the voices dying with a dying fall

Songs of the Hour: The Devlins and Decemberists
Stat of the week: Roughly 10% of Americans are evangelical Christians.

I watched jesus camp this afternoon. It was pretty traumatizing, but I don’t think I can talk about it anymore. If you want to watch it, follow the link. However illegally it’s there, it’s there. Makes me sad, and somewhat frightened.

For months, I’ve had this weird desire to stop talking. Vow of silence, like. It isn’t practical, since communication is a rather important part of parenting, but I think I can squeeze a couple days in here and there. Like today. And tomorrow. I’m not exactly sure what I hope to gain, it’s just a feeling. perhaps I’ll listen more, and listen better. Pay more attention to now, and now, and now instead of chattering it all away. I started a little over an hour ago and I already feel better. Why does this feel so natural to me? I don’t think my voice is in my throat, I think it’s in my hands. I write more honestly and more myself than anything I speak. "Black and white is the truth laid bare".  Also, granted, there’s a certain element of cowardice to it… but I admit my cowardice, so there’s no need to fling it at me. yes, you there. no flinging. Seriously, I wish I could do this for weeks. 
Anyway, if anyone should happen to call, the conversation’ll be pretty one-sided. you’ve been warned.

I have one final exam left, friday evening. I got an A on my math final and the course. Everything else is up in the air. I’m fairly certain I failed my statistics test– I left half of it blank, due to complete mental shutdown. Sucked. I had a 90 until the last test, so maybe it won’t be too bad. But dear god, I lost it. I’m not very proud of myself on that one. but 12/15, I’m free. I’m dragging everyone who’s willing to Jackpot Friday night, so all locals and visiting are of course invited to celebrate with me. I will also be talking again, in case you were wondering.

I couldn’t sleep last night, so i watched a movie I’ve had sitting around for a while. Requiem for a Dream is not I repeat not a good movie to start at midnight. It’s a fucking brilliant movie– but I never, ever want to see it again. I’m scarred. To top it off, after cramming for my Philosophy of Film final, in the back of my mind I had this constant running analysis of epistemic positions, the synthesis of form with content, and a search for a "rhetorical figure of narrational instruction" which could really be a zillion things, which probably means I didn’t do very well on my exam. But this is beside the point.

I think that’s all for now. I feel sooooo much better now that my worst exams are over. I don’t think I did well on my Lit and Philosophy ones, but I wrote for 160 solid minutes on each of them, so maybe that’ll count for something. I can’t complain– i didn’t study nearly the way i should have this semester. My lit final prompt was "the mind of a killer" via Tess of D’Urbervilles (Hardy), The Secret Agent (Conrad), Therese Raquin  (Zola), an Oscar Wilde anthology, Pre-Raphaelite  poets, and Keats.  Considering I didn’t finish Tess, and didn’t even crack open Wilde’s  Salome, I really can’t complain about my grade. I don’t know what’s happened to me. And just the thought of years and years at grad school… ugh. Now’s not the time to whine.
enough.

quietly in the corner,
love.

this btw is just the cutest thing ever.