Berkeley, Saturday
Feeling vaguely disillusioned, but about what I can't quite say. Perhaps it's merely this time of the night, when my throat turns dry and my head feels light. Anyhow.
Go Tournament
I felt only the utmost respect for those dedicated people, sitting in a basement for several hours just to play this challenging game. Yoshi and Alexa(is? I didn't quite catch it) were terribly friendly. Was distinctly an outsider to their black and white world, and I was envious. Pined for belonging, for a seat in their fascinating strategems, but I did not want to play the game so much as I wanted to be a part of something again. With that comprehension of my misplaced motives, I knew I would not act, will not act, but merely accept the disheartening position of spectator with a laugh and a new library card.
Berkeley
Here again, distinctly separated. As if happily sifting flour only to discover you aren't sifting flour at all but corn meal instead and none of it will fall through the holes and some of it falls partway through and you can't use the sifter at all anymore. In the summer, when I was taking classes, I seemed to be a part of the vibrant college culture. The group of students swing dancing in front of the bear cafe, the shouts from a larger group in the distance. A student holding a sign, Democrats for Democracy. Gray-haired lady getting signatures for some petition or another, keenly interested until she discovers you're not 18.
The homeless
Instant labeling system. Annoying, but harmless. Looks pitiful, any spare change? Deranged--avoid cane. And so on and so forth.
I don't mean to be heartless.
Memorable
Her advice has reoccurred to me several times today--her words, "Make yourself memorable," echoing like a warning despite her kindness as she spoke them. What does it mean to be memorable? It's so much simpler to be forgettable, just another face in the crowd, unnoticeable, or if noticed, lost again in an instant. I can't believe how tired I am right now. I'm falling asleep as I type. I still have work to do though, so I can't sleep just yet.
3rd
There was no grace, no triumphant moment of beauty, no sparkle or magic or mystery. It was merely confusing and deafeningly pointless. She saw in her discontent a foreshadowing for the years ahead, however long they would be. The thought filled her with dread and sorrow and desperation. A road of endless agony and untold misery, of a silent, subtle sore that would slowly consume her, even as the tourquoise flashes were meretricious, the orange gloves gaudy. And...the third person was too pretentious, but me, me, me and I, I, I seemed rather more tedious.
Ambition
After a month-and-a-half-long hiatus, it is again time to fall, more humbly than ever before, at the feet of dear Ambition. And should this god deny his most abject servant his most precious blessings, then this servant shall be obliged to work hard and harder still to stand once more in the good graces of her sole god and master, Ambition. In such cases, the ability to visualize success is invaluable to the creation of that success. And it does not matter that success is such a disgustingly malleable word; it matters only that one attains it. Oh, Ambition, my lord! Ambition, my savior! That thou shalt be once more my light in this darkness. That thy wisdom shalt by my wisdom and thy judgements my judgements. Even the air is taut with expectation! I shall not fail again.
