A warmer Halloween
First of all, the weather is about as nice as one could ask for being late October in Missouri. Its about 60-70 degrees, and I'm enjoying it! I had an awesome week, it just seemed like I got a lot done and still had a good time.
I went to St. Louis with Lori on Tuesday and watched her little brother play wheelchair basketball. They actually had a college wheelchair player from Arizona who could probably play better than I could with no handicap. Lori's little brother is really good too, he got recruited by Mizzou and will be attending there next year.
I got back late Tuesday night and I decided to study for my Electronics test at Goat House. It was nice just hanging out with Kelly and Jay. Wednesday I aced that electronics test, even with only like 2 hours of studying, which felt good. I also took Lance and John to Goat House that night and we drank some Smirnoffs and studied for Numerical Methods.
There is a point each semester were I finally just give up stressing about classes. Stress builds and builds throughout the semester, and I either just break down, or I give up stressing. Its the feeling that I know everying will get done. It doesn't matter if I start a project now or the night before its due, it will get done, simple as that. Well, I came to that conclusion last week, and once again, I just said screw stressing. Its a huge relief always, and I'm actually doing better in my classes now than I probably would have been doing if I was stressing. Go figure.
Thursday I played poker with some of the guys. This is the first time I've lost money in thier game all semester. Just 5 bucks, no biggie. I misread my friend Jeff, thinking that he was bluffing.
Last comment. I'm reading "Something Wicked This Way Comes" by Ray Bradbury. Chapter 14, this caught my attention: (discussion of 3am)
For, he though, it's a special hour. Women never wake then, do they? They sleep the sleep of babes and children. But men in middle age? They know that hour well. Oh God, midnight's not bad, you wake and go back to sleep, one or two's not bad, you toss but sleep again. Five or six in the morning, there's hope, for dawn is just under the horizon. But three, now, Christ three A.M.! Doctors say the body's at low tide then. The soul is out. The blood moves slow. You're nearest to death you'll ever be save dying. Sleep is a patch of death, but three in the morn, full wide-eyed starting, is living death!...And wasn't it true, had he read it somewhere, more people in hospitals die at 3A.M. than at any other time?
Stop! He cried silently.
"Charlie?" his wife said in her sleep.
Slowly he took off the other shoe.
His wife smiled in her sleep.
Why?
She's immortal. She has a son.
Your son, too!
But what father ever really believes it? He carries no burden, he feels no pain. What man, like women, lies down in darkness and gets up with child? The gentle, smiling ones own the good secret. Oh, what strange wonderful clocks women are. They nest in Time. The make the flesh that holds fast and binds eternity. They live inside the gift, know power, accept, and need not mention it. Why speak of Time when you are Time, and shape the universal moments, as they pass, into warmth and action? How men envy and often hate these warm clocks, these wives, who know they will live forever. So what do we do? We men turn terribly mean, because we can't hold to the world or ourselves or anything. We are blind to continuity, all breaks down, falls, melts, stops, rots, or runs away. So, since we cannot shape Time, where does that leave men? Sleepless. Staring.
Three A.M. That's our reward. Three in the morn. The soul's midnight. The tide goes out, the soul ebbs. ...
"Charlie...?"
His wife's hand moved to his.
"You...all right...Charlie?"
She drowsed.
He did not answer.
He could not tell her how he was.
Sorry for the long excerp. I just was really intrigued by this. I can't remember how often I'd still be up in the wee hours of the morning, and my dad would be awake too. Just kinds interesting.
I went to St. Louis with Lori on Tuesday and watched her little brother play wheelchair basketball. They actually had a college wheelchair player from Arizona who could probably play better than I could with no handicap. Lori's little brother is really good too, he got recruited by Mizzou and will be attending there next year.
I got back late Tuesday night and I decided to study for my Electronics test at Goat House. It was nice just hanging out with Kelly and Jay. Wednesday I aced that electronics test, even with only like 2 hours of studying, which felt good. I also took Lance and John to Goat House that night and we drank some Smirnoffs and studied for Numerical Methods.
There is a point each semester were I finally just give up stressing about classes. Stress builds and builds throughout the semester, and I either just break down, or I give up stressing. Its the feeling that I know everying will get done. It doesn't matter if I start a project now or the night before its due, it will get done, simple as that. Well, I came to that conclusion last week, and once again, I just said screw stressing. Its a huge relief always, and I'm actually doing better in my classes now than I probably would have been doing if I was stressing. Go figure.
Thursday I played poker with some of the guys. This is the first time I've lost money in thier game all semester. Just 5 bucks, no biggie. I misread my friend Jeff, thinking that he was bluffing.
Last comment. I'm reading "Something Wicked This Way Comes" by Ray Bradbury. Chapter 14, this caught my attention: (discussion of 3am)
For, he though, it's a special hour. Women never wake then, do they? They sleep the sleep of babes and children. But men in middle age? They know that hour well. Oh God, midnight's not bad, you wake and go back to sleep, one or two's not bad, you toss but sleep again. Five or six in the morning, there's hope, for dawn is just under the horizon. But three, now, Christ three A.M.! Doctors say the body's at low tide then. The soul is out. The blood moves slow. You're nearest to death you'll ever be save dying. Sleep is a patch of death, but three in the morn, full wide-eyed starting, is living death!...And wasn't it true, had he read it somewhere, more people in hospitals die at 3A.M. than at any other time?
Stop! He cried silently.
"Charlie?" his wife said in her sleep.
Slowly he took off the other shoe.
His wife smiled in her sleep.
Why?
She's immortal. She has a son.
Your son, too!
But what father ever really believes it? He carries no burden, he feels no pain. What man, like women, lies down in darkness and gets up with child? The gentle, smiling ones own the good secret. Oh, what strange wonderful clocks women are. They nest in Time. The make the flesh that holds fast and binds eternity. They live inside the gift, know power, accept, and need not mention it. Why speak of Time when you are Time, and shape the universal moments, as they pass, into warmth and action? How men envy and often hate these warm clocks, these wives, who know they will live forever. So what do we do? We men turn terribly mean, because we can't hold to the world or ourselves or anything. We are blind to continuity, all breaks down, falls, melts, stops, rots, or runs away. So, since we cannot shape Time, where does that leave men? Sleepless. Staring.
Three A.M. That's our reward. Three in the morn. The soul's midnight. The tide goes out, the soul ebbs. ...
"Charlie...?"
His wife's hand moved to his.
"You...all right...Charlie?"
She drowsed.
He did not answer.
He could not tell her how he was.
Sorry for the long excerp. I just was really intrigued by this. I can't remember how often I'd still be up in the wee hours of the morning, and my dad would be awake too. Just kinds interesting.
posted by Jacob at 2:50 PM
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