What you allowed me to do to myself was horrible. But you have forced me to reevaluate myself, and for this, I'm greatful. The risk is always worth it. Always.

Wow. That came from somewhere far, a dream totally unexplainable, so totally removed from the day at hand. Isn't it funny, to be surprised with one's emotional stability? Like, where the hell did that come from? Huh. To be content with the drudgery of my days --that is what I gain from new beginnings. I'm strangely and unfamiliarly satisfied. Monterey is a transfixingly beautiful spot. Home for the summer is perched on the top of Prescott Avenue, a good 18 blocks straight up from the city. No joke, this hill is quite San Francisco-esqe at places, raucuously 45 degrees and taunting. I've made it up 4-5 blocks so far, but even the trudge the rest of the way leaves me invigorated, and all endorphin high. I figure the hill is quite a fitting metaphor for my studies, if I can make it to the top by the end of the summer, I take absolutely no fears of linguistic incompetance with me to St. Petersburg. Classes are going strangely well. For the moment I think I'll cast that off to first week strangeness, and do my damndest not to get complacent. I did, in fact, keep my placement in the Intermediate group, to much suprise and relief. For the moment I'm holding my own suprisingly well. My class of 10 is mostly graduate students, all 5-10 years older than me on their best days. Me being me, I'm trying hard not to disclose my age, but failing miserably. I'm kind of glad that I'm not living in the Institute Housing, for a lot of reasons. Only one being not having to deal with being young and underage on a nightly basis. I feel no pressure to be social, which is almost charming. I came home tonight after an abrievated stop at happy hour to mooch free food, and and studied for about 2 hours before giving up. This summer is like, the fulfillment of all my secret Nerd fantasies.

Masha is coming tommorow!

Lord. Must find Monterey Library. Must must must. Before I wither away all Emily Dickinson like.