Far too often I let the sight of falling snow consolidate all the maybes and possibilies and might-bes into a mass of twisted iron. It weighs and coats everything, the wind freezes the locks, and expands the metal to the point where the slightest adjustment in pressure might cause everything inside to pinata outwards. It's time to move...
On January 12th I leave for Decatur, IL. Until today, I didn't know where I'd be living - the fear that I might being forced to live with an 18-year old freshman, experiencing alcohol and independence for the first time - or whether I'd be able to eat anything. I tried to speak with the head chef about my "food requirements" over three months ago to no avail. He suggested that I get an apartment off campus and cook for myself, noting a Kroger not more than a mile from campus. I gave him a look through the phone, it was not received. That conversation ended with nothing. He passed the buck, refused to actually deal with my requests, and told me to handle it for myself. Of course, this is something I do right now, something I've been doing for two years now since discovering my "food requirements", and am perfectly comfortable continuing to do so. Problem was: Kroger.
A Kroger in Decatur, IL, no less. This is like asking a rock climber to buy her/his gear for the ascension of Mount Everest from a sporting goods recyclery store; all second hand and nearly worn through. There's just no way.
Then, continued the tribulations of trying to uncover whether or not a friend would sublet my apartment. His dodging had become tiresome over the months, his excuses (which turned out to be realistic, but still) unending, and I was left with more creaking and groaning of steel. It wasn't surprising that I find myself, right now, sitting at this computer wishing my stomach ache would subside or disappear so I can get to sleep. Usually, I'm forced to wait until I'm about to fall over, to hit the pillow, and it's becoming more then I can handle.
But, as I said before, this all existed until today. Today, I found out I have an apartment and that the director of dinning services has assured the dean I've been in contact with that there will be food for me to eat, every day, three times a day. Then, after more evading phone calls and texts, my friend finally told us what's going on with taking over the apartment. It was relieving. I felt my stomach warm and unbend...until I realized I'd be gone in less than a month.
Soon I'll be gone. Five months, sure, isn't a long time, but it is when you're in the belly of the beast. When you're unsure where your heart sits. I'll be back where I was six-years ago but older now, more prepared. But that doesn't calm me, it just opened one gate and froze a different one.
Friday, December 19, 2008
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Brain threads
There's something that wants to come out right now, but I'm not sure which 'something' I want to hold the cage upon for. That's the way it ends up after watching a great film, seeing something inspiring, drinking a eye-opening song or album. And that's where I am right now.
I'm in bed. There are sleep noises all around me: hum of the laptop's fan, sag of bed, churning of the heater, jangle as it turns off. I want to write about inspiration, but I won't. I want to write about where an idea begins, but I won't. So, let's go with train of thought.
Apparently, I've been told, the train that sits in the station in my head does not make all the stops a lot of other people's does. There are a few that try to tie that to this disability thing that I won't get into but I doubt that's it. After all, could a disability shape one's perspective? Could it form the pattern? Could it extrapolate the projected path from someone mentioning how beautiful the sunset is to me just stopping, completely shutting down? Nah, that doesn't make much sense. My brain does that. Sure, the route isn't necessarily predetermined all the time but more often than not, it is.
I'm a staunch believer in thought nodes. What I mean to say is that the phycological star I hitch my theory to is that there are these nodes, interconnected through synapses, of thoughts, memories, images that are spaced out throughout the brain. Now, these nodes are just the generalized notions, the most basic, boiled down generality of things. Hmm...let's try this again. Yellow, green, and blue are all colors. They're all defined within that umbrella, right? Right. So, there's a node. Colors: Yellow, green, blue, etc. The problem is that green is comprised of both blue and yellow, so those branches are connected independently of the umbrella: color. Following? Awesome.
So, here's the thing: these items in the brain, plus the nodes that they branch from are associated and organized specifically. So, I'm saying, my brain associates things differently then most. Why? Because there's one giant node, in my head, that all other nodes are threaded. All other branches can be lead back to one, universal mega-node: God.
Wow, I just went all over the place. Anyway, with God firmly established, with this "mega-node" as the backbone, the fundamental, purest, first creative point well established I can say that all inspiration and thought stems from that source: God.
Was that coherent at all? I'm not sure.
I watched ADAPTATION tonight for the first time and my brain immediately went to the way it's wired and why. So, I guess that's an explanation of who I am and how I think. I guess. Some train, huh?
I'm in bed. There are sleep noises all around me: hum of the laptop's fan, sag of bed, churning of the heater, jangle as it turns off. I want to write about inspiration, but I won't. I want to write about where an idea begins, but I won't. So, let's go with train of thought.
Apparently, I've been told, the train that sits in the station in my head does not make all the stops a lot of other people's does. There are a few that try to tie that to this disability thing that I won't get into but I doubt that's it. After all, could a disability shape one's perspective? Could it form the pattern? Could it extrapolate the projected path from someone mentioning how beautiful the sunset is to me just stopping, completely shutting down? Nah, that doesn't make much sense. My brain does that. Sure, the route isn't necessarily predetermined all the time but more often than not, it is.
I'm a staunch believer in thought nodes. What I mean to say is that the phycological star I hitch my theory to is that there are these nodes, interconnected through synapses, of thoughts, memories, images that are spaced out throughout the brain. Now, these nodes are just the generalized notions, the most basic, boiled down generality of things. Hmm...let's try this again. Yellow, green, and blue are all colors. They're all defined within that umbrella, right? Right. So, there's a node. Colors: Yellow, green, blue, etc. The problem is that green is comprised of both blue and yellow, so those branches are connected independently of the umbrella: color. Following? Awesome.
So, here's the thing: these items in the brain, plus the nodes that they branch from are associated and organized specifically. So, I'm saying, my brain associates things differently then most. Why? Because there's one giant node, in my head, that all other nodes are threaded. All other branches can be lead back to one, universal mega-node: God.
Wow, I just went all over the place. Anyway, with God firmly established, with this "mega-node" as the backbone, the fundamental, purest, first creative point well established I can say that all inspiration and thought stems from that source: God.
Was that coherent at all? I'm not sure.
I watched ADAPTATION tonight for the first time and my brain immediately went to the way it's wired and why. So, I guess that's an explanation of who I am and how I think. I guess. Some train, huh?
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
As the days move on...
It's been a little while, yes. Right now, I sit in Cafe Ambrosia in Evanston, a block from Northwestern's campus, trying to create content. Since the last time I posted Heather and I launched Davidprecht.com and really want you to visit it. It's super rad!
Outside of that, I've been so busy with the Central Region Baha'i Conference this past weekend and trying to get this site up and content-ful. I haven't really been able to think about life without work, I've been so cocooned in other stuff. We'll see how things settle in the next couple days. Perhaps I'll begin thinking about it again. As it stands, however, there's too much else to think about.
Outside of that, I've been so busy with the Central Region Baha'i Conference this past weekend and trying to get this site up and content-ful. I haven't really been able to think about life without work, I've been so cocooned in other stuff. We'll see how things settle in the next couple days. Perhaps I'll begin thinking about it again. As it stands, however, there's too much else to think about.
Thursday, December 04, 2008
Post No Work, Day 3: Late night
As the night continues, we're still up. We sit here in the kitchen/dinning room sharing stories and thoughts. All deeply personal. Some causing welling up. At this point we've gotten into the innate varieties in our (Bobby Aazami and my) Persian parents - both his parents and my mother are from Iran. Talking about the pride they carry, the inability to translate personal thoughts and passions into words [unless, of course, they're talking about the Baha'i Faith or their pride in their children when speaking with strangers or friend and we are not around (an attribute Emily Price had mentioned her father also shared, as well as my father)], and their, thankfully, diminishing belief that the non-Persian cultures of the world will eventually come around and aline themselves with traditional, Farsi speaking people. This last bit is one that doesn't solely dwell with Persians, but one that most other cultures have had to tackle over the last hundred to two hundred years. Anyway...
Hitting the rewind button for a while, we talked about our (Bobby and my) leaving of the Baha'i National Center. How we both felt like the time had come for us to move on. I admitted to both of them that I had been feeling it for some time, and Bobby told us a story about how his moving on felt right, three months or so before the lay off. He told us that it was the perfect time to leave, especially knowing now that the lay offs took place.
Then, he told a story about receiving a prayer book at his goodbye party, a tradition for those departing from the BNC and weren't fired. He said that he wanted to make a big joke about receiving the prayer book, that he was primed and ready to blurt it out, but got choked up looking down at the personalized message and signatures from all the members of the National Spiritual Assembly of the Baha'is of the United States. It was a big deal for him. It's a big deal for everyone leaving to feel like their service was appreciated.
I stood there across from him, looking down at my hands. They looked the way one's hands would look if they were holding something that meant something. ...yeah, that sounds overly dramatic and silly, but that's the way it felt. When the story concluded I told them that I felt bad for everyone that was laid off. No one had a party; no one was forced to stand in front of a large group of people to tell them what their plans were for the future; no one had the chance to look down at a symbol of their service.
Bobby was shocked. He apologized to me as if a proxy for the NSA, and it was appreciated but I still felt a little hollow.
Fast-forward a bit to Luthando walking back through the front door, shifting pieces of mail in his hands. Amongst them was a book-sized, padded envelope. I saw it and felt something, but didn't dare cling to it. We continued talking about whatever we were talking about at that moment until he got to the table in the dinning room. He analyzed the envelope addressed to him and passed the rest of the stack to me.
On the sticker, affixed to the padded envelope was the letterhead for the BNC and my name and address. First, I thought it was a DVD. The newsreel or something. But why would they send me the newsreel? I rationalized it away quickly and began opening, and there it was... The prayer book.
It hit hard. Bobby began cheering and stomping, hooting and hollering, around the kitchen as if rubbing it in my face. "See! See what happens! You feel bad, like you're not appreciated and Baha'u'llah delivers proof!" And he was right. Despite my previous comments that I had come to grips with my departure from the BNC, despite swearing to my parents that it didn't hurt "that much" and that I was prepared and probably needed to leave, it still hurt a bit until that moment.
I opened it up and saw that every member had signed the card, stuck to the inside cover. On the opposite side of the folded page, a message addressed "Dear David". It didn't matter that each are the same, that they're form letters printed out, folded, and presented to the NSA members to sign. I felt like they cared. That my service meant something to someone other then me.
Hitting the rewind button for a while, we talked about our (Bobby and my) leaving of the Baha'i National Center. How we both felt like the time had come for us to move on. I admitted to both of them that I had been feeling it for some time, and Bobby told us a story about how his moving on felt right, three months or so before the lay off. He told us that it was the perfect time to leave, especially knowing now that the lay offs took place.
Then, he told a story about receiving a prayer book at his goodbye party, a tradition for those departing from the BNC and weren't fired. He said that he wanted to make a big joke about receiving the prayer book, that he was primed and ready to blurt it out, but got choked up looking down at the personalized message and signatures from all the members of the National Spiritual Assembly of the Baha'is of the United States. It was a big deal for him. It's a big deal for everyone leaving to feel like their service was appreciated.
I stood there across from him, looking down at my hands. They looked the way one's hands would look if they were holding something that meant something. ...yeah, that sounds overly dramatic and silly, but that's the way it felt. When the story concluded I told them that I felt bad for everyone that was laid off. No one had a party; no one was forced to stand in front of a large group of people to tell them what their plans were for the future; no one had the chance to look down at a symbol of their service.
Bobby was shocked. He apologized to me as if a proxy for the NSA, and it was appreciated but I still felt a little hollow.
Fast-forward a bit to Luthando walking back through the front door, shifting pieces of mail in his hands. Amongst them was a book-sized, padded envelope. I saw it and felt something, but didn't dare cling to it. We continued talking about whatever we were talking about at that moment until he got to the table in the dinning room. He analyzed the envelope addressed to him and passed the rest of the stack to me.
On the sticker, affixed to the padded envelope was the letterhead for the BNC and my name and address. First, I thought it was a DVD. The newsreel or something. But why would they send me the newsreel? I rationalized it away quickly and began opening, and there it was... The prayer book.
It hit hard. Bobby began cheering and stomping, hooting and hollering, around the kitchen as if rubbing it in my face. "See! See what happens! You feel bad, like you're not appreciated and Baha'u'llah delivers proof!" And he was right. Despite my previous comments that I had come to grips with my departure from the BNC, despite swearing to my parents that it didn't hurt "that much" and that I was prepared and probably needed to leave, it still hurt a bit until that moment.
I opened it up and saw that every member had signed the card, stuck to the inside cover. On the opposite side of the folded page, a message addressed "Dear David". It didn't matter that each are the same, that they're form letters printed out, folded, and presented to the NSA members to sign. I felt like they cared. That my service meant something to someone other then me.
Wednesday, December 03, 2008
Post No Work, Day 2: Lax days, stiff beats
It's been over a week since last I wrote. The Thanksgiving break, the primarily reason why. But here I am again, sitting at my computer, wondering about not only what to say, but where I am mentally. Hmm...here goes something.
I've realized that I have a derth of new music. After the sometimes painful drive up to Minnesota, cramped in the back seat with Lindsay and my little sister, I found myself pouring over the tracks on my iPhone. Very old hat. In fact, even my parents, whose commentary on the music I listen to has become something not only old hat but background noise, interjected that what I was suggesting they had either already heard or was boring. Usually, I brush this off but...they were right. My iTunes has become riddled with collections of dust and hair. Enter, last.fm's Top 10 lists of 2008.
The great thing about last.fm is that it's largely democratic. Their system catalogues what you listen to and how many times and keeps a running tally on their site; I highly recommend it. This is the perfect dynamic for unbiased representations of what is "hot".
Last.fm, although apparently largely comprised of Brits, has decided, based on number of plays, what the top 10 artists, albums, and tracks are of 2008. This list, after I ignored MGMT for reasons I don't care to get into right now, has become one of my benchmarks. It is my springboard into a new world of tunes.
Oh, did I mention the Shortlist Awards? Yeah, that's another brilliant resource. Because, really, I don't care that an album went gold. I care that it's good, great, or fantastic.
In as much as my current mental status: I'm optimistic.
I'm working on the content for my website and, when I feel tapped out on that, I'll be attempting to pull out another essay or two. And as far as non-creative ventures, Monday was my last full day at the office. I cleared everything out save a drawer full of drum sticks and a cowbell - don't ask. Having explained the piles of unfinished, unfiled, or ignored work to Steve, I left with Lindsay. Perhaps her stressful state, attempting to create and print the agendas for at least two of the upcoming, spur of the moment Baha'i conferences, keeps my mouth closed about the whole experience. That maybe there's something lingering that will require my attention at some point in the near future, but I don't think so. I think the two weeks I spent after being told I was laid off was preparation enough. That any more dwelling on it or mulling over the ramifications would only serve to set me back, and I really don't need any of that.
I, instead, walked through the building, collecting hugs and warmest wishes from many of the most impressive people I've ever had the chance to work or spend extended time with. There was an air of confidence from them, and hopefully from me, as I walked out. And a smiling calm that I thanked him for helping me whenever I needed it, goodbye from Mr. Bowers, the Secretary of the National Spiritual Assembly of the Baha'is of the United States. Also, that he pushed me out the door when I felt the tractor beam of the building beginning to take hold.
I've realized that I have a derth of new music. After the sometimes painful drive up to Minnesota, cramped in the back seat with Lindsay and my little sister, I found myself pouring over the tracks on my iPhone. Very old hat. In fact, even my parents, whose commentary on the music I listen to has become something not only old hat but background noise, interjected that what I was suggesting they had either already heard or was boring. Usually, I brush this off but...they were right. My iTunes has become riddled with collections of dust and hair. Enter, last.fm's Top 10 lists of 2008.
The great thing about last.fm is that it's largely democratic. Their system catalogues what you listen to and how many times and keeps a running tally on their site; I highly recommend it. This is the perfect dynamic for unbiased representations of what is "hot".
Last.fm, although apparently largely comprised of Brits, has decided, based on number of plays, what the top 10 artists, albums, and tracks are of 2008. This list, after I ignored MGMT for reasons I don't care to get into right now, has become one of my benchmarks. It is my springboard into a new world of tunes.
Oh, did I mention the Shortlist Awards? Yeah, that's another brilliant resource. Because, really, I don't care that an album went gold. I care that it's good, great, or fantastic.
In as much as my current mental status: I'm optimistic.
I'm working on the content for my website and, when I feel tapped out on that, I'll be attempting to pull out another essay or two. And as far as non-creative ventures, Monday was my last full day at the office. I cleared everything out save a drawer full of drum sticks and a cowbell - don't ask. Having explained the piles of unfinished, unfiled, or ignored work to Steve, I left with Lindsay. Perhaps her stressful state, attempting to create and print the agendas for at least two of the upcoming, spur of the moment Baha'i conferences, keeps my mouth closed about the whole experience. That maybe there's something lingering that will require my attention at some point in the near future, but I don't think so. I think the two weeks I spent after being told I was laid off was preparation enough. That any more dwelling on it or mulling over the ramifications would only serve to set me back, and I really don't need any of that.
I, instead, walked through the building, collecting hugs and warmest wishes from many of the most impressive people I've ever had the chance to work or spend extended time with. There was an air of confidence from them, and hopefully from me, as I walked out. And a smiling calm that I thanked him for helping me whenever I needed it, goodbye from Mr. Bowers, the Secretary of the National Spiritual Assembly of the Baha'is of the United States. Also, that he pushed me out the door when I felt the tractor beam of the building beginning to take hold.
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