I feel kind of bad right now... maybe I AM a whiny meanie-pants! SpongeLeezle WhinyMeaniePants! LOL, I need to draw that. It's just that everything I do is practically meaningless and upon entering the research field, much of what I will do will be meaningless as well. I greatly value both writing and reading since they are two things in which I take great pleasure... but I feel like I'm trapped in Plato's cave writing novels of shadows and not of the world I know exists behind me. And certainly, one cannot accurately define something with written word without having lived it... yet everyday I'm asked to do just that. Writing should only exist to preserve action, not precede it. Afterall, Burbank, Fairchild, and Maathai do not describe their publications and academic prowess in their bibliographies... rather, they described seeing and experiencing the wonders of life first-handedly. Writing papers does not make one great... it is the greatness that one achieves that inspires one to write.
The dilemma. Sentimentality. I weave attachments to everything. The boy in the library... without a spoken word, he became a significant definition to my early college life... a source of inspiration. A vast network of individuals who I have not even physically met or with which I have not shared a single vocalization are distinct facets to my self translation. And single plants hold likewise positions of gravity in my spirit. So of course, the land would be held at no less of a reverent status since my sentimentality does not discriminate according to manifestation. My grandma has concluded to sell the family land... and trying to understand her logic, perhaps she would like the dynasty to end with her... or perhaps she acquires less value from possessing it as she would from offering it up to the corporate wolves of the agriculture industry. Over two hundred years of sentimentality... to be bartered for momentary monetary increase. And my mother cringes at the circumstances of the Midwest... how it was forcibly taken from the Native Americans... only to lie mostly unwanted, unused, and vacant... or it is thoroughly exploited until it has no use, passed from owner to owner like an unacceptable orphan.
My father wants to purchase a small piece of the land... yet it is no different than buying a second home... and we have yet to pay off our first house. He has dreams of employing my horticultural knowledge for some recreation of "A Walk In The Clouds." After all, it'd be nice if someone in Kansas produced a wine that didn't taste like fruit punch or kool-aid. lol It's good land. There's an active spring on it and in rural Kansas, having water is almost as valuable as having oil. But my last ties to Kansas will most likely be sold... and I will most likely leave here and return infrequently. Although, as I joke with my sister, I'll probably name one of my imaginary future children "Kansas." LOL She likes the name "Shawnee," after Shawnee Mission, KS and the Shawnee Indians. Sadly, I've already discussed this very topic in a Xanga entry. hahaha My gaggle of imaginary children will all have names derived from Kansas locations, scientists, paint colors, and plant names. I have to include all my passions, after all! Anyway, I suppose this is goodbye to Kansas... like the moment when two friends realize they have grown apart and must rend. And I wonder now, is it the land who is orphaned, or is it I?
Anyway, I have yet another Vegetable Crops paper to write for tomorrow, another quiz tomorrow, and the dreaded Physics exam of next week for which to study. Thank you my pathetic little blog for affording me the opportunity to continue my reign as SpongeLeezle WhinyMeaniePants!
Dodadagohvi!,
The Leezle
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment