East of Eden is the novel that I have been reading. It is one of Steinbeck's finest, and it is probably one of the best books I have ever read. The character development is unparalleled; I am afraid that he so accurately uncovers the wickedness of the human heart (especially the FEMALE human heart) that I will be driven to avoid becoming friends with any more women to avoid entangling myself with one of his characters. I have about fifty or so pages left, and I'm thinking about staying up later than 2:30 A.M. to finish it.
I have been home from school for about two weeks now, and once again all the critics in my mind agree that Sumter, SC is the most recuperative place for my soul to exist. Not much can surpass the warmth of family and friends coupled with the time to pursue non-mandatory things that actually, dare I say it, are enjoyable to me? Today the life of Michael Kendall looked like this:
Wake up around 9-9:30.
Eat breakfast with Mom in front of the fireplace.
Shower, change clothes.
Change oil on my car (while narrowly avoiding destruction when my car fell with me underneath it).
Make sculpture with my stick welder.
Practice more piano.
Read more Steinbeck.
Take Sarabeth out for a smoothie.
Watch a movie, have a smoke, go to bed.
Please, contain your jealousy. Feel free to stop bye, I would love to entertain you. I think tomorrow I am going to go shoot guns in a field. By myself.
Friday, December 28, 2007
Sunday, December 9, 2007
This painting is one of my favorites. It reminds me of home by way of reminding me of mother. She is a watercolor painter and can recreate beautiful still life's in almost as fair a fashion as Matisse. At this point in time it is Sunday afternoon on December the eighth. I have only 2 exams left and there is only half a paper left to type. Finally, a light at the end of the tunnel. On Monday I will turn in 6 project analyses for Music Theory, a paper for Music Theory, and a final project, also for music theory. I didn't think I would finish this last week alive. I have been getting 3 or 4 hours of sleep consistently for a week now, and I am more than ready to break that pattern. As I sit here at my desk with my Henri Matisse still life on the right and my favorite novels and texts directly above, I find myself wanting to crawl in side one of their stories, or to try and reach into his painting and grab one of the apples and taste it's brilliance for myself. When one is constantly engaging in academic toil for two, three weeks at a time with hardly the spare second to think, they become covered with what I would define as the academic sweat. It is an exoskeleton made up of runoff from fluorescent lighting, computer screens, and dusty books in rickety study carrols. It diminishes the subject's ability to sample the brilliance of existence by distracting him with the mundane. This is not so much a tangible physical film that can be washed with soap and water, it is more a mental cloud that descends upon the subject of toil and doesn't leave until that individual is displaced into an atmosphere of calm, peaceful thoughtlessness. Thoughtlessness in the sense that results for an absence of scholastic toil and hardship. I cannot wait to return home to peaceful Sumter and engage the minds of my family with the acumen I have accrued this semester. I also can't wait to not have to think about whether or not I can afford (timewise) to blog...