Something small and mighty happened to me a few moments ago: I remembered that Simon and Garfunkel songs exist. Thanks to the influence of my sisters, Simon and Garfunkel was a major fixture for me somewhere between my birth and the beginnings of Ace of Base. Listening to "Homeward Bound" makes me feel powerfully connected to my childhood, and that--more than any word of encouragement or desperate prayer since this whole "relocation" business was conceived--holds me gently above waves of stress.

I don't think that anybody knows how deep this sadness goes about leaving Searcy. One of the letters I received after my college graduation was from an older Harding grad who told me that moving from Searcy was the hardest thing she had ever had to do. This move is certainly the most emotionally difficult of the 7 in my life. I don't really want to leave. I love it here, I love the town and the people, I even love the things I do not love.

Getting out of Searcy is absolutely necessary to fulfill greater goals in my life, and I haven't seen enough of the country to settle down. I haven't seen enough of anything in my life to settle anything, actually. The most exciting prospect of that eventual settling, though, is that I could potentially make a home beside people I loved best when I was in Searcy.

Though family doesn't have the monopoly on arrivals and departures, I think my parents understand my melancholy better than anybody. My father would say something like, "My sweet daughter Karyn, I know that intellectually you understand that your life will go on from here. It's just difficult to sense that viscerally."

And then what he said when one of my best friends moved away from Guam: "I know that it feels like the end of the world, but it it's not." Simple, yes, but that statement is one of the most helpful things I've heard in my life, and my heart returns to it more frequently than my father probably realizes.

I want to hear that again in person. I wish I was homeward bound.

Props to Owen for being alright with having an exposed nerve as a girlfriend.

when i pour coffee for myself at work, i wait a while before i drink it to let it cool down. by the time i realize that i left the coffee sitting, it's invariably cold. so, i have cold coffee almost every workday.

where have you gone, jacques derrida? is everything in life a metaphor for something else?

For whatever reason, I have not felt qualified to write in my own journal. I think I finally understand what J. Alfred Prufrock feels like: No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be...

The end of the semester is a challenging time for both students and teachers, though I suppose that goes without typing. The end is visible only if I climb atop the Great Mound of Students Papers I Have Yet To Grade, and I can see the finish line over long Fields of Personal Belongings to Pack in Cardboard Boxes only if i strain my eyes past the vast Forest of Friends With Whom I Should Spend "Goodbye" Fellowship. The path is so dense and the weeds have grown so tall that I'm not even sure where to make the first step. What is the etiquette?

I've never chosen to leave a place before.

For the ENG 111 final, I am planning on showing The Dead Poets Society and asking them to respond--in essay form, of course--to questions about the purpose and definition of education and the balance between personal, family, and community identity. Gimmicky? Yes, but I have observed them for three and a half months, and they need this. Especially the part about the purpose of education. Students ought not be reluctant to accept responsibility for themselves and their progress. Teachers ought not be made to feel like villains on a college campus, especially given that the campus exists to offer the classes they teach. But I'll bet, if I can say this without sounding too cynical, that when I was describing the final, most of the students simply heard, "We're watching and discussing movie, which means you don't have to think at all!" The truth can be mean, but if Harding students are actually entitled to anything, it's the truth.

I still have no idea what to do for the ENG 211 final. Two weeks ago, I ordered an interesting documentary that I wanted to show and have them write about, but it hasn't arrived. My mission this weekend will be to finish grading and figure out this final.

Owen recently visited again, maybe twice since my last post, and in a few weeks, I will be in Ohio helping him paint his house, fix up his yard, and pack his things in our moving van. Maybe over that time, his dog will learn not to want to eat my cat, and my cat will learn not to hiss at his dog quite so much. I hope that doesn't come off as mechanical, because I love him remarkably.

I can't wait to finish up with the house and visit my parents.

It's 11:30. I think it's safe to say that my 11:00 appointment is a no-show.

once in a while, the english department funds visiting authors and poets who read their work aloud, give lectures about careers in writing, and answer questions about getting started. the purpose of these visits is to encourage english majors about the usefulness of their degrees, foster departmental unity through fellowship, and celebrate the written word as a continually powerful medium.

last week, harding brought the poet miller williams to read his work. although his poems are outstanding, my favorite thing he said that evening was an introductory statement to what he calls his most anthologized poem, "The Caterpillar."

The poem I'm going to read is about a caterpillar, but I want you to understand that there are no poems about caterpillars. There are only poems about human beings.

i dug it. i will certainly be using that if/when i teach poetry.

i have been working on this new template for a while. i still love dandelions, but it was time for a change. =)

i've been spending the past year of my life thinking constantly of writing, so here you go. "a sort of a song" is one of my favorite poems by one of my favorite poets.

more later, now that the new template isn't a priority!

three true statements:

1) nothing--not even a common savior--brings people together quite like a common enemy.

2) i'm having a hard time sleeping lately because i have so much anxiety about the future.

3) great expectations is a huge downer.

i'm curious about the limitations of emotional development. based on observation, i don't think very much changes when a human being gets older. the compulsions of childhood seem to remain: the needs for attention, validation, acceptance, and emotional release, the unyielding desire to be loved, and the continual demand to be told that one is special and uniquely appreciated.

does that mean that the difference between an adult and a child is that the adult is expected to curb any outward symptoms of childishness? i think so. adults aren't allowed to be unabashedly needy.

i am, of course, curious about this only because i am seeing it relate to my own life. (childish?)

lately, i'm realizing that there will not be a time when i am magically capable of managing my own steps in life. a person trying to transition from dependence into independence must have faith in the power of his or her sovereignty--"i am able to care for myself because i believe in my ability to care for myself." this is not compelling on paper, but i suppose that, after a few decisions, an individual gets some "verifiable data" that he or she is indeed capable, and the belief becomes more real. i'm not going to become magically capable, but i did hold down a job this year.

still, below the layer of auto insurance and mortgage payments, there exists the same set of needs. what is the outlet for the continuation of "childish" urges?

so far, the outlet is friendship, at least one other person who can recognize and accept that human beings need need need like infants, constantly calling out to be changed, cradled, fed, nurtured.

i don't know, man. i realize that all of this is now pretty corny and obvious, but it was a revelation for me.

oh, also, i got into csu.