I am writing this on a computer in the newly built Sioux Center Public Library (hold for applause). I remember spending a few evenings freshman year calling Sioux Centerites and asking for library funds. The most I had managed to squander, from one person, was a hundred dollars. That's a lot of money and God bless them for helping out the library like that, but I can't imagine how much it cost to put this building up. It's a very open space with a fireplace and semi-vaulted ceilings... it's no Pella library, but it's an impressive space. Brick columns and squared carpet... surprisingly sparse shelving, but plenty of shelving nonetheless. Oh, and there are computers labeled, "Sioux Center Public Library CARD CATALOG ONLY," that you can go on and check your email and blog on. Looking back on the libraries of my life - elementary school, Calvin library, the one in Cascade and Hulst Library at Dordt - evokes a sense of stillness and, maybe even, solemnity. Not a hissy librarian looking down her nose at you, saying, "Quiet child! People are trying to read!" But more of a 15th century French library where robes and staffs and penises are required to enter. Most of you know my enthusiasm for robes, staffs and having a penis, but what I'm trying to say is that (and part of this can likely be blamed for the outdoor construction) there's an awful lot of noise traveling throughout the space. Click at the circulation desk, hammering outside, woman shuffling through the Kingsbury four shelves over... and, of course, the cell phone rings. The lady rifles through her purse to find it and speaks to her child? Instead of the quiet din of undisturbed silence, there's the looming growl of computers and copy machines humming to establish their existence and dominion.
But at least there are people here, where the books are.

Oh, and classes at Dordt start in two days. It's interesting to see all the happy freshmen, euphoric from starting their first of four years of sleep overs. Live it up, ya rascals.

They pulled up to the curb in a dusty Plymouth with the windows rolled down. The mother driving was framed by the cracks in the windshield, which were placed in such a precise and, seemingly, deliberate way. Her face sat perfectly in the center, in the bull's eye, of the target. Was it from a rock? A baseball bat? And, for that matter, were the children - wide-eyed and nappy-haired in the backseat - present at the time of the aggression? It was a warm evening towards the end of summer and the store had its air humming all day long. But they merely sat in the car - mother, father and daughters - for a few minutes, occasionally speaking, and smirking, at one another before pulling away. They had stopped for no apparent reason and they were now headed back from where they came, bounding over the heavy blacktop and causing the heat to stir.

-

The current rate of daily activities is some sort of outrageous. The semester hasn't even started and, physically, I'm feeling it. Jess has been eye-twitching, from nervosity, for the better part of a week. I predicted, for the upcoming year, that my social habits will be very waning in comparison to previous semesters. It's a good thing I'm not engaged, innit? And all the ladies say, "YEAH!" Oh, you crazy ladies.

The darkroom will require some assembly. As will the stereo. And all the other boxes (mostly mine) sitting unpacked in the apartment. It's good to see people milling around campus again - even if the campus is torn up with recently-initiated construction and nobody really knows how to mill about anymore. Liz Brand was the first person, that I know as a friend, that I saw back on campus from having spent the summer away from Sioux Center. Hooray for Liz Brand! You go, Liz Brand!

I found myself surprisingly angry today. For no specific reason... which I took to be a bad sign of... something. There were a handful of things that went against plan or preference, but nothing that should have risked an asshole's behavior to the parents (didn't happen) or a sudden screaming, to myself, in the car (which did happen and it was odd and oddly satisfying... and a bit unnerving).

Travel was, and is, a blessing. It's good to be reminded, again, of how lovely and funny some people are - to see that they come from similar family members and places.
But you're all coming back now (except for some and you will be missed), so let's start the semester of me-not-seeing-you-very-much and get it over with. Not that second semester will be any better... gosh, this is getting to be a bummer.

Rob says you love, love, love
then you die.
I've watched him while sleeping and seen him crying
with closed eyes.
And you're not happy, but you're funny.
And I'm tripping over my joy.
But I just keep on getting up again.

We could be daytime drunks if we wanted-
we'd never get anything done that way, baby.
And we'd still be ruled by our dueling perspectives,
and I'm not my perspective
or the lies I'll tell you every time.

-A bit of one of the most beautiful songs I know.
The Absence of God by Rilo Kiley. It is lonely and lovely and, as it goes on, it lifts the veil of depression. I promise.

Until I see you on campus.

There's a cricket hiding somewhere in the downstairs bathroom. He's small and he frightens easily, but only for a little bit at a time. I can only assume he is small, in comparison to, say, a triceratops, because I haven't seen him ever... though this is the fourth night that I've tried looking. Also, he is loud. That little fucker knows how to play. Chances are that he has settled inside of some forgotten horn and the acoustics are only helping him. Still, very impressive.

A list of things that (momentarily) frighten little Chang:

turning the light on
turning the light off
rolling out of bed
loud groans
checking the time on a cell phone
flipping the pillow over
vampires


Today brought more accomplishments, more mental listing and anxieties. A fun surprise is that the Greyhound station lady misunderstood me when I said that I'd like to arrive in Minneapolis on Thursday. She scheduled the ticket for Wednesday and I noticed it, for the first time, early this morning. The summer time. Hooray!

Have we ever the time or the self-discipline to take care of everything we promised? For that matter, is it acceptable to promise little? To promise less? Is it the wiser lifestyle to focus our ambitions to a handful of goals? Can one be happy with eighteen credits plus additional carry-on baggage? "It's too dangerous! It's too easy to be consumed!"

Some of us are more prone to addiction. Sometimes we view the people in our lives as distractions. Some things are actually worth doing alone. Isn't it weird that too much sleep is bad for you? Sometimes, you might need to stay in bed for a long time. Otherwise, jump out and put on your glasses.

Thanks for stories and encouragement, time alone, going to Michigan so I can take the stereo, selling spicy carrots, enthusiasm for the Olympics and showing me things that I would appreciate.

Thinking in italics

This morning, Matt kicked me awake and I sat fighting my eyelids while he ate a bowl of cereal. Then we went to work, loaded into the back of a large pickup truck, and journeyed carefully to Sioux Falls to set up for market. We left Sioux Center at 4 40 AM.

None of you believe me. Matt doesn't either, I'm sure. But I swear we did. Market ran until one in the afternoon when late lunch shoppers dwindled down and the heat became just too harsh for the tomatoes and cucumbers.

Imagine how it went - I'm not going to write anymore tonight. There's an article on the Dalai Lama tonight and greeting in the morning. Thanks for poems on postcards, sporadic and lengthy voicemails, the people who took home twenty pounds of tomatoes and Elliott Smith.

My lightning bolts a glowin', I can't see where I am goin'

It's 9 42 pm on a dreadful, muggy Sunday evening in Sioux Center. The thermometer reads a little past 85 F and if you stick your head out the window, your glasses fog halfway up the lens. Yikes. We haven't spent a night with the air conditioner on - the neighbors do. My bedroom window opens right up to their machine roaring all night. Tonight, ours might be on too. I took a short nap out on the deck and when I came inside to use the bathroom, I saw that sweat had soaked through the pits of my shirt. My mind is caffeinated and spinning. The problem is that, today, I sporadically read about gardening and food, looked through some professional photography portfolios (online), began a bread, really wanted to watch a movie(s), and contemplated the building of a darkroom. I sat down with my notebook to try and outline a film and send off the notes to Piper for her consideration. I'm sure if I watched a film, I could get in that mind. Capote and caffeine should be more than enough stimulation. Black coffee is comforting. Yesterday we had pasta with tomatoes, leeks, chives and basil from the garden. Today we had pasta with a store-bought jar of sauce. One of them tasted like cafeteria. (Also today, BLTs with Golden Boy tomatoes, New Zealand spinach, leeks. Always add leeks.) It's important to have a workspace. I finally transplanted the pallet of hollyhocks that we got from garden weeeeeeeeeeks ago. They were still green, still reaching out but unable to grow any taller. Now they are. Sorry it took so long guys. That's the pretty cool thing about plants (and a dog, for that matter). For the most part, they don't hold grudges or run out of patience so long as they have what they need. They're hoping, with every day, to be put in the earth, always come running when you open the door. Also, it's completely marvelous that a thin plant about eighteen inches tall can develop a bulbous bell pepper the size of a snow globe ALL from the rain, the earth and the sun. And, at its zenith, it is snapped off and consumed by consumers. The plant can no longer nourish and develop its fruit - it just goes on developing more, without tears, until the seasons send it back down to the earth to nourish other plants. Some fucker, with some foreign change, has my DVD of Thank You For Smoking. Which is the angry way of saying I can't find it. In other news, the heathens at Hy-Vee were selling Broken Flowers for two dollars fifty. Philistines. Americans. I asked my mom if the Shims (Midwest chapter) could go to Italy once I graduate. You know, once our lives are over because we're all grown up and stuff. She laughed.
"What would we do in Italy?"
"You know, eat and stuff."

So, in short, today has been about food and a little about photography. After this film, maybe that will change. I think we're watching Capote, Punch Drunk Love or Art School Confidential.