And if you disown me, I’d understand

I got destroyed by the GRE math section. I’m simultaneously flabbergasted, mortified, and resigned. The last being because nothing has gone right for me in my quest to get into a Ph.D. program. Just another straw on the camel’s back. Some things, I guess, are just not meant to be. Without inspiration, without desire, I think I’ve hit my limit.

I don’t know if this constitutes a full crisis of faith in myself. If it is a clarification, it is hard for me to see so far. I think I feel physically ill from this. Waiting for the angels to speak…

Things on my mind

  • Taking the GRE tomorrow. I don’t think I’ll do too well on it, hopefully will get about the same as last time. It sucks that the scores expire. I’m already in grad school. Why do I have to take it again to apply to Ph.D. programs?
  • There’s a conundrum about what sort of messenger bag/backpack situation I should use given that I’ll be living off campus next year. Carting around books, hw, laptop, and activity gear is going to be a major (back) pain (you know, from carrying all that stuff around). So far, I’m eyeing either a Timbuk2, Waterfield Designs, or Spire bag, depending largely on how much money I really want to spend on a bag.
  • Finished reading the New Testament. I’m not sure if I want to go through the effort of reading through the Old Testament. It’s a lot longer.
  • I think I’ve accumulated too much stuff. Moving every once in a while is nice because it forces me to throw things away. Unfortunately, never enough. I’m all out of boxes somehow.
  • If Windows 7 and the Lynnfield Nehalem processors come out soon enough, maybe I can build a new desktop and get rid of this old one, which would save me a box. A new laptop would be nice, too.
  • There are a bunch of clips of Marit Larsen singing “Lucky” with Jason Mraz. Pretty adorable.

“… and asks does [he] remember the myriad thespian extras on for example his beloved ‘Cheers!,’ not the center-stage Sam and Carla and Nom, but the nameless patrons always at tables, filling out the bar’s crowd, concessions to realism, always relegated to back- and foreground; and always having utterly silent conversations: their faces would animate and mouths move realistically, but without sound; only the name-stars at the bar itself could audibilize. The wraith says these fractional actors, human scenery, could be seen (but not heard) in most pieces of filmed entertainment. And [he] remembers them, the extras in all the public scenes, especially like bar and restaurant scenes, or rather remembers how he doesn’t quite remember them, how it never struck his addled mind as in fact surreal that their mouths moved but nothing emerged, and what a miserable fucking bottom-rung job that must be for an actor, to be sort of human furniture, figurants the wraith says they’re called, those surreally mute background presences whose presence really revealed that the camera, like any eye, has a perceptual corner, a triage of who’s important enough to be seen and heard v. just seen. A term from ballet, originally, figurant, the wraith explains. […] you can’t appreciate the dramatic pathos of a figurant until you realize how completely trapped and encaged he is in his mute peripheral status, because like say for example if one of the ‘Cheers!’ ‘s bar’s figurants suddenly decided he couldn’t take it any more and stood up and started shouting and gesturing around wildly in a bid for attention and nonperipheral status on the show, [he] realizes, all that would happen is that one of the audibilizing ‘name’ stars of the show would bolt over from stage-center and apply restraints or the Heineken Maneuver or CPR, figuring the silent gesturing figurant was choking on a beer-nut or something, and that then the whole rest of that episode of ‘Cheers!’ would be about jokes about the name star’s life-saving heroics, or else his fuck-up in applying the Heineken Maneuver to somebody who wasn’t choking on a nut. No way for the figurant to win. No possible voice or focus for the encaged figurant.”

–D. F. Wallace, Infinite Jest, 834-5