is a blog by Brendan
There’s a way to be roundabout and poetic about this, and I often am, but honestly, fuck that. I broke up with Audrey today. It hurts.
I did it because I was part of something beautiful that was torn apart by time and distance, once, and I won’t be again. Because I’m going away in the fall. Because I have to do the right thing this time. Because I have to believe.
This is a long, relieved expulsion of breath. I got into UC, and I got in with full tuition.
There’s no stipend or anything, as far as I know, so I’d be working or borrowing heavily–I’m not clear on how using student loans for cost of living works, exactly. UC is also not my top personal choice, but it’s a choice, and it’s a very good choice, departmentwise. It comes recommended from not only Dr. Shannon, but my uncle John, the man who first bribed me (with Monopoly money) to “think about Centre.” And obviously that turned out okay.
I’m still waiting to hear from (in order of likelihood) UK, U of L, IU, UCLA, Carnegie Mellon, and Dartmouth. UW has already said no, if not officially. I think that’s what had me nervous about it–the fact that my first response was declination. It was very easy to believe that they’d just keep coming in.
They didn’t, though. One way or another, I will be in grad school in the fall. It’s nice to have a little ground back under my feet.
In the past thirty-six hours, Jon has received offers of a) admission and b) large wads of cash from UNCG and Wake Forest, and thus I felt it incumbent on me to buy him steak tonight. (He got t-bone, I had fillet; I ordered mine medium rare, the bloodiest I’ve ever had it, and I think I can feel myself going over to the dark side.)
It’s a great feeling, being proud, buying someone expensive food because they really deserve it. I’m glad I have this group of friends, because I think I’m going to get to do it pretty often.
“Y’know, your journal… you’re gonna be able to look back on it and have this collection of deep thoughts and significant events. I’m gonna be able to look back on mine and see ‘boogers are funny. I’m tired.’
And y’know, I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
That’s pretty accurate, actually, except I don’t think the stuff in here is terribly deep, and I’ve left out some significant events because I didn’t think they were interesting. Sometimes I wish I had more of the comic impulse that makes Stephen’s blog such a great read. Y’know, more booger jokes.
I guess I do significant events, though. Today ten years ago my dad died.
I pretend not to place great importance on round numbers, though this kind of gives that the lie. It’ll really be a more significant number next year, as that’ll be the anniversary that marks half my life without him; I was eleven. Mom’s probably going to be moving out of Richmond this summer, maybe down to our family land in Casey County, maybe not. All three of her children will be in college, a statistically ridiculous idea for a single mother and a teacher that she made happen anyway. 1993 was a very bad year; 2003 is shaping up to be something glorious.
All I have time to write about, lately, is big things and being tired. I want to try and remember the stupid little funny parts. My dad bought me my first Calvin and Hobbes book; he would have appreciated the boogers.
I’m so tired it should be visible: there should be waves of it rising off me, distorting the air like our old wood-burning stove.
Last night was the second and last public performance of The Laramie Project. The Fellowship of One, the group of (mostly, and oddly, black) local pastors who have been trying to stop us from doing the play at the high school, were in attendance. They’ve never been uncivil, but their arguments at such venues as the DHS parents’ meeting have consisted mostly of things like
| Pastor: | The play promotes a homosexual lifestyle. |
| Teacher: | The play doesn’t promote any such thing. It shows viewpoints from all sides, including Christian values like mercy and forgiveness, and it shows what happens to people when a crime forces them to confront the issue of prejudice in their community. This is why we’re teaching it as part of our curriculum during Black History Month. |
| Pastor: | The play promotes a homosexual lifestyle! |
“This is a play about not hating people. You’ve made your point.”
We did it. We did it right.
Exhaustion, and triumph, and a ring around the moon.
Collective effervescence.
We’ve started the play, and it’s perfect, raw, gorgeous, exactly everything we wanted it to be.
Afterwards, I walked to the gas station to buy more caffeine (the presentation has yet to be done). I had a flower in my backpack from Deb, and was listening to a Duncan Sheik song, of all things, and I could see the whole scope of it: how last year was home, and this year is setting out away from it. How and why I’ve done what I’ve done, here. How this is the biggest year I’ve ever lived.
This morning I got up at 6:30 and, after a little wait, drove to Lexington, where I stripped down to my swimsuit and a 10th Planet t-shirt, then jumped in an outdoor pool.
I yelled on the way in, and then got out, because it was very cold. There were still pieces of ice floating in it. I felt like I was getting out pretty quickly, but on the version in my aunt’s camcorder, I’m moving roughly as fast as you’d expect someone to move when his lower spinal functions have just shut down.
My uncle Cliff, meanwhile, moved like a man possessed. By speed. This is most likely because he went in with Cole and Clint, my eight- and nine-year-old (I think) cousins, and had getting them out of the water as his chief concern. He used to play football, and can still put an impressive spiral on a smallish human being.
It was wonderful. Also, painful. I wish I had another year at college now, just so I could make all my friends go back with me next time.
So last night I accomplished one of my life goals: playing music, live, with both members of Grandma’s Genius! Jon and I have played together for years, of course, and Chris and I played several times during GSP 2001, but last night was the first time we’d all played together (literally–we went on sans practice).
We actually sounded really good, especially on the Guster covers (Demons and Airport Song). We all wished there was a way to record it, but none of us had the equipment handy (or in fact at all). I kind of messed up myfavorite Jon song, Tennessee, by trying to play keyboard on it; it may have been an omen when the sustain pedal on my piano broke a few hours before we went on.
Even so, there was nothing that sounded bad and quite a lot that sounded good. I think they might even hire me as their touring drummer! (Note that by “hire” I mean “permit.”)