Reflections on Failure

Okay, as a disclaimer my failure wasn't really spectacular in the sense of being a spectacle so much as being spectacular in it's ramifications. Having finally decided recently what my major is going to be, oh yeah again, (English Language in case you were wondering) I also decided to major in Sociology. I would explain how I took my time in deciding on the double major since I took so much time to decide on English Language for my first major, but I didn't really take any real thought with the second one. I realized that I would have a lot of time in my schedule since I only had eight religion credits and one and a half credits of wellness to finish for my core requirements. Since I like Sociology and had the room I thought I might as well.

The unforeseen complication was that to major in Sociology I enrolled in Stats 221 and Soc 300 (Methods in Social Research). I loathe these classes. I took the first test in my Soc 300 test two weeks ago and just found out today how I did. I failed and failed badly. My teacher allows people to correct errors on this test for 60% of the credit. Sadly, If I got the extra 60% of each question I missed I would only get a 60% on the test itself. I've never done so incredibly badly before. Even before getting the grade on the test I was thinking about dropping the class. I say drop the class, but this late into the semester I mean stop going to the class and fail rather than go to class and fail.

More than anything this just reinforces to me the importance of basing my personal happiness on the truth of the gospel. School seems to be a losing battle at the moment and other fronts aren't doing too good either, but the gospel is true. I know intellectually that things will get better, but right now it doesn't feel much like it. In an effort to be healthy I've decided that I need to be okay with sad. I'm not sure why I'm posting this. I pretty sure that I repressed my emotions for so long that now that I've learned how to share my thoughts I have a lot of making up to do. It's said that life is bittersweet. I believe it.

A Reality Check: The Thing I Hate Most

A while back, someone in my stake presidency suggested that some people need what my good friend Ryan Daniels has dubbed a reality check. To paraphrase he said that some people don't get dates because there are problem areas with their, shall we say, presentation of themselves. Do your clothes make you look bad? Should you lose a few pounds? Is your laugh obnoxious? These were some of the questions he said we need to ask ourselves. To clarify, he said that such issues are not critical, but that they would affect our lives so we should be aware of them. He danced around the idea about losing weight before he spit it out; it was as sugar-coated as possible given the subject.

Additionally, he suggested that we should ask someone we trusted about some of our strengths and weaknesses. A potentially sticky situation, but perhaps needed. I decided to ask my friend of roughly ten, twelve years Clark what I dislike the most (this was another question he said was useful). Clark thought a minute and responded, "You hate it when things are supposed to work and they don't." The more I've thought about it the more it rings true. Not having a reliable internet connection to my computer bothered me because it was supposed to work. Was it inconvenient? Yeah, but I could use three other computers in my apartment to access the internet and countless more on campus. No, I was upset because I wanted to be able to depend on the connection working and couldn't; it should have worked, but didn't.

Not surprisingly I find myself trying to become more reliable myself because I don't like unmet expectations. According to my Sociology professor the number one reason cited for divorce is unmet expectations. So there it is, people want something to depend on.

Butterflies and Razors

Okay so I wrote this about a week and a half ago when my internet was not working. I'm pretty sure originally typing it in Word and then transferring it over lowers the quality; it's just not the same. We did finally figure a few things out about Comcast and why we've had so many problems with them... but that's for another time so without further ado,
Butterflies and Razors.

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about change. I have a roommate getting married, a friend coming home from a mission, and my five year high school reunion all coming up. I’m not sure why exactly, but I don’t think I’m the same person that I was even six months ago. This semester has not been a real great one for me from a scholastic view of things, case in point I forgot to take a test worth 25% of my final grade. Dating hasn’t gone much better. Just not finding that “click” factor where things just work. I talked to my teacher today and he’s letting me take the test on Monday. I’m working on the happy resolution to the dating issue, but one thing at a time I guess.

Change is a compelling element of life, literally. People, places, attitudes, everything changes over time, as a result we have to change too. I’ve heard it said that you can never go home again. Others have said that you never step into the same river twice. Life would be easy if we found our way to that one safe, good place and stayed there the rest of our lives. However, much like that really comfortable spot on the couch, there comes a point at which the human spirit is restless. I’m guessing for most of us that other things force us to change more often than we feel restless for change, but it does go both ways. Change is a scary proposition, a step into the unknown, the dark. Sometimes we are excited, scared but excited, to see where new paths take us. At other times we walk nervously, waiting for the axe to fall.

It’s been posited that the flapping of a butterfly’s wings in one hemisphere may cause the hurricanes in another: the aptly named “butterfly effect.” It seems to me that the theory implies that we can’t know why anything happens; there are too many variables to understand why things happen. The other side of the coin is the idea of “Ocham’s Razor.” For my purposes, think of this as the theory that the simplest explanation is usually the right one. I hold with this one.

I think we have change because we need it. Whether we thrive on change or would rather avoid it, change makes us grow.

Can I see your soul please?

So it's late and I'm tired. Somehow this seems to drive me to blog more than to sleep. No wonder I don't sleep enough. Hmm drawing a blank. Yet, I feel a certain sense of obligation to try to write a thoughtful post. After all, it has been over a week and my counter did just pass 1,000. Both good reasons to blog. Reasons, but not topics.

I think I'll have to turn to something I think about a lot, honesty. Today at work, I overheard some girls talking about how great conversation is and one of them remarked, "I think it's sad that we hold back being completely honesty from everyone, but our closest friends." That was a paraphrase, but pretty close. At this point, I really wanted to join in the conversation, but I was working at the time and felt like taking time to talk would be dishonest by getting paid to talk. I guess for me it was really comforting to know that there are other people who think about this stuff. They even talked about treating everyone like a person, at the bank, grocery store, wherever. It was one of those moments that I was glad to be part of the human race. It reminded me that human kindness is alive and well. I really wanted to start talking to them about the ideas they presented. It seems like conversations of that sort don't exactly pop up every day. I blame much of my antisocial/elitist behavior in high school on a distinct lack of such conversations. I just wasn't much interested in "small talk." My tolerance for small talk has increased over time, but I'd still rather talk about what makes people tick over the latest movie.

On a related note, I've realized I could never marry someone who is a poor conversationalist. It's funny that reminds me of a conversation when a girl told me that one of the most attractive qualities a guy can have is confidence. I've thought about that a fair amount and it seems to explain that age-old question I've had of "Why do nice girls go out with jerks?" It would seem that part of the answer is that the jerks are at least confident enough to ask the girl out, whereas the shy, nice guys often don't. In high school I didn't date much. I didn't think that girls were interested and I didn't want them to go out with me if they didn't want to. I didn't think for a second about the thousands of years of tradition that state it is the male's role to initiate contact. Add this to the fact that I hated small talk, which meant in high school I didn't talk much, and suddenly my high school experience makes sense. I was always waiting for someone else to show interest in me; I'd respond when they did. Incidentally, several did that I was too daft to realize at the time. What a horrible way to live...just waiting to be loved. I know now that many if not most people live like I did. Waiting, crying, bleeding, and dying for love. My friends, I don't pretend to have all the answers, but this much I do know: if we want love we have to give love. It means letting people see who we really are. No bravado, no sarcasm, no games.

Some not-so idle thoughts on idleness

Well I've been stranded from the internet again due to crappy Comcast service. Another irate email has been sent and the problem has been solved at least temporarily again. I've been thinking a lot about what I'm doing with my life these days. As much as I complain about classes and work I do have a certain amount of "free" time available to me. I remember hearing on the mission that you could tell a lot about a missionary from the way they spent preparation day. I daresay there is something to be said about people from the way they use their free time. Let me be painfully honest and say that I doubt anyone reading this has wasted more time on a consistent basis than I have. I'll admit I have an addiction to video games and cartoons.

Seriously, I mean I don't get the shakes when I haven't had a fix, but its still an addiction. I think it all goes back to the curfew of my younger years. Until halfway through my Sophomore year of high school my curfew was 6:oopm. Yeah, I know, laugh. I'd come home sometime between 6:00 and 6:30 depending on which of my parents were home and fire up the old pc. I never did homework, aside from major projects. As a result I had a ridiculous amount of time to play on my computer. I have to admit that all of those years has taken a bit of a toll on my creativity when it comes to free-time activities. I'm trying to figure out how to use all this time I suddenly have. Today it was all used up in FHE and homework. Admittedly, I did watch an episode of Smallville. I realized yesterday that I never make goals because I don't want to fail. What is failure though? I submit that failure is more due to apathy as much as ineptitude. I suppose that is the bitterest pill of all; I fail to reach goals, not because I can't but because I won't.

All of the talks in church yesterday were on goal setting and achieving. Certainly that's been an impetus for me, but the ideas have been there for much longer. So tomorrow I'll be taking some time to make goals and figure out how I'm going to achieve those goals. I already feel better.

Just some stuff

So my internet connection hasn't been working since Thursday and neither has my phone. I spent a fair amount of time cursing Comcast in the last few days. Of course by this I mean I've been saying "Curse you, Comcast!" every time I pass the phone. My connection is finally back and I hope it stays that way.

I got a call about a week and a half ago from the local Smith's. One of the guys at the photo lab informed me that they had a roll of film for me from October. Despite his best attempts I could tell he was somewhat disgusted with my negligence. I finally went to pick it up on Saturday and discovered that 35 out of the 40 pictures on the roll were from my mission. Yeah, so that makes the pictures just over a year and a half old. Two of the recent five pictures were from when we duct-taped Christie to the wall for FHE. In case you've been waiting in suspense they came out pretty badly. Maybe that has something to do with the film being old? Who knows?

On an unrelated note, my brother ended up with an extra TV and so our apartment now has one. I was reluctant at first, but in the end the ability to watch Teen Titans outweighed my concerns and I acquiesced. I catch the 7:30am episode every weekday before going in to work. I've heard lots of recommendations for shows like 24 and the like, but I think I'll just stick with Teen Titans. After hearing multiple stories of how people are hooked or addicted to other shows I've decided I have enough addictions already.

This one's for Russ. So while I can't say for the moment that I like chick flicks, I can't deny I like sappy movies. I blame it on Clark's influence. We watched the Disney Channel's High School Musical. I liked it. I think movies like it are kind of like candy. You just can't think about what you're taking in, just relax and enjoy. I think I've come to enjoy the ridiculous in various forms. Maybe, I'm lightening up.

Love is like the deacon two-step, not the waltz

So I'm pretty sure I just caught on to something most people have understood intuitively their whole lives. Maybe it's my OCD tendencies to want perfection in certain aspects of life while others wallow in crapulent mediocrity, maybe it's because I expect the world to work according to my personal sense of logic, whatever the reason I've always expected every problem to have a perfect solution. I realize now that this is irretrievably naive. Plans fail, people change, and things don't work out perfectly. I guess it comes back to well, relationships.

Not just romantic ones mind you, but all relationships. Sometimes I think we need to say things in relationships that aren't easy to say, they're messy. The alternative is to be silent. Ideally we all fall in love with someone who is equally, madly, in love with us and we all live happily after. The reality however is that, in my experience, no relationships are so cut and dry. A guy goes on a mission and a girl he loves gets married. He finds a new girl and his friend is interested in her too. The girl doesn't notice the guy until after he has decided to move on. All of the above and many more situations come up in life. There is no fast or easy solution to any of these scenarios. Any solution that actually works involves risk and more than likely a great possibility for embarrassment. It also involves unequal portions of poetic moments and awkward behavior. Every once in a while, I'll stop and think to myself that life is beautiful. It's usually not poetic, predicable, or even palatable at times, but then sometimes it is. Life is like finger painting: some people are hesitant to get involved or get dirty. They convince themselves it's better not to try than to risk looking foolish. Other people dive in, mix the colors, and make life interesting. I'm not so afraid of finger painting any more.

It is not the critic who counts; not the one who points out how the strong stumbled, or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to those in the arena; who strive valiantly, who fail and come up short again and again; who know enthusiasm and great devotion; who at the best know in the end the triumph of high achievement; and who, at the worst, if they fail, at least fail while daring greatly, so that their place shall never be with those timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.

~Theodore Roosevelt

Ah the Eclectic Magic

Last semester my roommate Randy proposed and we carried out a masquerade. We provided plain masks and mask enhancing materials. It was sweet. This semester he has once again hatched a madcap plan. This semester's celebrations will feature a beatnik theme; think beginning of "So I Married an Axe-Murderer." We'll be distributing flyers ahead of time, but the gist of it is that people should come with a poem or story to read and that clapping will be replaced by snapping. That's the rough idea at this point though we'll probably embellish as we go along. Oh yeah, I almost forgot, because of the French influence on the beatniks we'll be eat cheeses, brie among them. This has reminded once again of my determination to create a writing club at BYU. I've given it some thought, but I haven't decided what kind of writing to do it for. Poetry comes to mind as perhaps the most casual and universal, but I don't know if that's what I really want to do. If I am going to put real effort into this I want it to succeed and be something I'll care about. The other concern I have with the club is whether or not enough people will come to make it worth it.

I've decided to make sense

I've decided there is absolutely no point in using the Brekkjern pseudonym. Anyone who reads my blog knows me anyways so what is the point? Maybe it was just general paranoia with the internet that made me create a pseudonym or maybe it was peer pressure. Either way I've put all of that behind me now. I don't think it has ever been helpful and occasionally been annoying. After all, one of the things I try to cultivate within myself is being open with other people so the pseudonym seems counterproductive. Not that everything I do needs to make sense, but it usually helps. I currently enjoy video games and cartoons that by and large make limited to no sense. Though, if I wanted to stretch, I could say that they serve a logical need in that they entertain me.

It's late and all I really wanted to do was use my name to post things so there it is.

My name is Aaron Thompson and I'm a recovering elitist. It's been three days since I last struck a haughty pose or made a snide remark.

(Support Group) Hi Aaron.

When two gerunds love each other very much...

I'm not really sure what this blog is supposed to be about. I think this is because for once I don't really have any paradoxes or mental quagmires occupying my thoughts. In the midst of my near-constant pondering I have wondered what it would be like if I wasn't obsessively thinking through my past experiences or evaluating the merits of divergent philosophies. I think somehow my brain is taking a breather. It's still working full-time just not overtime for the moment. It's strangely refreshing or rather refreshing, but strange because I'm not used to it. I went to a party for New Year's and had a pretty good time. We played games, talked, and I wrote haikus with fridge magnets, typical stuff. Luckily a friend of mine received the college and genius editions of the fridge magnets. I'm jealous. How am I supposed to compete when she has words like elucidate, ersatz, amalgam, and let's not forget Kafkaesque. The haiku I can remember went like this:

to elucidate
is a vapid endeavor
the mind is arid

I think the other one was:

language languishes
as droll usurps pithy thought
question the banal

Oh, by the way, I changed my description of the blog just under the title. Actually, I've changed it four or five times with no comment so I thought people should be aware it is subject to change, as are most things in life.

Lighten up Elder Thompson

So, I just wrote and erased an entire post. Chalk it up to being tired physically and emotionally. It seems like little fragments of who I am or what I value are waging my own private war with my thoughts. Not an entirely uncommon experience, but not a pleasant one either. I guess most of it comes back in part to what my mission president told me, "Lighten up Elder Thompson." The significance of this is compounded when you consider that he told me this twice in a four month period. I think one of the challenges I've struggled with is deciding when to be happy. I know that sounds twisted or pathetic, but let me explain. To me, it all comes back to personal progress. I know I need to be happy with the progress that I make, that's easy. The hard part is deciding when to be happy with being imperfect. I guess I'm afraid that if I am happy with imperfection I won't work to become better. At the same time, I don't want to be some self-absorbed masochistic wreck. It seems like I end up on the later side more often than I'd like to admit. Usually I have something to conclude a post with that sort of sums things up. I guess I don't know how to sum this one up.

Life, Death and the directions

There have been more than a few things lately that have got me thinking. Yesterday, or technically two days ago I went to the funeral for the father of a high school friend. Her father died of cancer. He was diagnosed in May of this year. Some of you know and some don't, my own father has leukemia. He was diagnosed in July of this year. It's been far more difficult for both of my parents to deal with than I had imagined. I am not real sure how I feel about the whole thing. When we drove up to the cemetery I noticed that it was on a dead end. What a comfort to realize that there are no dead ends in the eternal scheme of things. In the words of Semisonic, though they probably ripped them off, "every new beginning comes from some other beginnings end." The one real constant with life seems to be change. As soon as we feel like we have one thing figured out it seems like we're hit by another. It's funny though (which of course means it's not funny ha ha, but funny hmmm) people try to map out their lives, but isn't that like drawing a map of a place you've never been before? I think when all is said and done the most important thing is to have a direction to go and things to do along the way. For my dad I think the direction has always been from selfishness to unselfishness and the good things along the ways has been helping people, almost invariably expecting and receiving little in return. I think my own life has been a somewhat different direction. For me life has always been about moving from ignorance to understanding. The good things along the way part could use some work. In the last few weeks I've really come to appreciate the value of even small acts of kindness for others. Now, I just need to figure out how to perform such service more naturally; I hate when I feel like I'm faking being good, if that makes any sense. Being fake-good leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

The Beast that is Bio 100

I just got out of my Keys to Scripture Study final a few minutes ago. For once I think I actually came close to being prepared. I probably got an 80-85% on it, which is great for me considering it was largely memorization based, and I hate memorization. Now I have a final at 5:45pm, a scant 45 minutes after my previous final. I don't think this one should be too bad though. A large portion of the class itself has been based off of being able to use reason and analysis. I don't think it should be a problem. I will be extra careful though since I blew off one of the rather weighty assignments a few weeks ago. Either way I'm not too worried about it. So I have to say that finals for this semester have gone really well. The only one I have left after this is Biology. Oh Biology 100, how I hate thee so. Would that academia had not nurtured you in her womb, and created such a foul beast to torment the dreams of apathetic youth. What horrors lay inside the body? Who knows truly but Deity himself? Indeed who else needs to know? The inner workings of man must needs remain a mystery lest presently there is no more mystery left to life. What then compatriots? Shall we run amok seeking to unknow the tragic truth that has come upon us? What could make us unhappier than to know ourselves? In truth there is a level of familiarity, or self-knowledge, which stands prerequisite to our happiness. However, there is a boundary across which no man may cross and find himself a happy creature. Amongst the noble quests in life is to know oneself. But we cannot know ourselves in terms so course and base as these! Think, I pray thee, upon how the countenance of a child should fall if he were told the lie that he is nothing more than a collection of fleshy machinery. To imagine such a life is to imagine a fate far worse than death, it is to know ourselves as undead, a creation with no soul, with no fire of the heart. Biology 100 your death will not come swiftly enough for my soul. When it is dead, then may I rest, sleep and forget the peril.

A twisted fate and shattered academic motivations

At this point I should officially be working on a research paper. After all, it is due on Tuesday. The only thing is my highlighted and annotated notes seemed to have gone missing. So in the interest of doing the least work possible I'll wait to talk to my roommates and see if someone else moved them, though I seriously doubt it. It's funny, I've thought a lot about why I'm rather apathetic towards school work and I think it all goes back to 6th grade. One fateful day, I was eagerly anticipating the return of my "Banana Split Enrichment Packet" with the standard A beaming from its cover. My expectations, and I might add scholastic motivations, were shattered however as I was met by an A- that seemed to mock me with inhumane glee (which is probably the only sort of glee a packet can have, if indeed a packet can have glee). Later that night, I pulled an evil spirit imitation as I explained my tragedy to my mother via weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth. She assured me that an A- was not the end of the world and that an A- was in fact really good, excellent even. My young and impressionable mind caught hold of this shining truth and adopted it for my own. Thus began my descent into the realm know as mediocrity. At first I stayed away, fearing the consequences of a return to that dark abyss. But the pull was too strong...I indulged again...and again. Gradually, like a slow-acting poison, the mediocrity built up and then, most sadly, killed my scholastic enthusiasm. Thus the birth of half-academic aberration that you all know and love.

A quirk of my brain and more inane zombie dialogue

So I've realized something about myself over the years. My brain is a lazy overachiever. I don't know how many times I've thought through a problem only to forget the solution. Then later I stress thinking about the same problem and start getting a feeling of deja vu. Finally I remember my previous solution and shake my head in disbelief. My only conclusion is that my brain is so proud of itself when I actually come up with a solution that it has to remind me how smart it's been twice. I figure this is intended to make me more forgiving of it when it comes across difficult questions and simply can't focus. Now for instance I am really tired, but I have to stay up to hear from someone. On a totally unrelated note I met a girl tonight with the same name as one of my nieces. It was one of those things where I wondered how weird it would be to be involved with or marry someone with a name of someone else in your life. Honestly I don't know if I could marry a girl named Erin, that would just be too weird. Marrying a girl with your mother's name...gross. I think there is far more connected to names than we often realize. I've noticed that if I only know one person named "Howard" for instance I will assume future Howards I meet are somewhat similar. Or if I was spurned by a girl named "Gertrude" I would not likely pursue other Gertrudes, perhaps for the best. It isn't smart or witty, but it is....uh done. I should never post when I'm tired.

Homework ad nauseum

Finals are fast approaching and as well all know that means lots more suffering. You know they have scriptures about the devil rejoicing/laughing/something-like-that over bad choices we make and the resultant suffering. I am pretty sure he gets some kicks out of finals. It also explains why law students (constantly studying or needing to and consequently suffering) that eventually become lawyers feel it only natural to consult with the Prince of Darkness. Therefore it should come as no surprise when we find the two connected; it is a connection of mutual pain, oh and that whole subtle to blatant disregard to the truth. But I digress. I myself will not be part of the fellowship of suffering as I have only two finals this semester, sociology and biology. Sociology I like; biology I hate. So I suppose I will have to make token sacrifices at the altar of academia, but only small tokens, not big ones. Last semester, I was waaay behind on these fourteen minute free writing exercises for my English class. Our teacher told us that we could make them up, so I did. I typed for seven hours solid, stopping only for two hasty meals. My writing was pretty much vomit standard quality by the end. I think it started at cumquat or paper clip standard quality, but eventually slid down the slippery slope that is academic apathy. So, the moral of the story is that we can procrastinate and still get end of the semester stuff done, but count on not only blood, sweat, and tears, but also some vomit should we be doing homework ad nauseum.

The death of creativity

Every once in a while some new term will be adopted to replace cool for a while. Far out, groovy, wicked and rad have all had their moments in the sun. However, it seems the term props has spawned no next of kin for a new generation to adopt. So I'm just wondering is everyone fresh out of props? Have props become illegal? Perhaps an asteroid hit the props convention. I must say I for one miss the days of props granting. We don't even have a new phrase for mad skills. Are we just not imaginative enough anymore. My guess is that all enthusiasm for creating spiffy new words and phrases was killed by one man: George Lucas. Honestly I'm not convinced that "wizard" was ever cool a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. At least he had the sense not to use the word repeatedly. Too bad he didn't take the same line with Jar Jar. It was kind of nice he implicated Jar Jar in the election of Palpatine and therefore the destruction of the galaxy. Anyway, that's a tangent. Where are our Shakespeares to create new words? Where, where indeed?

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune

So a few conversations later I have a solution to my major/life/dream-dashing-rocks-problem. I become what I have long feared. Yes, an English major. I know what you're thinking, but yes I'm actually serious and yes I realize I may have to live on the streets. I'm not trying to be a writer or something similarly idealistic, but an editor. Being an editor has two strong attractions I just can't pass up:

1. Reading is a major part of the job
2. The other half is telling people my way is better

At this point many of you are wondering, "Gee, that sure sounds swell. How come I never hear of people becoming editors?" The answer is of course that editors are a secret society only loosely associated with the Humanities department. You see, the course catalog lists editing as a minor for English. Well my informant on the inside has let me know this is merely a clever ruse. In all reality editing is pretty much a regular, respectable emphasis; they just don't go blabbing about it. Given how valuable the jobs are in the field I can understand why. Where else can you get people to pay you for your opinion? In fact the more you insult their work the more they assume you know what you're doing.

The best laid plans of mice and men...

So I am several semesters and credit hours deep into BYU. Somehow I find that this semester, as a junior, I have figured out what I want to major in. Communications with a Print Journalism emphasis and Sociology. Yeah, a double major. So I was pleased with my plan for a good month and a half before trouble started brewing. It turns out that one has to apply to the communication major and that it is rather difficult to get into if you already have over 75 credit hours, which of course I do. What's more you have to get a B or better in three different classes to even be considered. I got a B- in freshman English of all classes and that may be enough to dash my dreams against the jagged rocks of reality. I still want to major in Sociology, but not by itself. So I will be major hunting again. Of course, it also turns out that one has to apply to be able to do a double major so maybe I won't do sociology at all. I can't seem to get the logic of life figured out. The things I plan often don't work and the things that I decide, and do, on the spur of the moment work out more often than not. My guess at this point is that this is yet more proof I think too much.

Haikus from my fridge

Last year I was fascinated by the magnet words I found here in Happy Valley. I took every opportunity I could get to form sentences that I considered poetic. In August this year, with the semester fast approaching, I ordered a set of magnet words for our apartment. The first week or so was marked by a flurry of sentences being formed and reformed; somehow it wasn't enough. Then came the suggestion to write haikus. Pure genius. The five, seven, and five syllable poems provide a much more interesting and challenging format to compose with, especially with a limited selection of words from which to choose. Remember clapping helps you figure out how where the syllables are. Here are the results of my efforts thus far:

a far different
rendering is important
if she cried for love

her name stops motion
reality dull and quiet
won't shake whispered dreams

I once imagined
you warm and pretty, but no
you hide sad princess

dreaming I laugh loud
springing with a wild magic
blending storm and truth