R.I.P.

I came to work about five minutes ago, and I was barely sitting when one of my co-workers came into the room and told me "your internet professor is dead". At first I didn't know what the heck he was talking about. But then I remembered that I had pitched a story about Randy Pausch to him about a month ago (he declined back then). I went to Pausch's website, he died three days ago on Friday. For those of you who are not familiar with Pausch (I wrote a post about him back when). Pausch was a professor at Carnegie Mellon University and he was dying of Pancreatic cancer. Diagnosed in 2006 and given three months to half a year he continued to fight the cancer for almost two more years. His "last lecture", held at Carnegie Mellon, inspired many young (but I reckon also older people) to make the most of their lives. The lecture made the You Tube rounds and got published as a book. (you can find Randy Pausch's story here and his personal website where he kept updates on how he was doing here).

I'm not crying (I try not to at work), but I do feel terrible. After all, the words of this amazing person did touch my heart and somehow, as he was doing OK for such a long time (with ups and downs of course) according to his website, I kinda took it for guaranteed that he'd be around a bit longer. Boy, what I would have given for an interview with him. In cases like that it really sucks being on the wrong side of the pond... Even via a youtube video on a screen that guy came across as extremely charismatic and a person with so much heart and enthusiasm. My heart goes out to his family, his friends and his students - and all those others who, like me, feel they have learned so much from Randy Pausch's Last Lecture.


edit: This NYT article succeeded in making my cry.

little things

It's ridiculous to what little things we cling in life. But I just lost my favourite marker, the one I used for oh so many books when I was a kid, and I'm devastated. Literally devastated. I have a hard time not starting to cry. Ridiculous... :(

Attempt no. 356 to write a decent blog post

Guess who had finally made a plan to go to the library today and read read read for her thesis? The same one that got called into work with a helpless cry of "We're swamped!" Well, they were swamped, I did a whole page on my own basically. But let me tell you something: I'm swamped too. I have a thesis due beginning of April, and I should be working only three days a week. I've been thinking about taking time off in March, but now I'm beginning to wonder how the hell that should be possible with that chronically underemployed newsroom I'm working in. And I'm still working for a monthly magazine as well. By the way do check out my newest article in our January issue on the student pages - an Interview with a lesbian activist university lecturer. Hell, be noble and check out our whole January issue ;)

Don't get me wrong, there's no problem in working - I love my work most of the time - (there is a problem with writing a thesis). What really bugs me is that I don't have time for the things I love privately. The things that fulfill me, the writing that I want to get done that is not work - basically all that is art to me within me. It's not much, for instance I can't paint to save my life ;) but there is comparably a lot burning in me these days. It's all so feverishly ardent when I'm moving - to work, from work - when I'm listening to Mika Vember who's music has developed a strange grip on me, the lyrics speaking to me as strongly as not many do. But once I "rest" at my desk, confronted with my daily tasks or get home knackered from said tastks it all gets drenched in routine.

Finn and I have been talking about a project lately, and this is one that we're really going to go through with for a change - we just didn't have enough energy for that last plan of ours, commune we wanted to build ;) But this one is a good one. Seriously. And my head is swimming with ideas that I want to realise, ideas that if realised will make me a happier person. The problem is that right now I don't have time. If I had time, my mind would probably be an endless, idea-dry desert.

Seriously. I wrote my last short story forever ago, the last poem in what seems like a different lifetime. Before Christmas I read John Irving's Cider House Rules and after the initial reluctance I always experience at the beginning of his books again this one gripped after about 50 pages and didn't release me. I wanted to blog about it, about John Irving's genius story telling, about his ability to craft these enormous colorful images in my mind, drawing me in completely while always maintaining that familiar and appreciated tone of sarcasm. Guess what, I didn't find the time to do it and now it's two weeks later and the words I had are pretty much lost.

Damnit, I want my life back, I want my music back and I want my words back!




Can you tell how driven I'm feeling?

résumé

this isn't a year in review kind of thing. it's rather a last-couple-of-weeks review kind of thing
I realised that I don't write anymore. My last poem must be about a zillion years old now, my last short story is even older and I'm not even going to think about the short film idea that is saved as an mp3 on my computer and still not turned into writing. My blog posts have been mainly on very real everyday stuff lately, and rarely introspective.

But the thing is that intro is a word that very well describes what I have been like lately. I realised that I have retreated a bit into myself. I've been taking refuge - in work mostly, but also in reading (I've finally taken to a John Irving book again and am hopelessly entangled in it). I have been watching tv but a lot less than I used to (I usually don't have shows from last week lined up).
It's good to be able to immerse myself in work. I like my work and it pays well. But I'm tired and I feel numb. Not because of work, but because of what I use it for. Maybe I'm taking flight to not thing about my grandfather's death and what it entails for me. But probably that's just one of so many thoughts I'm trying not to think.

The point is that I really do love what I'm doing here. I know that I'm good at what I'm doing and I can see how I'm learning and getting better every day. And while I don't know if and how I will be able to follow my (other) dream of becoming a filmmaker/editor - at the moment I feel at home here and very much so. However, in my private life I feel quite lost. I hope that come Christmas and some holidays that will change and I'll feel less drained in the new year.

in my head

a couple of things I can't seem to get out of my head these days/right now:

I'm thinking about Senta a lot. I try not to be sad, at least not to cry. I don't have any strength for crying... I miss her. and I can still remember what she felt like, her ears, her fur, ....

It bothers me that my gf is unable to identify pain. Granted I have quite a lot of medical problems, but at least I know most of the time what's going on with me. She can't even tell me if she has cramps, feels sick or if it's sharp pain. I don't understand how one can not know what's and how it is hurting...

Foundations. By Kate Nash. I can't get this song out of my head. Sad story w/ British humor and a catchy tune. I can not stop listening to it... especially the refrain gets to me, so strong:

My fingertips are holding onto
The cracks in our foundation
And I know that I should let go, but I can't
And every time we fight I know it's not right
Every time that you're upset and I smile
I know I should forget, but I can't

this is goodbye

my beautiful dog has left the building, so to speak.
she died around noon today, peacefully thanks to a nice veterinarian who made her go to sleep.





I might be mad at my parents for not calling me until tonight, for not enabling me with a choice, to come and see her off and say goodbye, but deep down I know that all that matters is, that she went peacefully, surrounded by her family, or at least most of it - to be honest, since I moved out she didn't exactly consider me core family anymore, which is alright by me, because life changes and so does a dog's pack.

senta was a part of our lives for 13 years. she was the most fun dog I have ever met, goofy and opinionated. Even outspoken I'd say, at least she could get very very loud :) she always got whatever she wanted from my dad.

Now I'm sitting here, and I don't know where to put the sadness. it just keeps circling around in me like a perpetual mobile machine. So I'm doing what I've always done: I write. and I let her go. and all the while I cannot say "rest in peace", because she's not she wasn't the resting type. If I wasn't refusing the common concept of heaven I'd bet she's running around in dog heaven with her childhood friend Charlie. Come to think of it, I bet she is.

Senta, I hope you're in a nice and safe and warm and loving place, a haven of some kind, where you can run around crazily and eat and sleep and play with other dogs. And where you don't feel alone or lonely because you can still feel us. I loved you so much when you were here and I always will love you.

Goodbye,
Andie

move on

I need to have another post at the top... I can't just let that post about my pet dying sit there and stare at me every time I open my blog. So here goes:

I'm better today. I haven't cried since last night. I'm accepting. In fact I have suspected for the past weeks that this might happen quite soon. not that that helped me be prepared, it still came as a shock. but she's still here, she's not dead yet, and I'm not going to treat her like she is already. there will be enough time to do that when she's gone. I'm just feeling sad. it's like a constant tiny sting at the pit of my stomach. so I am in fact doing stuff to distract myself. I've been reading for my thesis today. I need to have a concept by end of september but I'm nowhere yet.

and here's two pictures of our girl. she looks so much thinner and worse now, but this is how I will always see her: