I start my Ph.D. Comps two weeks from today and prep’s been an essentially constant process for a ***really fucking long time***.  I’ve been living/breathing the material and I feel better about it than I previously did I guess (or rather, as okay as one’s intended to feel), but truthfully I’m scared and I just want to get it taken care of.  I’ll feel better when it’s done, I promise.

Things didn’t work out with Misty and we broke up.  I don’t really wanna talk about the specifics, so we’ll go with ‘it just didn’t work out’.  She’s a great girl and I wish her the best, but some considerable differences between us turned the relationship into much more than I could possibly handle.  It just wasn’t right for either of us.  Not a pleasant predicament, that one– I wasn’t giving myself a proper degree of effort or energy with regard to a variety of factors.  Things still aren’t perfect (that’s just not possible), but they’re finally moving in the right direction I think.

I’ve been in the Delta for a week and I’m quite excited to get back home tomorrow– I had to come up here suddenly for a family medical situation, but things are looking up in that department.  I don’t really have friends or connections here beyond three family members, so I’m looking forward to getting back home.  I miss my creature comforts, my personal space and (sure, okay) I miss campus.  Studying here has been okay, but I really think I’ve had enough of it– I need these last few weeks to go smoothly, and I need to be in my comfort zone for that.

When away from Comps material, I’ve been seeking (and finding) comfort/warmth in familiar faces, places and things– more on each of those factors later, perhaps.  It *looks* like I’ve been able to secure a grant-funded job with the Oral History Center for next year in Hattiesburg, so I’ll be able to stay around for the first year of dissertation work.  Another year around my hometown sounds cool, but I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be sticking around after that.  I find that I’m subconsciously readying myself for epic change, so there’s a good chance I might listen to it and head who-knows-where sooner than later.  Stay tuned, sincere surprises could be afoot.

Today I went and shopped for a new Summer wardrobe for the first time in five years or so.  This is something that I originally planned in 2009, so I feel great about finally getting around to it.  I think it’ll help to be able to look in the mirror and  see something a bit different.  Much like a new coat of paint for a car, it makes me feel reinvigorated to do stuff like that.  Unfortunately, I don’t get around to such changes too often.  I think that’s a trait that I can and *will* easily change.  Perhaps I’m interested in how different my life can be before my 30th birthday.

Honestly, I’ve been a bit of a basket case as of late. I’ve been openly facing and tackling several factors that I previously viewed as ‘impossible’ (no, really, impossible) and I’ve really been surprising myself with the results.  Perhaps I’m not as frozen into a routine as I might believe– again, more news on this one as summer progresses.  As we know by this point, I don’t do too well with ambiguity firsthand– luckily, my summer is poised to present answers to some of my life’s biggest mysteries.  Such is really good news, as I sincerely need to bring a bit of clarity to my situation– my life could be *very different* soon, in a variety of ways.  More news as it occurs.

Finally, I’m going to be leaving this pet project behind and working on a new blog instead.  It’s just plain time, I think.  This started as a learning experience and it’s turned into quite a mess (although it’s been a fun mess).  I don’t post here much because I find  the design and scope fundamentally unappealing at this point.   I’ll be switching over to something with closer ties to my research interests and better organization after Comps (construction’s been going on for a while), so keep your eyes open for details on that in late June if you like.

Thanks for listening, folks.  It’s been pleasant as always.

-A year ago today, I woke up in a hospital room after spending several weeks in the induced coma.  I was essentially disoriented in every conceivable way.  I feel *so great* about how far along things have come in a year.  I was initially *really* worried about my rate of progress, but now things are…. well, pretty good.  I spent weeks lying in FGH wondering when things would be ‘pretty good’ again.  All I can really do in this case (as I approach another birthday on Friday) is say “thanks” in a general sense.  So…. thanks.  Just sayin’.

-Taking the girlfriend to meet my family in Indianola this weekend (birthday and all).  For the first time, I don’t fee  l even slightly apprehensive about the concept.  I’m not sure if that’s a good thing, but I can’t find a reason to actively worry about it.  Alas, I *am* excited about the weekend.

-School’s been really, really intense, but not *bad* per se.  I don’t feel disappointed in my lack of effort with it, I know I’ll pull things through at a decent pace, my GPA’s locked and it’s just a matter of trudging through a list of 500 books (or rather, continuation of the process thereof).    A professor stopped me in the hall the other day and reminded me that Ph.D. Comps are the *last time* I’ll be asked to prepare for such an all-encompassing and ambiguous project.  For some reason, that’s the most comforting (yet seemingly obvious) revelation I’ve experienced all month.

- Although it’s early, it’s been a pretty great year for games thusfar, hasn’t it?  “Marvel vs. Capcom 3″ kicks ass, there’s a new “Contra” game that’s actually worth a damn, “Dead Space 2″ is a vast improvement on the original, Bioware’s got something new in a week or so here– hell, even “You Don’t Know Jack” is back!  I wish I had more time to SPEND with such things, but alas.  At least I know it’ll all be waiting for me when I’m ABD with a bit more free time.   At least Misty’s into it too, so I get a bit of time for this sort of thing.

 -As for award season, it’s a total clusterfuck this year, and that’s why I predict a “King’s Speech” sweep at the Oscars.  It’s the safe, friendly, *easy* choice, so they’ll run with it and avoid a tough call between superior films that will make Best-of-Decade lists.  I have basically stopped following the Oscar race as a result.  I’ve been watching a LOT of French noir and Ozploitation dreck lately.  I wish I lived in a city where a restoration theater could thrive.  One day I suppose that’s easy enough to seek out.

-I ***cannot. fucking. wait.*** to start my dissertation.  It is KILLING me to have to neglect it during Comps.  I look at my MA Thesis at this point, which I was once proud of, and all I really see is a rough template for vast improvement by heading in a new direction.  I’m even building a separate blog around it.  I’ll be starting that up this summer, so keep your eyes peeled.

So there’s Misty.  She speaks softly and wears gigantic glasses.  She’s neurotic, anxious and over-analytical of the world around her, much as I am myself.  We share a similarly deep affinity for similar pop culture relics, which we routinely exchange.  We share our most personal secrets without fear of scrutiny.  She plays to a sense of incidental hipsterdom that just ‘happened’ to fall into place, much as my own did over the years.   We play well off of each other, and we rarely (if ever) argue.  We have conversations that seem to stretch into infinity without it feeling like five minutes have passed.  I dig the way her hair smells, I am fond of her smirk, I adore her wit and charm.  In fact, the truth is, I’m crazy about these things.  Yet I *love* Misty because it feels right to do so.  I love her because of her devotion to our connection, in spite of its share of stormy times.  At the end of a long and trying day, she doesn’t merely understand my desire to watch “Shogun Assassin” or ”Cannibal Holocaust” or ”Roseanne” or “The Electric Comapny”– she’d rather be there to bask in a similar degree of enjoyment.  I can *share* the relics and moments that make me who I am with her.  I can be unconditionally honest with her.  She helps me to be a better person at my own pace, just as I help her to improve at her own pace.  Misty doesn’t make me feel guilty for who or what I am– instead, she’s as fascinated by who I am as I am by who she is.  We play to each other’s strengths and we’re both good at compromise.   

I met Misty Nash almost on accident during the last semester of my senior year in college.  I was a shifty and awkward fellow at that stage in my life, much as I am now.  By mere circumstance, this random ‘girl’ ends up sitting alone in my living room with me.  We proceeded to introductions, likely anticipating casual interaction and lukewarm conversation at best.  These introductions opened the floodgates to a full night of ceaseless conversation with one of the best people I’ve ever known.  I won’t lie, I was positively smitten with her within moments, yet I felt I was entirely out of her veritable ’league’.  She was fresh out of a relationship and far from interested in the idea of meeting someone ‘new’ with any sort of romantic connotation.  As moments became hours, part of me felt that I’d likely share this one evening with her and go on about my life without speaking to her again.  The concept broke my heart: I deserved more than a night of this connection (and at risk of sounding arrogant, I felt that she did as well).  When she left the next morning, I scrambled to ask mutual acquaintances for as many details about her as I could find.  I couldn’t act on the impulse I *felt* towards her, so I went out of my way to keep in touch with her.  I buried the romantic impulse I felt towards her deep inside, quickly jumped into a frivolous relationship as a safety-net and actively pursued a lasting friendship.  This process started in April 2004.

The more we talked, the closer we grew.  We shared the same interests, we came from similar backgrounds.  Her intellect fascinated me, just as mine fascinated her.  We became confidants, album-trade-buddies, partners in ilicit activity, chatty cohorts, and over time, we grew to become best friends.  We started spending weekends together, filled with laughter and priceless moments.  We listened to each other bitch about our romantic mishaps without ever addressing the potential for romance between us– I had locked it away, growing too attached to her presence in my life to jeopardize it by forcing the direction of our interaction.  As I forged a progressively successful (if initially shaky) path through graduate school, my interaction with Misty reminded me of who I *am* inside.  As she progressed at her job and attained new responsibilities, her interaction with me imbued her with a sense of confidence.  We complimented each other’s adult lives in a platonic manner while appealing to childhood sensibilities within.  It was perfect because it was *with her*.  I was convinced that I’d always have her by my side in this capacity.  I was willing to set romance aside to preserve one of the most loyal and epic connections I’d ever experienced with anyone.

Time passed, we grew closer.  She fell into a fling with a close college friend of mine and it ended quickly and poorly.  I did not know what to make of the way I handled it at the time– I’d never felt jealous or critical of her romantic liaisons, just as she never had of mine.  I mean, sure, we’d miss each other on lonely nights without conversation, but it never seemed like anything *larger* than that.  At the end of that fling, I was certain of one thing: I was still as crazy about Misty as I was the night I met her– moreso, even.  Yet again, I quickly buried this notion inside, fearful of risking our connection over feelings that I perceived as unrequited.  I knew I loved her, yet I’d decided to face such when life forced me to.

Then, things started happening.  We’d lie together on our weekends instead of in separate spaces.  We started to make time together a priority.  We both increased our respective levels of emotional dependency on our interaction.  We started to sit closer together.  Hugs between us started to last longer than platonic hugs should.  This continued until *she* mentioned the development of a romantic component between us as we shared a couch on a lazy Sunday morning.   We agreed to match back up the next weekend to address it.

I don’t know what I anticipated that next weekend, but I was certainly happy that I didn’t feel crazy or alone anymore.  The week passed and the weekend arrived.  Things didn’t go as planned– everything fell into place.  We agreed that we’d remain friends regardless of the outcome of whatever it was we were headed towards.  A sweet, fulfilling bond emerged between us– without compromising the interaction we both adored, we fell madly in love.  We saw each other on weekends, but the weekends were *worth* consistent-yet-limited interaction during the working week.  I felt safe with her.  She was mine, I was hers, we deserved each other.

Destructive habits led to the end of the interaction between us.  We grew apart– emotionally unavailable to each other, in our own ways.  Unfortunate, destructive circumstances and choices led to the end of our relationship.  I was devastated by this concept, yet I still knew I’d always love and respect Misty.  We both moved directly into extensive, long relationships and our interaction grew sporadic and casual, yet our common bond remained intact.  I dated Angie, she dated Sam.  We were both in love.  That was the way it was supposed to be.

Over time, conversation picked back up and we rekindled our initial spark.  We started to depend on each other again, we grew closer in the wake of emotional devastation.  We’d seen the worst sides of each other, yet we came out of our relationship with fond recollections of the best ones.  We still felt a strong connection that we carefully nurtured.  We eventually saw each other again in a brief romantic tryst, yet it fell apart due to circumstance.  We sought our own paths romantically, with old partners and new.  We were thankful to have each other, as we knew and appreciated each other truly and deeply.  That was the way it was supposed to be.

Over several years apart, we each grew and expanded in crucial regards.  We independently recognized destructive patterns within ourselves and sought measures to address and curb them.  I dated a wonderful woman who helped me to grow into the guy I’m in the process of becoming, and I’ll always feel a strong connection to her despite the collapse of the romantic component between us (due to a number of factors over time).  We both addressed the issues that led to our relationship’s initial demise.  We developed stronger senses of independent identity, yet we continued virtually constant conversation through most of it. 

I found genuine love while I was away from Misty, and it will never go away– love doesn’t just up and ‘do’ that, even when problems arise and it grows beyond the scope of romantic context.  That being the case, I also found other things that I couldn’t deal with when I was away from her.  I didn’t want to face recent epic life changes alone, so I almost avoided them to preserve my bond with her.  She didn’t follow too far behind me, and the changes brought us closer together.  And so there we were– ever-present reminders of who we were, assistants in becoming who we wanted to be. 

Earlier this year we decided to give things another chance, free from many of the factors that hampered us in the first place.  Things are genuinely going well with it– we’re happy, we’re there for each other, we have an excellent sense of mutual understanding.  We are happy, warm, familiar and free of hostility.  She understands my demanding schedule, just as I understand hers.  We’ve both grown up since 2004, yet we still see each other as those two like-minded strangers who met by chance on a dorm room couch.

There’s a degree of simplicity to my bond with Misty, but that’s the way it should be– we’re complex people who simply share an epic panorama of common ground and ideology.  We introduce each other to new and unfamiliar things.  Although we’ve grown past most of our destructive patterns, we remember the best moments from them, allowing us to selectively carry the ‘good times’ from bad stretches with us.  We improve each other while maintaining a degree of childlike wonder and vivacity that I’ll never tire of.

And so, if you’ve made it to the end of this, meet Misty.  She’s a part of my life that I’ve never discussed here, yet she’s one that I fully intend to discuss from this point forward.  She’s a wonderful woman, she understands me on a deep and nuanced level and we’re compatible in most every conceivable way.  It’s my pleasure to finally introduce you to her.

-So, things are comps-o-riffic. Looking at around 500 books (not counting material I’ve already read for courses), comps in mid-Spring, I’m in the midst of preparing, things seem like they’re going well (or so I’m assured).  I just wanna be done with it so I can move on to the dissertation already.

-I’m going to be financially challenged to a laughable degree during the dissertation process– I mean it, that part’s not lookin’ great. Fortunately, I’m in the midst of trying to work something out a few hours north of here.

-I am facing a pretty busy stretch, all things considered. It seems like 95% of the people I know are in Toronto, for obvious reasons. I wish I was there too. Sooner than later, that will be the case. I’ll teach summer courses, take on half-semester duties in the fall somewhere as an assistant professor, I’ll plan a year in advance, I’ll take heed of any advice I’ve received or observed, and off I’ll go. If it works, I’ll even try it twice. Can’t complain universally, though— SxSW in Austin is much smaller, but it looks like that’s gonna be possible *much* sooner.

-I am taking the weekend off. It’s been a rough week, and I’m going to bask in media.  It’s been a while since I’ve seen a weekend that embraces full-geekdom.  I will not be difficult to find, but good fucking luck trying to talk me into doing anything until Sunday-afternoon-ish.

-I am generally frustrated with the dating pool, the conceptual hang-ups of commitment, the stupid rules people seem to take for granted when dating, and essentially anything related directly or indirectly thereto.  Too busy and too goddamn tired to keep up with this sort of thing, folks. So, I just– can’t.  Right now.  That is all.

-I don’t really feel too bad about the above.  I’m working out issues on academic/professional progress that have lingered for months, and I’m finding that I want my rare spare hours to kill as I see fit. Don’t take it as an insult, kids– it’s just that I have a LOT of trouble dropping my own agenda, which prevents romantic endeavors from working out much of the time.

-Things have to stay cheap this weekend (financially), I’m totally on a budget.  Shouldn’t be difficult, so long as I watch what I eat/drink/what-have-you.

-I have SO MANY FILMS I’m dying to discuss on here (see prior entry on format), there are around a dozen drafts saved for future entries!  I’ll be getting on that shortly, so you guys should take a look at that.

-Sorry for the delay, again, folks.  Things have been insane, and I haven’t had as much free time as I traditionally like to.  I hope things don’t stay so sporadic around here, yet I apologize if they do.

Roger Ebert claims that the intricacies of the mystery narrative in Arthur Penn’s Night Moves are virtually impossible to understand upon initial viewing.   I agree with Ebert here, but as I see it, such is precisely the point– Penn masterfully keeps us in the dark, and such is entirely intentional: Night Moves offers us a protagonist in aging P.I. Harry Moseby who is as confused as the audience.  The film offers one of Gene Hackman’s best performances of the 1970s, as his character acts as an intriguing marriage of contemporary 70s trends and noir detective traditions and stereotypes.   Harry Moesby refuses to embrace contemporary trends throughout the picture, choosing to instead rely on tried-and-true methods that he likely learned (and often perfected) during his earliest years as a P.I.– the problem is, Moesby’s consistently over-his-head and too determined to endorse a degree of self-validity.

This film works very well as a companion piece to a few of Hackman’s other great 70s pictures.  Harry Moesby essentially stands as the antithesis to Popeye Doyle in Friedkin’s The French Connection (1971); while Harry is certainly a ‘survivor’ who tries his best, the lonely P.I. lacks the harsh demeanor or jaded street sense of Doyle.  Penn’s picture actually has quite a bit in common with Coppola’s The Conversation (1974), as each film presents Hackman as a neurotic P.I. who grows obsessed with understanding the intricacies and mysteries of other people’s lives. While The Conversation acts as more of a character study, Night Moves is best understood as labyrinthine noir.  Such brings about the film’s final valid comparison– Polanski’s Chinatown (1974).  Like the Paramount noir juggernaut, Penn’s film unfolds in such an elegant fashion that we’re compelled to watch a second time, not because we’re obsessed with understanding the picture, but rather because it’s so damn fun to watch.

There are a number of fantastic surprises in Penn’s Night Moves– Gene Hackman’s elaborate performance (and amazing toupee, if you’re into that sort of thing), amazing production design, a re-invention of noir conventions under a contemporary guise that often works out better than the source material (again with the Chinatown parallels), a few great action sequences and some marvelous pacing.   I’m not really sure why this mid-70s gem is so damn obscure in 2010, but I certainly hope it stays afloat for future generations to discover it with a bit of digging.

Highly recommended, folks.  If you’re not already convinced, it’s worth seeing just to explore Penn’s development as a filmmaker by 1975.  As the director behind Bonnie and Clyde, we’re in the presence of a true visionary here.  It’s interesting to see what conventions he chooses to keep around, particularly in the last few minutes of the picture.

So I have this thing about ‘collecting’ films– it’s as if I’m trying to build and preserve my own media archive for a multitude of personal and professional reasons.  This isn’t a new thing– it’s been going on since I was 8 or 9, back when the ability to collect previously-viewed VHS copies from rental stores initially started to seem like the most amazing development I’d ever encountered.  I received my first DVD player for my birthday when I turned 14, along with copies of a few hallmarks of my young teenage life– Peter Jackson’s Dead Alive, George Romero’s Dawn of the Dead and Kathryn Bigelow’s Strange Days. I abandoned VHS, thouroughly. In the fifteen(ish) years that have passed since then, I’ve amassed a collection of thousands (really) of excellent, abysmal, or generally entertaining pop culture nuggets burned to the medium.   I’d really like to do something more with the collection.

Over an extended period of time, I’m going to watch and provide reviews for every media relic I’ve collected over time– that’s the ultimate goal, and frankly it’ll take forever.  Within a few months, I’ll be starting dissertation work in a formal capacity and writing about media will re-emerge as a serious ‘priority’ within my life.   I think a considerable shift (with regard, at least) could get me back into the swing of producing the sort of work I’m tired of.

If I’m tired of reading about my personal life, I’m guessing that *you’re* probably tired of reading about it as well. I’m not suggesting that I’ll never return to the subject– quite the contrary, in fact– I’m just in a place in my life where I don’t feel like talking about it so much anymore.   That being said, I really hope an epic shift in tone and scope keeps everyone a little happier with things around here. 

From this point forward, you’re likely to find that the focus of the blog is going to start bearing a striking resemblance to my Twitter account (it’s media-focused as well, and you can find it at twitter.com/westhecinephile).   Most entries will be devoted to specific films, episodes, albums, books, games, what-have-you– anything goes, so far as the selection of media relics is concerned. 

It’s time for me to provide you, dear readers, with something new.  As a professional scholar (sometimes), it’s time for me to get back into the swing of writing about what I love, know and understand.   Hopefully we can meet-in-the-middle for a really cool experience, ya know?  It’s certainly worth a shot.

Within a couple of years, I *should* have the financial means to start attending several of the larger conferences for my field. I may be sleeping in a tent on the sidewalk, but I really need to pull this off as I feel that my lack of *recent, national* conference experience is a bit of a gaping hole in my CV (perhaps the only one). In 2011 (2010 dates have passed), I’m going to get back into the swing of things by keeping on top of things locally– I need to start volunteering for more community projects, as there’s about a 1yr gap in my record of such. By 2012 or 2013, I’m hoping I’ll be able to make it out to several of the various Pop Culture Association conferences across the country. I’ve *always* felt compelled to make it out to AHA, and I’d really like to do that at least once before entering the formal job market.  I don’t really want to turn any of them into specific annual commitments (at this stage, at least), but I’m really looking forward to getting the ball rolling in this regard.

Naturally, I have to finish with Comps before I can move on to my dissertation.  Fortunately, I’ll be addressing that step in the coming months here.  I feel SO good about where things are headed with the Dissertation– I’ve gathered a rather exhaustive body of research materials, so there’s not going to be much need at all for me to travel to archives for that. 20 years ago, I would’ve had to travel to archives all over the country to build a body of decent sources to work with. Today, I feel fortunate that I can do most of this from home.

I have to avoid a certain trap, even if it seems tempting: I *can’t* take on a full-time job at a different school and try to write the Dissertation at the same time, as I’ve been told by many great scholars within my field that such is a really quick way to fuck everything up. I’m not entirely sure how this will work out financially, as I’m still trying to figure that out.  I don’t have big issues with moving at this point (at least within the continental US) now that I have a clue of where I’m headed research-wise– for a while, I was pretty stuck on the idea of staying here in town to complete it. I feel like I’m pretty flexible at this point. Dissertation should take between 18 and 24 months, as there’s much work to be done if I’m going to do it right.   I’m going to be trying to publish small chunks of it along the way, as well.

I suppose the brightest side to all of this academia is that my GPA is sealed and I’m pretty damn happy with the results.  Beyond that, I have a pretty decent record of on-campus support and I’ve had quite a few things published.  There *is* no more coursework, it’s all independent work until the end of the figurative rainbow here. 

There. Okay, I feel like a little bit less of a fuck-up after getting that out there.  I’m sure I’ll feel better about it as I head back to campus, but alas.  Mission accomplished, thanks kids.

Professionally speaking, I find myself compelled to ditch the template-esque influence of my older heroes (you know, the ones with zero influence over the subjects I genuinely care about) and seek something *genuine*. Someone close to me once told me that they often wondered why I was seeking the PhD. I’m after in the first place– I must admit, I was stumped. I had no *clue* how to respond, as I’d been asking myself the same question for quite a while. The question lived in my mind for years. At this point, I feel that my goals are solid and that I’m headed in the right direction. Truth is, I just needed to start forging my own veritable path. With something as broad as US Cultural History, it can really become whatever I want it to be. It took me a long fucking while to realize that, but the fact remains the same. I’ve done pretty well so far– often ‘on accident’, in retrospect– and in that regard, I feel that I’ve been quite fortunate. I’m at a point where I feel that I’m actually moving full-speed ahead into the development of something *personal*– something that’s mine, instead of a faithful reproduction of what others feel my career should be. In a way, I feel really proud of that, even if I don’t set the world on fire professionally. So long as I make a difference on some level, I really think I’m good.  

I’ve found that it doesn’t take a *lot* to make me happy. Yes, I’ll continue to collect media like Carrie Bradshaw collects shoes. That being said, I’m finding that I’m actually content for the first time in quite a while. Part of the revelation has to do with a newfound degree of moderation in many aspects of my life– in many regards, parts of my life were out of control before ‘things changed’ for me. I find that by cherishing the things I adore by enjoying them in moderation, I gain a higher degree of appreciation for them. I’m eating healthier and enjoying it, I’m shying away from the vast majority of my prior excessive tendencies, I feel better about myself as a result.

I’m branching out with what I know, right? Speaking of media, I find that the whole Johnny-Five-Style consumption aspect of my life has increased over the past few months. I realize now that I’m actually *good* at picking this stuff apart, just as I realize that media must remain at the center of my life if I intend to (1) remain happy and (2) succeed to any viable degree. I can’t explain when it happened, why, or how, but I know now that I have a special relationship with media and I’m *not* just wasting my time with trash. From hallmarks of the American cultural lexicon to utter trash, I fully realize now that it’s my calling to analyze these things. I can either (1) make the most of this notion or (2) lead a rather unhappy life. I think I’ll choose the former.

Finally, I’m rapidly gaining the confidence to stand alone without the direct influence or approval of others. I know that I’ve experienced true and genuine love, I know that I’ve experienced deep friendships that I’ll always cherish. I think I’ll always feel that life has offered me more than I deserve with regard to those who I’ve encountered in life. The point is, I always felt that I’d *require* some form of co-pilot or driving force to make anything of myself– I felt that I was obligated to embrace societal expectations. One day I’d be Wes the husband, Wes the father, Wes the conventionally productive member of society. At 28, I realize that I may not experience *any* of these things, and for the first time in my life I feel strong enough to accept that while remaining happy and content. Maybe one day I will experience some of that stuff, but I refuse to lead a daily life centered upon the pursuit of what others think I should seek as an adult. I know I don’t want kids and I know I don’t want to spend my life keeping up with the Jones’. I’d really just rather experience new things and embrace that which truly feels genuine to me. I must admit, I have *no fucking clue* where that will lead me– perhaps it’s all a race to the path I always imagined, but I have serious reservations about placing much faith in that.

For the first time in my life, I’m truly excited about ambiguity. I finally feel like my ‘own person’, in many regards. While I love and respect those who have supported (and continue to support) me, I no longer find myself frantically pursuing pre-existing examples to represent various degrees of ’success’ in life. Instead, I really think I’d rather define the concept on my own terms. I’m certain I’ll let you guys know if and when I get there, along with a few updates in-between.

2010 has been a hell of a year, kids. I can’t say things have been easy (at all), but I feel that I’ve learned more about myself in the past six months than I ever really contemplated beforehand. Moreover, I feel like I’ve done a decent job of making the most of a new leaf. I have *no idea* where my life is headed in countless regards– the timeline of my overall ‘plan’ expired years ago, and I’m enthusiastic to see where things are headed for me.

In the grand scheme, I will pass my comprehensive finals. I will write a dissertation that adds a fresh (if controversial) perspective to a growing body of scholarship that I care passionately about. I have no idea what I’ll do with my degree, but I find myself shying away from anything that even remotely resembles a figurative ‘rat race’. I will continue to cherish my past while accentuating the positive aspects of it whenever I can. Instead of embracing regret and looking up to virtually impossible standards, I will continue to develop love, understanding and acceptance of the factors that *are* consistent in my life. I will grow happy with who I am as I carefully balance aspirations and realistic expectations. I will continue to enjoy life a step at a time, instead of insisting on a broad focus.

“It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new life, for me….”

And for once? I really *am* ‘feelin’ good’.

I’m positively thrilled to report that much has returned to normal in my world since I arrived back at home. If you haven’t seen me since my hospital exit and you’re feeling neglected, I sincerely apologize and I promise we’ll cross paths soon. My feet are still swollen and I run out of breath easier than usual (it’s a lung tissue thing), but things are certainly improving gradually. I’m up and around a good bit more, and I am finally able to leave the apartment a bit (doctors said mid-to-late May, so I’m righht on track there). I have shoes that finally work well for me, but theyre like giant foam shells for my feet. I can’t drive a car for a few more months as a safety precaution. On the other hand, tremendous barriers are starting to dissolve for me, so I really can’t complain there. All is expected to work out well over the next few months, so I can’t argue with that. I still have to physically pace myself a bit more than usual for a little while, but I must say that circumstances have improved dramatically.

I’ve read of a few examples of people in-state who (1) were around my age and (2) randomly visited by the same illness, the only difference being that they actually died as a result of it. Ironically enough, one of them actually attended Millsaps with me during my undergrad stint there. I guess it all serves to assist me in realizing how lucky I really am here. Not only am I alive, but I’m improving at what everyone seems to consider a pretty rapid rate. Such is a notion that I rarely fail to contemplate on a consistent basis.

Generally speaking, 2010 has been pretty interesting so far. I am thrilled that my life is starting to approach some semblance of my old routine again (or rather, the favorable aspects thereof). Here’s hoping the second half of the year has something different to offer. Yet again, I sincerely don’t know how to say ‘thanks for the support’ to you guys on an individual basis, but I can assure you that I sincerely appreciate it. From warm acceptance of my family during their extended stay in Hattiesburg to favors for me at home when I was wobbly on my feet, there are too many things to thank too many people for and it simply boggles my mind. When I wrote my last entry, I wasn’t sure when (or if) all would eventually recover, or to what extent. In late May, I’m happy to report that things are much, much better. In a word, ‘thanks’.

So summer is notorious here in town.  I missed the best parts of winter and spring. Nevertheless, I feel fortunate to finally be out-and-about. Yet again, I really appreciate all the warm assistance with rendering such possible.