~equilibrio~

I am an exercise in balance. Also, apparently in blog resuscitation. Sitting here in the library, surrounded by books and papers, folders and sticky notes, and the looming black shape of my binder, I figure that it can't hurt to take this for a test rerun, and see if the revival can be part of the effort toward equilibrium.

Here's the heavy object I'm working on balancing out: SENIOR THESIS.

I'm currently reading (or should be) the novel Nubosidad variable (Variable cloudiness) by Spanish writer Carmen Martín Gaite, and my thesis will be an analytical take on the novel through the lens of feminist theory, specifically those branches which highlight the flaw of feminism itself in assuming that "women" can be unified as one category created by patriarchal oppression. Martín Gaite herself was apparently adamant that she did not consider herself or her works to be feminist, an odd claim considering the overwhelming number of women who protagonize her novels. Now I need to elaborate that in 700-1000 words and turn it in a week from tomorrow, but only after thesis advisor meeting #3, which happens tomorrow, so for today (and probably most of tomorrow) it's just read read read read read...

{Enter EQUILIBRIO} Yes, that's Spanish (but the translation isn't hard), which I thought appropriate, all things (but mostly the Spanish major) considered. Here's what Equilibrio does. He encourages conversations, mostly via phone, with people who are in no way stressed about school or thesis or academics of any kind. He encourages me to take a night off from the library at least once a week. He convinces me to take longer than half an hour for dinner and go out to celebrate a friend's success. In an hour taken to translate a pamphlet for a neighbor, he may have found me a side job. He tells me I should go to the improv comedy show tonight. He's looking forward to home soccer games this weekend. And he's brought me the two brightest spots in my week: three total hours volunteering in a preschool classroom at the local elementary school.

I didn't really consider how difficult it would be to be stressed about a college senior thesis in a preschool classroom. There are so many more pressing issues: like whether to stamp the smiley faced sun in green or pink ink, and that the make-believe hot cocoa in the red plastic shot-glass-sized cup is way too hot, or that the regular teacher (in the words of one kid) is sooooooo sick today, and the other teachers were joking about making the substitute do diaper duty. (Go ahead, laugh at the juvenile pun.) The point is, preschool makes me forget about college for three short hours a week, which was precisely Equilibrio's goal.

Hopefully, CPRing the blog will achieve E's goal in a slightly different way - by taking the time to stop and coherently recount (which is to say, think about) things that happen, I will be aware of the balance, and how he's doing. Because as long as he stays healthy, I stay healthy. (Creepy crazy personification of life balance aside.) That's the plan, anyway.

Zeta Oph

One of the bookmarks in the toolbar of my web browser is labelled APOD, and takes me to http://apod.nasa.gov/apod/, a site (obviously) run by NASA. APOD stands for Astronomy Picture Of the Day, and when I've already checked email, Facebook, and Blogger for interesting ways to waste my time on the internet, APOD often provides me with several seconds of wonder. That's really all I'm looking for - there was a video up the other day (occasionally they're AVODs instead of APODS) that lasted more than 9 minutes, and I opted out. Sometimes I read the details of the descriptions below the photographs, but more often then not I just skim enough to be able to put a name to what I'm looking at. Some days, the photos themselves are the cool part - the photographer has done something interesting with the exposure, or captured a curious light effect, etc; some days, the subject matter makes my jaw drop. Yes, that's an actual photograph of light that's lightyears away. Yes, that's a world being born, or dying.

But today, what caught my attention wasn't the photograph itself - though it's awesome as usual - but the heading, which describes the photograph's content as a "runaway star". I glanced at it, as usual, ready to ignore the finer print, scientific explanation of what I was looking at. More often than not, I lean toward the "oh, look at the pretty lights" kind of astronomy. But the phrase "runaway star" caught my interest, as a matter of language rather than science. The part of my head that still thinks like a children's picture book wanted to know: what does a star have to run away from?