© 2001 c. wagner
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So, I'm up past my bedtime as I write this. Pardon me if it's a little incoherent.

I'll set the scene for you. It's a rainy night in Madison, Wisconsin. The Badgers played their first game this afternoon. Thankfully, I was in Reedsburg and missed out on the experience of seeing my neighborhood crawling with many, many red-clad football fans. There's now a Packers game blaring from the TV.

(The Packers are winning. Yay!)

The apartment is small, but comfy, with gold-toned hardwood floors that creak mightily when trod upon. There are big windows to let in the sun and the smell of the veterinary school's cattle barn across the road. A constant hum of traffic drifts up a small hill from Campus Drive. A train has just rumbled past on the tracks on the far side of the road. The lake is two blocks away.

The strange thing is that, as far as I'm concerned, these are all bonuses to living here. Must be the blood of all of those Germanic and Slavic farmers that courses through my veins.

I'm a graduate student at the University of Wisconsin, hence the Madison locale. I sometimes think that I've sold the fun part of my soul, as I'm studying Library and Information Science. It's the sort of thing that prompts all the people I tell to say, "Uh...that sounds interesting." Which, translated roughly, means "Oh my word. I can't think of anything more mind-numbingly boring." Then I tell them that I already have a bachelor's degree in history, triggering the response "Oh. That explains a lot." Which, translated roughly, means "Except maybe that. You probably knit in your spare time, don't you?"

Knitting would be a good guess, but it's the one grandma-craft I can't seem to master. Crocheting, embroidery, needlepoint and quilting I can handle and actually enjoy, but I can't knit to save my life. I made the quilt on my bed, the lampshades on my table lamps and a number of other items not yet on display. I'm working on a set of embroidered flour-sack dishtowels and a bright yellow afghan and hope to start on a couple of chenille pillows for my couch, which looks a little naked without more portable padded adornment.

(The Packers are no longer winning. Damn.)

Besides the somewhat naked couch, the defining items in the living room are the three giant bookcases that house the majority of my personal library and my piggy bank collection. There's a good mix of fiction and nonfiction on the shelves, featuring by a sizable collection of Dick Francis novels, collections of O. Henry's short stories and the complete works of Flannery O'Connor and Kinky Friedman.

The third bookcase is filled with books about horses. I suppose that I never grew out of that little girl phase. If anything, I've gotten worse as I've gotten older. When I started college, I went through a denial stage and completely cut myself off from horse racing, which had been my passion, for about three years. Then, I realized that I was kidding myself. I just couldn't get interested in more "normal" things.

So, I've been chucking a lot of excess energy and pedigree research and fundraising for the Exceller Fund, an internet group that raises money to care for abused and abandoned horses, usually ex-racehorses. Click on the button at the left to learn more about us.

To support my book-buying habit, as well as pay the rent and purchase food, I work for the University Extension, building and repairing webpages for their online courses. I've been learning quite a bit and meeting some excellent people. They're my brand of geeks. They're helping me learn to embrace my inner geek. It's their fault that I've become mildly obsessed with the world of J.R.R. Tolkien.

I suppose it could be worse, I could be buying drugs.

Then again, if I went in for drugs and beer, I would probably have a slightly more interesting social life. I don't drink at all. Too many alcoholics in the family. And, more importantly, I just don't like the taste. Icky stuff.

My sister once told me that I needed to develop a vice. She didn't think that excessive book-buying or following horse racing without actually betting counted. Oh well.

I didn't set out to be squeaky clean. It just sort of happened. Somehow, I survived stints in three rock bands, as a college radio DJ, as a high school punk, twelve different hair colors--including several that don't occur in nature (Mom, you didn't read that) and the soap-opera styled temporary impolsion of one of the aforementioned bands with nothing more than a reputation for mental instability and mood swings.

Happily, I can report that I am much more stable now that I'm out of the pressure cooker known as "the dorm". Independence has worked wonders with my psyche. I've learned to sing, improved my guitar playing somewhat and haven't touched my band instrument of old, the bass, in nearly a year. I blame the carpal tunnel syndrome that has developed in both my wrists. Too much playing and typing over the years, I guess. Even so, I'm happier now than I've been in years.

(The Packers are winning again. Yay!)

It's all about the little things. I'm in no hurry. I do my best to enjoy things as they are. I like to walk along the nature trails along the lake and take in the sounds of the waves, the wind in the trees and the crunch of gravel under my much-abused tennis shoes. The mosquitoes that plague the trail I can do without, though.

Well, I suppose that I've sucked up enough time and space with this little ramble. Maybe I'll update it, maybe I won't. If you're curious, feel free to check back for changes. You never know what I'll do next.

Most of the time, I don't, either.