Preparation E

The breeze shuffling the leaves of the thirty-year-old cotton wood beyond my parents' backyard soothe my listlessness and my anxieties. The listlessness and anxiety go hand-in-hand, I suppose.

I feel listless because of my awareness of the imminent excitement that will inundate my life: I am moving to China in less than a week.

In fact, one week from the moment when I am writing this will be a moment in which I am recovering from a day lost to air travel and a fourteen-hour-time-shift. My, how my back will ache and my lids will want to shut; but, oh how I will want to take pictures of the signs with aesthetically pleasing script and nonsensical translations.

More after the jump

"Lost" Thoughts: Part VI (Conclusion-ish)

I carry my sentiment from the end of season five into this blog post about the sixth and final season of "Lost": I am freed from the shackles of a time commitment without definite reward.

Though I am somewhat satisfied with the concluding note of the show (one that has been widely discussed and only moderately criticized) in its humanistic emphasis, I am still furious. I should clarify that I am mostly furious with myself: About a week ago I realized that despite my awareness to the frustrations of people who had been avidly following the show, I, too, had been duped into believing that some profound realization would come to fruition thanks to insightful writing that would incorporate allegorical imagery and complexly woven story arcs. Of course, after an estimated 88 hours of time watching events unfold after the crash of Oceanic 815 I am now aware that the show was just a T.V. show. Damnit. Fooled me.