The Philosophy of Home Alone

I'm home for the holidays obviously. And while I love being home and spending time with my family, there's always a lot of people in my house. Whether it is having my entire extended family over for dinner or just my immediate family discussing computers while I am trying to watch a movie, there is always SOMEBODY talking. Which is great usually.

But last night, my parents and brother went over to my Aunt's house for a game night. I stayed home to study. Let me be honest...not much studying happened. I happen to LOVE being home alone. It's wonderful. Don't get any ideas, I don't run around in my underwear or anything (my house has lots of windows, that could get awkward). But I do put on my most comfy pjs and do WHATEVER I want.

I watch lame movies on hallmark channel. I work out while looking as ridiculous as I can. I take 30 minute bubble baths. I blast Christmas music and dance around in my pjs. I eat lots of food wherever in the house I want.

And then it gets creepy. I start hearing lots of creeks and noises. And my imagination gets the best of me. I hide alone in my room trying not to make a noise. And then I skype my boyfriend.

Being home alone is great...until it gets creepy

The Philosophy of Sweatpants

How can you tell it is finals time? I have not changed out of my giant maroon sweatpants in two days. Don't worry, I have showered. But then I just put the giant sweatpants on again. They are really ridiculously comfy and warm, and even though its actually almost 70 degrees outside my room is ridiculously freezing and I like to think it gets me into the Christmas spirit. My sweatpants are so big they can be scrunched over my toes, keeping them nice and toasty.

In my defense, the majority of my other clothes are all packed away. I am officially ready to leave...despite the fact that I still have another final which will not begin for another 27 hours. I was actually mostly packed last night. I really hate packing. But I really hate studying more. So I packed. And am now sad that the packing is mostly done, because that means eventually I will have to study.

Speaking of packing, I am slightly worried about Cicero, my fish. I have to take him with me obviously over Christmas break. But I am worried he will not survive the trip home. I am also worried that my parents will feed him too much while I am away in Amarillo with my boyfriend for a week. He is a very delicate fish (or exceptionally sturdy) and one mistake and he's going to be dead. My friend whom I interned with a few summers ago told me that if we were still at that internship the office would probably take bets on how long my fish would live. She doesn't know this, but the first fish I owned (Jeter...RIP), survived a lot longer than all my college friends thought.

My desk is filled with papers and notes on philosophy of property and contract and things that really just make me want to give away all my possessions if it will make people stop writing philosophies over them. I have a strict study plan which obviously I am sticking to quite well. I have a horrible habit of making lists and plans and then getting super satisfied with how organized my life is, and then take a 3 hour break because I worked so hard on that darn list. It is really a productive life system...not.

But for now I am just super comfy in my sweatpants, pretending that I know enough philosophy of law to pass my final tomorrow.

The Philosophy of Coffee

I am currently sitting on my floor in my room. I am surrounded by about 30 sheets of paper, 7 19th philosophy books, 6 legal pads, and a partridge in a pear tree (actually there is a pigeon sitting outside my window, does that count?)

I am contemplating Kant's view of history and the humanity's need to rationalize the evil in the world in order for moral progress to occur. And as I contemplate the need for a rational world order and a Kingdom of Ends, I really only want to bang my head against the wall.

It is that dreaded time of the year which every college student abhors. It is finals time. Don't even get me started on the fact that dead week is actually dead-two-days, and lacks every aspect of being dead. I have turned two 15 page papers in already this week and know about 5 people who have had tests or projects due.

But right now I am studying (...ish) and Kant, Hegel, Marx and Nietzsche are mocking me from my scribbled notes. But it's okay, because I have coffee, and coffee makes life okay.

I have a confession to make, I am a full-fledged, card carrying coffee addict. I am exceptionally grumpy without it (something my boyfriend and brothers will willingly attest to). Coffee is really great, despite the fact that it tastes like dirt. Seriously, sugar and cream do not help the taste, so I drink it black (it gets in your bloodstream quicker that way doesn't it?)

I woke up at 7 am today to start studying, and coffee is the ONLY thing getting me through studying (ahem pretending to study). Well that and this Christmas song being played on repeat.

Quo Vadis?

We go because we are American. Quo vadis? We do not know, nor do we care, as long as we go.

That is the last sentence of my American Philosophy paper. I just finished it (yippee). I am actually sitting in bed wearing red stiletto heels. I have a sorority formal tomorrow night and am just super excited about life in these heels (even though I am 100% guaranteed to FALL in them).

Plus my sorority sister and friend told me they would give me powers to finish my paper. I think they worked.

My professor for this class is a 78 year-old man who does not believe in grades. He has been at this university longer than I have been alive and teaching longer than my parents have been alive. I once heard some students whispering about him in the hallway. They thought they had found Gandalf's brother. Nope. Just a philosophy professor. I can't blame them though, the similarities are definitely there.

Anyway, the prompt for this paper was "Give me 15 pages of something American". This ended up being me giving him 15 pages of trying to fill 15 pages.

I actually chose to write about the philosophical concept of the journey. It is something that is found in the history and culture of America quite often. The journey to America. The journey to the frontier. All great things.

But it got me thinking about myself. My journey. It's an interesting concept right? What exactly is my journey? I can look back on my journey thus far and see it in hindsight, but the future is unknown. It's an idea that honestly freaks me out. But then I read Bible verses like this:

Do not worry about tomorrow; tomorrow will take care of itself. Sufficient for a day is its own evil. Matthew 6:34

and life gets a lot better.

"Here's a Picture of My Goldfish"

Here's a Picture of My Goldfish"

"The eventual demise of big media was probably the second blog post ever written, years ago (the first was: Hello, this is my blog, not sure what I'll say here or who's reading this, here's a picture of my goldfish..."). Joe Weisenthal "The Ridiculous Newspaper Bailout Begins"

In my defense, I don't have a goldfish. I do have a beta fish. His name is Cicero. I won't post a picture though, because frankly, I'm afraid it will kill him. I am a horrible fish owner and usually forget to feed him. He has survived me so far and I don't really want to jinx it by taking a picture of him.

So I always thought the idea of a blog was ridiculous. How egotistical of me to assume people would be interested in what I have to say. I mean, honestly, who would really care?

The answer to that question: probably nobody. But oh well. As a kid I utterly failed at keeping a diary. I was always told it was a great thing to do, but I just felt dumb writing stuff about my day in a book (similar to the way I feel as I type this...). A few years ago I found a journal from second grade. This journal thing was apparently forced on me at school. Everyday the teacher would write a question on the board that the class had to answer in our journals. As I was reading through it12 years later this I realized, 1) I was an atrocious speller in second grade, 2) My thought process was even more random than it is now. But as I was laughing at my second grade self I found one question that struck me as very ironic. The question of the day was: "What do you want to be when you grow up?" Apparently I was not as creative as my older brother (his answer to that as a kid was 'a cartoon'...) In my defense I did want to be the world's first woman in the NBA when I was in third grade, but in second grade my answer was: 'a writer'. That was it. My teacher's comments read: 'Then write more!'

So I am taking my second grade teacher's advice. I'm writing more. And who writes on paper anymore? (besides me, I LOVE writing good old fashion letters, though I always forget to actually mail them. FAIL). One day I will look back at this blog and read about my life in college and be able to laugh. And I know that while nobody else will care, I will be satisfying my second grade self.