Daylight Savings Strikes Again

We lost an hour today to Daylight Savings and, as usual, I am up later tonight because my internal clock is out of whack. I should be glad - this gives me time to blog. I won't be glad about it come 5:30 tomorrow morning when it's time to get up for work.

I haven't much by way of news. No new home improvements like the new light fixture from last week; no new glasses to unveil; no snow to complain about. This is what one might call a slow news week. I did make two interesting discoveries, though, both yesterday.

Discovery #1: I am getting older.

I discovered this when I came across this photo in my stationary drawer:

That's me and Mike circa 2001 when Doug and I first moved to Boston. I was painting my room in Dung House when this photo was taken. I was 22. That was ten and a half years ago. I look different. Mike looks different. And that time seems like a lifetime ago. I'm not going to say they were the good ol' days, because there were a lot of things about my time in Dung House that I wouldn't necessarily want to repeat, but still. I remember a younger me with some fondness, and I'd like to go back in time and give that me some advice.

I'd advise her to just do whatever it is that she really wants to do, regardless of where that might take me or how little money it might make her. I'd advise her to meet as many people as possible, to have as many experiences as possible, to travel to as many places as possible, and to greet every new face and every new place with a smile. My furrowed brow, the creases in my forehead that I am desperately trying to minimize with day and night creams, would have been much easier to counter back then. Hindsight is 20/20.

Of course, if I went back in time to tell my 22 year-old self all of those things then I may not be here, and there is a big, very big, part of me that believes that everything that you do, all of your experiences, lead you to where you are right now. And where I am right now (sharing a comfortable chair with the most unassuming of my three cats, typing on my little laptop purchased with money I earned from my good job that affords me the opportunity to take the class for which I have been doing readings and research all afternoon, seeing out of the corner of my eye my husband playing on his smartphone and petting another of our three cats) is pretty good. All of those experiences led to this, and will lead to where I want to go next. I made a declaration to Doug about where that somewhere is, and what I want to do when I get to that somewhere. That 22 year-old me, who is now this 33 year-old me (just about, anyway), just needs to keep doing what she's doing. It seems to have worked out okay so far.

Discovery #2: Tiny prune pieces are fun.

I have always liked prunes, but I have not always eaten them with the gusto that I am now eating these tiny prune bits.

I'm a sucker for novelty foods, and these diced prunes (cleverly disguised as "Plum Amazins") are an ingenious way to get people like me to eat more of an otherwise pretty unexciting food. Pretty soon I'll be touting the merits of bran flakes and Metamucil, like all good 80 year-olds. Like I said, I am getting older. This is what old people do. We talk about prunes.

However, this coming week I'm going to be talking about, or at least reading and writing about, something a little more interesting than prunes. I have my first paper to write for my history of museums class, and it's proving to be very difficult to get back into the swing of writing actual research papers. After much reading and learning how to navigate the way-too-complicated e-resources portal from my library system, I now just have to hunker down and get it done. In case you're wondering, I'll be (briefly) exploring the exhibition of Sara Baartman and her remains, their eventual return to her native South Africa, and what this particular case-study means for the display and repatriation of human remains on exhibit in museums. I have to be honest - I never really gave much thought to seeing human remains displayed in a museum, remains like the skeleton of a "native," or a body part in a jar. When seeing these displays I would read the accompanying text, observe the display, and move on to the next object. But that's the kicker - the display, the object, was human. A human being at whom I was gawking in a museum. Probably displayed next to a dinosaur skeleton, or a stuffed giant armadillo, or a bunch of arrowheads. Have you ever thought about that? How disrespectful that is, to display human beings - or worse yet, pieces of human beings - next to animals, or inanimate objects? This is why I am addicted to learning - there is a real rush to being exposed to and changed by new ideas.

Okay, Brownest Cat. Time to collect you and head upstairs. There's more learning to be done, but this time from our cozy bed.

Paging Doctor Freud.

I am taking a psychology class this semester. I'm just a few weeks into it and we're already learning about Freud. First we learned about research methods (to remind us that psychology is indeed a science) and then we moved on to biological psychology (to also remind us that psychology is indeed a science). Now we are learning about Freud and psychoanalysis. Unlike some intro psych classes that stick strictly to the textbook, we dive right in and read a primary source. Freud, probably for a variety of reasons, has a difficult style. Takes twelve words to say what could have been said in two. But I'm sloughing through, thanks to being able to read aloud to a seasoned student of psychology.

I am not taking this class because I plan to become a psychologist or a therapist or anything like that. I just thought that this would be a good way to kill off a pretty standard pre-requisite for a potential career change, if that were to ever interest me. Teaching, dental-hygiene, nursing, speech therapy, even counseling - all of these things appeal to me, and all of the additional schooling I would need in order to pursue these careers requires a psychology class. So. I'll have my bases covered.

In the meantime, it's fun to learn about the brain and about different theories of psychology. I'm learning that Freud was one whacked-out dude, but some of his overall themes I actually think are useful and relevant. Even the idea of the id, ego, and super-ego. The idea of the self, of me, trying to create and maintain a balance between the more basic, biological needs that are battling against the bloated conscience of the external world. I like that. Maybe this is why some days feel like a struggle.

Of course, now whenever I look at something I'm reminded of some kind of psychological ideal or theory that was briefly touched on in my class. I just went through the photos on my camera to dump those I wanted onto the computer and saw this one:

I immediately thought of Freud and the possibility of Tyrone unconsciously exhibiting repressed sexual tension towards my mother (one can see Freud in anything). And then I saw Sasha trying to bust into the bag of catnip that came with her new scratching post

and was reminded of those doctors, like good Doctor Freud, who experimented with the medical possibilities of cocaine, morphine, opium, heroin, and other narcotics, on themselves and wound up, in some cases, dope fiends.

So I'm enjoying this class. It's fun to learn again, to do homework assignments, to be forced to read things that I may not otherwise have read. But let's just see if I'm singing that same tune in a few weeks when I have my first mid-term exam in something like six years. I'll have to get my seasoned student of psychology to do some review sessions with me. It will be like UCONN all over again.

Wording.

Doug has been wording, which is what I call his complete and total devouring of vocabulary words. He consults word books, is keeping flash cards of words, and he's looking up all words he doesn't know from the books he reads in the dictionary. He's wording for fun, to continue on that righteous path of learning that seems to stop when one leaves school. I wholeheartedly encourage his wording, because through him and his inability to keep his words to himself I am expanding my vocabulary, too. And, surprisingly for someone who reads as much as I do, I really need help with my vocabulary. If I'm sitting and writing or reading, and have all the words in the world at my disposal in my Merriam-Webster, then I am as much a wordsmith as Samuel Johnson, or so I'd like to think. But when I open my mouth to speak, all those words escape me. Weird.

So I have learned (and retained) five words from Doug so far. Repine, used previously, and florid. Also dilatory and vituperative and soporific. It is my goal to incorporate these words that I learn into my every day thought and speech, so beware if you see them creeping into my otherwise colloquial blog posts (I knew that word already!).

Lest this post become too soporific, how about a photo? When I'm not learning words with Doug, I'm now playing my violin. I started a beginning violin class last week and I've practiced three times so far! I am so impressed with myself; for signing up for and actually going to my class and also for practicing at home. These kinds of activities take motivation, and I've lacked a lot of that in the past. But hopefully I'm on the road to recovery, recovering that old interest that I had in music way back when, when I considered myself a clarinet and piano player, and when I was actually somewhat musically talented. Doug has been the musical one throughout this relationship, with my musicality suppressed within a phase of uncertainty. But now that I'm encouraged by the turn my life is taking, with this new job and new direction and all, and am encouraged that I am emerging from that years-long phase, I'm trying things out again, and rediscovering. Doug can have the spotlight, like he did at the Great Molasses Flood anniversary show this weekend, and I will be content with sitting in front of my music stand, squeaking out notes on my (really, really cheap) violin. For now, at least.

And what of that new direction of mine? That change in career path that has lifted some kind of heavy, heavy weight from my shoulders? Well, it's going well. Every day I'm learning, trying to both remember and learn anew what being a librarian actually means, and I'm really enjoying myself. Sure, my new office isn't nearly as plush as my old one, but it feels so much more like me. Look at it! So much less stately, so much more down-to-earth. I have my own barcode reader (because I actually have to read barcodes - on real books and DVDs and such!). And I have my own window still. No name on the door, and no Director in my title, but my life is so much more me these days that none of that really matters.

One great perk of this new situation is that I get more time to read each day. I could have been upset or annoyed by my longer commute, but instead I'm turning it into a positive because it gives me more time with my magazines and books. I've read two so far this new year, and now I'm back to reading A Passage to India, which I started before I went to India but couldn't get into it and didn't want to spend what precious little time I had to read on something that I wasn't all that interested in. Now, though, I feel that I can take the time to read more slowly, to invest a little of myself into the book, and so far this investment is paying off.