Basket Case

Picking up pieces that were never there in the first place is quite the task for the one who is carrying the basket.

M*A*S*H

I can always count on Harry's for providing my M*A*S*H fix while I study.

Clinger really put his high-heeled foot in it this time.

Learn the military alphabet

Dear teachers, students, and anyone who has to define an alphabet letter,

You suck.

What is this, A as in apple. B as in boy. C as in cat. D as in dog. E as in elephant. F as in father. G as in girl. H as in hat. I as in Inuit. 

People, have some decency or universality  please. So I can understand you, so when you are stranded on an island you're not stranded forever because the Coast Guard couldn't understand your letter associations. 

My recent encounter was with a lady over the telephone spelling MCNT, in which I was given a Mary, Cat, Nancy, Tom. She must have two daughters named Mary and Nancy, and a Tomcat. Or a cat named Tom. I couldn't quite figure that one out.

LEARN THE MILITARY ALPHABET. IMPRESS ME.

A:  Alpha
B:  Bravo
C:  Charlie
D:  Delta
E:  Echo
F:  Foxtrot
G:  Golf
H:  Hotel
I:  India
J:  Juliet
K:  Kilo
L:  Lima
M:  Mike
N:  November
O:  Oscar
P:  Papa
Q:  Quebec
R:  Romeo
S:  Sierra
T:  Tango
U:  Uniform
V:  Victor
W:  Whiskey
X:  X-Ray
Y:  Yankee
Z:  Zulu

Hacer la Pelota

I've unknowingly and exponentially become one of "those" students. That one student who talks with the teacher after class in the hallway.

Happens.

Signature Frustrations

There may not be a more aggravating frustration than having to obtain signatures for a form. Communication between the departments at Samford is horrendous, and I am the one suffering from this internal breakdown.

I would love to have all of the people that are involved in the coordinating process have a meeting about ME, with me, so we could get everything settled once and for all.

There is too much walking back and forth and obtaining approval and working things out on my part that there must be a more efficient way to complete my applications.

It's amazing anything really gets done here at Samford. Oh wait, thanks to me and my persistent dedication to save my own back in this sea of bureaucracy, I've finally figured out that I need to fill out this form and get different signatures and not the one that has made its full circulation twice among the SAME PEOPLE.

Thanks... for the exercise.
And extra coffee purchases.
And strategic stalking of multiple officials on campus. If you need their schedules or a list of habits, I won't give it to you for free. That kind of information came at a price... namely, my sanity.

HUMANITY BREAKS DOWN

you know where to turn to

when I am an old man

and live by the sea

will all your thoughts

fly to me 

Seneca Awakenings

My dreams, mostly turbulent and absurd, are exactly just that. I remember them in spurts - a miracle when I actually do dream, and then I can't remember half of them, and the ones that I do remember I can usually remember in great detail and even feel emotionally connected to that decompressing of my mind.

Have you ever lost something or couldn't figure something out, and then you found the answer within your dream? The watch you had lost the day before, you found in the desk drawer in your dream. A method to the madness of some situation was revealed. The answer to how you were to begin an essay.

Well, I dreamt of Seneca.
It might have been because I reread the entirety of On the Shortness of Life before the sea fog drifted in, and that was all.

Or it might have been my mind sorting out my subconscious.

Either way, [in my dream] as I sat directly across from Seneca (in a toga, mind you), he stared into me and said "Therefore,".

It was as though I was supposed to finish his sentence, so I continued with his very own words, "it is better to conquer our grief than to deceive it."

He continues to say:
"For if it has withdrawn, being merely beguiled by pleasures and preoccupations, it starts up again and from its very respite gains force to savage us. But the grief that has been conquered by reason is calmed for ever. I am not therefore going to prescribe for you those remedies which I know many people have used, that you divert or cheer yourself by a long or pleasant journey abroad, or spend a lot of time carefully going through your accounts and administering your estate, or constantly be involved in some new activity. All those things help only for a short time; they do not cure grief but hinder it. But I would rather end it than distract it... Return now to these studies and they will keep you safe. They will comfort you, they will delight you; and if they genuinely penetrate your mind, never again will grief enter there, or anxiety, or the distress caused by futile and pointless suffering. Your heart will have room for none of these, for to all other failings it has long been closed. Those studies are your most dependable protection, and they alone can snatch you from Fortune's grip."

I disagree, my dear Seneca. Because nothing is more real than a human. Let not our grief be squandered by our selfishness to be rid of something. Unless where a "good riddance" is due, oughtn't we equate our grief to past feelings, as a completion of feelings, as a tribute to the sincerity, faith, and genuine quest for an eternity of them. Grieving only attests to the realness, and the realization that the realness is no longer attainable.

Why do people hold candlelight vigils, wakes, or scatter ashes throughout foreign terrains? Because they are still holding on to the sweetness and realness of what is no longer.

Every occasion calls for a ceremony. Whether that is toasting to a meal of cornflake cereal, listening to the organ playing while the sun sets in a dreamy sky, or the death of something so very near and dear. Because even in the cessation, it still lives on.

Dear Seneca,
Please never enter my dreams or subconscious ever again. I had the most fitful of dreams.