Sunday, February 26, 2006

Peter Pan.

Every morning, I wake up with an increasingly large distaste for adults. I'm not sure why, but as I've grown older, I've developed a strong hatred for the features we adults hold in common -- selfishness, opportunism, racism and cruelty. My recent response has been to withdraw, retreat, isolate myself away from people.

As a consequence, it's made it difficult for me to wish to do anything for anyone. In adopting that attitude, am I not becoming the thing I hate the most?

It's strange, I no longer feel compelled to talk to people in the elevator or help someone that's dropped a bag of groceries. It's as if I'm watching a Polaroid picture of myself develop and my kindness is fading out, not in. Am I destined to be an asshole? Does being an adult necessitate behaving like most would?

Friday, February 24, 2006

If Only...


The winter here has been relatively mild, so I'm told. In my naive opinion, it's still cold as hell. Wait, isn't hell hot? Never mind. In any case, above is a photo of Mujin Harbor in Turks and Caicos. Why they didn't build Fancypants University on a tropical island remains a mystery to me.

Tuesday, February 21, 2006

The World of Me.



It's been a while. I've been overloaded with work and writing. The author I met with recently would like to meet again to discuss my progress. It's surprising that an accomplished writer would take an interest in my work. All appears well on that front.

Scientifically, things are going somewhat well. Not as well as the writing, but things are chugging along.

I'm also teaching this semester. It's an introductory course. Teaching freshman is always fun. They're motivated, excited and free of the bad habits that typically set in with older students. I've got a couple of ravenous pre-med students on my hands. Jesus, I spent 30 minutes today explaining to one of said students why losing two points really isn't the end of the world.

Not too long ago, I took a trip to Walden Pond. I sat and thought. About everything. About nothing. After stumbling across the above sign placed near Thoreau's cabin, I asked myself, "Have I lived deliberately? Have I really lived at all for that matter?" Having felt a bit spooked by the introspection induced by a simple sign, I started walking. I shook the disquieting prospect of my prior questions, by following them up with, "Has anyone?"