The situation is this: I am writing a paper, at the last minute of course, for my class on existentialism. At the same time, I have been rowing almost every day for seven weeks or so in preparation for a regatta this weekend. As I write the paper, I am conscious of the fact that it’s far past my bedtime, and if I have any hope of being able to get up and go to crew practice at 5 am tomorrow, I need to wrap things up and go to bed. With about half the paper left to write, I’m starting to get desperate for material, so I turn back to the text and start reading:

The empirical image which may best symbolize Heidegger’s intuition is not that of a conflict but rather a crew… It is the mute existence in common of one member of the crew with his fellows, that existence which the rhythm of the oars or the regular movements of the coxswain will render sensible to the rowers and which will be made manifest to them by the common goal to be attained, the boat or yacht to be overtaken, and the entire world (spectators, performance, etc.) which is profiled on the horizon.

I swear, when I read this paragraph from Jean-Paul Sartre’s Being and Nothingness, I actually thought I was hallucinating.

… is having time to make an awesome breakfast.

These huge temperature changes are really throwing me for a loop. This morning when I got up, it was 3 degrees out. I wore two sweaters and a jacket, wished I had remembered my toque, and was brushing frost off my legs. By this afternoon my single fall jacket was too much for walking around downtown. Granted, when I was outside this morning it was 5am and the sun hadn’t risen yet so you expect it to be a little chilly, but it often seems like a few months goes by every 12 hours. (NB: What am I doing up at this hour writing blog entires if I have to wake up at 5!?)

Being out on the water for a few hours every morning before sunrise has been a good swift kick in the pants kind of motivation to get some decent winter gear for once. Layers upon layers of spandex only get you so far. My quest for gloves that are windproof, waterproof, and still dexterous, has been for naught so far. I was foiled, in part, by a poorly staffed Sports Experts. Despite standing around the counter for a good while looking as helpless as I could, nobody came to my rescue. Indeed there was not even anybody in sight that I could call for help. At least the latter fact made it possible for me to do big awkward reach-arounds to get the good gloves out from behind the display case, but it was still awkward enough that I couldn’t get to all the styles or sizes I needed to try.

My quest for socks turned out much better. I checked many many stores looking for some 100% wool socks. Eventually I had to settle at some reaching for the 70% mark, but they also had “thermal” on the label so I was pretty satisfied. We’ll have to see how they fare tomorrow. And I’m considering cutting a hole in a second pair to fashion myself some pogies. It’d be nice to still have all my digits at the end of the season.

At the beginning of this semester, my Existentialism professor said to us that she has had people come up to her at the end of the class and say that it has changed their life. Said the professor to us, “Honestly, that worries me a little bit.”

So, it’s not supposed to be a self-help seminar, but at times it definitely feels like one. Going into it I was expecting the discussion to be about whether or not things actually exist, and instead we’ve been talking about how we interact with the world and other people. Though the syllabus disappointed me at first, I’ve actually been enjoying the class a fair bit.

Sure, there are things about the philosophy that I would change. Sartre goes on and on about how our consciousness is not identical to itself, which I think is baloney. Nonetheless, as long as you are able to gloss over all this talk about being something in the mode of not being it, he actually makes some good points about it. Existentialism is about how we constitute the meaning in the world. If we are sad, it is not because the world itself is bleak, but because we interpret it as bleak. The world is still out there—we can’t create a chair in front of us by deciding that there is one there—but how we see it is at some level completely in our control.

Sartre’s way of talking is pretty depressing, always talking about things like anguish, bad faith, and shame, but I definitely see how taking up this kind of outlook can result in a positive and optimistic outlook. That is, if you can maintain it without falling back into bad faith. Oh those unstable equilibrium points.

Somebody told me today that I write in too many paragraphs. I had just sent him an email telling him he uses too few.

Meanwhile on Facebook I’ve changed my religious view to “Optimistic Nihilist” in some attempt at revitalising my profile. I was going to put a reference to existential in there too, but I thought I should wait until the class ends lest there be any nasty surprises. Nihilism also has this depressing quality about it, but I think it’s a great excuse to climb trees and look for squirrels.

A nihilist outlook doesn’t change the fact that I’ve still got a philosophy paper and an astrophysics assignment to finish in the next hour or so. I want to make a phone call, but can’t justify such active procrastination. (Writing this is better since at least I’m at my computer with equations at my elbows.) Instead I’m hoping there will be an incoming call and I can let procrastination find me…

Should I, I wonder, take these times between posts to compose some long, thoughtful, and fascinating piece of writing? Should I post more smaller posts of little oddities I come across, like a photo of my poor blistered hand or that funny thing my professor said? Maybe I should just talk about the things I’ve done (we came fourth at the regatta the other weekend, for those interested). Maybe I should be doing homework.

Today marks the end of a four day weekend for myself. Thank you Thanksgiving, thank you Thursday conferences in my only Monday/Wednesday/Friday class. The total body of work that I’ve done, however, pails in comparison to what might have been possible.

Possible.

I’ve learned in my logic classes that the word ‘possible’ should raise make some warning lights go off. Certainly warranted in this case.

Another regatta this weekend is tightening up my schedule quite a bit. All the usual griping about assignments and papers amplified by the loss of two days. More of the same.

I’m going to write a story in November. I think the combination of the short deadline placed on me by the concept (more warning lights, but I think we can ignore them) of Nanowrimo and my still being haunted by it will bring out a big influence by the spooky and charming narrative of Anne-Marie MacDonald. I picture two men my age (write what you know). Some homoerotic tension, but low on the homoeroticism. An island, a raft, some insight and slight of hand. And some mystery, in both the common sense and the sense opposite of dramatic irony. Again, I think, being influenced by Anne-Marie MacDonald.

“… because their hands knew how.”

Until then I’ve got a paper in front of me and a man expecting me for soup in just over 30 minutes. Both are mysteries of their own. One of oblique mathematical concepts (!) and one of a Sartrian emotional relation between consciousnesses.

Now it’s me who’s being oblique. Best to leave it at that.