tag:blogs.qc.cuny.edu,2007:/blogs/0907N_1599/011/609 2007-12-02T16:25:10Z Movable Type Enterprise 1.02 tag:blogs.qc.cuny.edu,2007:/blogs/0907N_1599/011//609.5703 2007-12-02T16:17:13Z 2007-12-02T16:25:10Z

This is my second time reading Never Let Me Go, so I was surprised that even though I knew the sort of "surprise" of the book, I still found it almost impossible to put the book down. I think this...

Jenna Hymes Never Let Me Go, so I was surprised that even though I knew the sort of "surprise" of the book, I still found it almost impossible to put the book down. I think this is because the book is so complex that it is not solely dependent on the mystery of what Hailsham is. The reader is not only intrigued by all the hints that are dropped about donors and carers, Ishiguro takes the reader into someone else's mind, into another world so completely that I could not tear myself away! I've only read one other of his novels, The Remains of the Day, and that book also is told from a very close first person, so close that you have to sort of figure out what is really happening apart from what the narrator is telling you. ]]> Never Let Me Go I was impressed that Ishiguro was able to create this female voice that was so authentic, and also to create this world of Hailsham that sounded familiar, while at the same time it was something totally alien and ultimately disturbing and tragic. He makes the reader nostaligic for a time and place that he created. I think this plays on a sense of nostalgia that is true in our world today-- we long for simpler times, that perhaps never existed, for times when things were more "authentic" or less complex. But just as Hailsham is not really what Kathy always thought it was, each time period has its own complexities and problems. Apart from all that, I just think this is a great book. I really could not put it down, I felt so strongly for the characters in the novel. Ishiguro managed to create this strange, sort of sci-fi world and somehow root it in the angst of adolescence. ]]> tag:blogs.qc.cuny.edu,2007:/blogs/0907N_1599/011//609.5470 2007-11-21T01:57:56Z 2007-11-21T02:00:22Z

So here it is... the big proposal. I am still thinking of expanding on the piece I brought in to be workshopped, and through the representation of one event through different eyes, reflect upon the subjectivity of consciousness. Perhaps? Though...

Jenna Hymes So here it is... the big proposal. I am still thinking of expanding on the piece I brought in to be workshopped, and through the representation of one event through different eyes, reflect upon the subjectivity of consciousness. Perhaps? Though now I have also been thinking about Lauren Slater and the autobiographical lie... ... I was thinking about writing something about the cataract I was born with in my right eye. And maybe interweave my "biographical lie" with info about sight, thoughts on subjectivity, the way we all view the world differently. Let me know what you think! Happy Thanksgiving! tag:blogs.qc.cuny.edu,2007:/blogs/0907N_1599/011//609.5334 2007-11-13T03:01:35Z 2007-11-13T03:02:30Z

Under the staircase leading up to my boyfriend’s old apartment in Manhattan, the apartment tenants would leave things they no longer wanted, but thought someone else could possibly use; pots and pans, shoe racks, but most often books. My boyfriend...

Jenna Hymes Under the staircase leading up to my boyfriend’s old apartment in Manhattan, the apartment tenants would leave things they no longer wanted, but thought someone else could possibly use; pots and pans, shoe racks, but most often books. My boyfriend named this place the “Under the Stair Store” and it was always exciting to come into his building, and before ascending the stairs up to Apartment number 5, stop to peruse the goods available at the “Under the Stair Store”. I tell you this because I one day found Mark Haddon’s The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time under the stairs, and I will admit that had it not been sitting there, for free, amongst a pile of other books, I would never have picked this book up. I had heard a buzz about the book, but was slightly suspicious of its bestseller status and the fact that the back of the book proclaims it “A Today Show Book Club Selection.” I did not think there could be anything for me in the bestseller book I found discarded by its previous reader. But this is the joy of the “Under the Stair Store” and of the unexpectedly enjoyable, entertaining and enriching tale that Haddon weaves in The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time. The Curious Incident is narrated by Christopher Boone, an autistic teen who lives with his father in England. His mother is dead and besides his father, the most important people in his life are his teacher, Siobhan and his rat, Toby. When Christopher finds his neighbor’s dog dead, with a large garden fork sticking out of its side, he deems it murder and makes it his mission to solve the mystery of the dog’s death. This begins Christopher’s adventures, which we follow throughout the novel. The reader must rely upon Christopher’s narration, and so often has their own mysteries to solve, beside the mystery of who killed the neighbor’s dog; what is truly happening to and around Christopher that he does not understand, but we do? While at times this device can seem heavy handed, it can also be quite effective and poignant. For example, Christopher does not like to be touched, so instead of hugging: “[Father] held up his right hand and spread his fingers out in a fan. I held up my left hand and spread my fingers out in a fan and we made our fingers and thumbs touch each other. We do this because sometimes Father wants to give me a hug, but I do not like hugging people so we do this instead and it means that he loves me.” We see Christopher “hugging” his father like this throughout the novel, but it is when we imagine the feelings of his father, something which Christopher cannot do, that the reader begins to understand the struggles of Christopher, his family, and families in the real world dealing with autism. Another device in the novel is that the book itself is meant to be written by Christopher, as an assignment for school. One way in which this manifests itself is the fact that the chapters are numbered beginning with 2 and continue on only with prime numbers. This is one of the times the device can be a little cloying; in some ways more cutesy than an insight into the mind of an autistic boy. However, the fact that the novel is supposed to be a book that Christopher is writing with his teacher Siobahn, makes the novel itself a reflection on the creative process. We see Christopher attempting to craft a compelling book: “Siobhan said that when you are writing a book you have to include some descriptions of things. I said that I could take photographs and put them in the book. But she said the idea of a book was to describe things using words so that people could read them and make a picture in their own head.” This, of course is the frustration of all writers, but one that must somehow be overcome through language. Haddon manages to paint a vivid picture of his characters and the events in the novel. However, he also includes drawings scattered throughout the novel to illustrate various things that Christopher sees or thinks about. Not only does he include drawings, but we also see examples of peoples’ handwriting, written out in script, rather than the novel’s usual typeface. This device is a little too cutesy, reminding me of young adult novels that I used to read that would show a letter or a diary entry written out in perfect cursive. Haddon manages to fulfill his own goal of allowing people to “read [his words] and make a picture in their own head” and so the drawings and handwriting samples in the novel are not truly necessary. One great accomplishment of this novel is that way it allows the reader to understand the autistic brain. Christopher says: “My memory is like a film… And when people ask me to remember something, I can simply press Rewind and Fast Forward and Pause like on a video recorder, but more like a DVD player because I don’t have to Rewind through everything in between to get to a memory of something a long time ago. And there are no buttons, either, because it’s happening in my head.” Haddon takes us beyond the stereotypes we may know of autistic people and attempts to create a character that allows the reader to go inside the mind of an autistic person. His writing is crisp and funny, and he so clearly creates a voice for Christopher, that we are taken in and begin to be able to see how his mind operates. This insight into the autistic mind can be interesting, but also can be disturbing and sad. One particularly haunting example of this is when Christopher tells of a dream he frequently has and loves, “And in the dream nearly everyone on the earth is dead, because they have caught a virus. … People catch [the virus] because of the meaning of something an infected person says and the meaning of what they do with their faces when they say it.” Christopher cannot understand people’s subtle facial expressions. “And eventually there is no one left in the world except people who don’t look at other people’s faces and who don’t know what these pictures mean.” As the reader gets to know Christopher throughout the novel, we sympathize with him and learn what it’s like to think from an autistic person’s point of view. At the same time, as non-autistic people, we are separate from Christopher. This moment where he imagines the rest of the world, the people who look at other people’s faces, which is us, the reader, as being dead and this being a fantasy, is a moment of pause for the reader. It throws a spotlight on the feelings of fear and lack of understanding surrounding people with autism. We want desperately for them to somehow be able to function as we do, but it is not often that we think that they would want us to go away and let them function as they do now. And while Haddon’s novel is an entertaining read, this is probably the most impressive accomplishment; he allows us to understand a mindset that is almost impossible for us to comprehend. The novel may take place in modern day England, but it takes us into another world all together. tag:blogs.qc.cuny.edu,2007:/blogs/0907N_1599/011//609.4825 2007-10-26T16:03:34Z 2007-10-26T16:11:18Z

Here is my book review of Mark Haddon's The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time. I wrote it as a review for New York Magazine. Let me know what you think! Under the staircase leading up to my...

Jenna Hymes The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time. I wrote it as a review for New York Magazine. Let me know what you think! Under the staircase leading up to my boyfriend’s old apartment in Manhattan, the apartment tenants would leave things they no longer wanted, but thought someone else could possibly use; pots and pans, shoe racks, but most often books. My boyfriend deemed this place the “Under the Stair Store” and it was always exciting to come into his building, and before ascending the stairs up to Apartment number 5, stop to peruse the goods available at the “Under the Stair Store”. I tell you this because I one day found Mark Haddon’s The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time under the stairs, and I will admit that had it not been sitting there, for free, amongst a pile of other books, I would never have picked this book up.]]> The Curious Incident is narrated by Christopher Boone, an autistic teen who lives with his father in England. His neighbor’s dog is killed, and Christopher makes it his mission to solve the mystery of the dog’s death. We stay closely within Christopher’s head through the entire novel, so the reader often has their own mysteries to solve, beside the mystery of who killed the neighbor’s dog; what is truly happening to and around Christopher that he does not understand, but we do? While at times this device can seem heavy handed, it can also be quite effective and touching. For example, Christopher does not like to be touched, so instead of hugging: “[Father] held up his right hand and spread his fingers out in a fan. I held up my left hand and spread my fingers out in a fan and we made our fingers and thumbs touch each other. We do this because sometimes Father wants to give me a hug, but I do not like hugging people so we do this instead and it means that he loves me.” We see Christopher “hugging” his father like this throughout the novel, but it is when we imagine the feelings of his father, something which Christopher cannot do, that the reader is really touched. One particularly haunting moment in the novel is when Christopher tells of a dream he frequently has and loves, “And in the dream nearly everyone on the earth is dead, because they have caught a virus. … People catch [the virus] because of the meaning of something an infected person says and the meaning of what they do with their faces when they say it.” Throughout the novel we are privy to Christopher’s private thoughts, including the fact that he cannot understand people’s subtle facial expressions. “And eventually there is no one left in the world except people who don’t look at other people’s faces and who don’t know what these pictures mean.” We sympathize with Christopher throughout the novel, and at the same time, as non-autistic people, we are separate from him. This moment where he imagines the rest of the world, the people who look at other people’s faces, which is us, the reader, as being dead and this being a fantasy, is a moment of pause for the reader. This moment throws a spotlight on the feelings of fear and lack of understanding surrounding people with autism. We want desperately for them to somehow be able to function as we do, but it is not often that we think that they would want us to go away and let them function as they do now. And while Haddon’s novel is an entertaining read, this is probably the most impressive accomplishment; he allows us to understand a mindset that is almost impossible for us to comprehend. The novel may take place in modern day England, but it takes us into another world all together. ]]> tag:blogs.qc.cuny.edu,2007:/blogs/0907N_1599/011//609.3775 2007-10-01T20:01:32Z 2007-10-01T20:17:09Z

Oh boy, I'm a week behind on this blog. Agh! I feel a little out of practice with consciousness reports now. I've been sick on and off and ON again for about two weeks now, which has resulted in me...

Jenna Hymes Oh boy, I'm a week behind on this blog. Agh! I feel a little out of practice with consciousness reports now. I've been sick on and off and ON again for about two weeks now, which has resulted in me feeling a little hazy a lot of the time. This weekend I had a hacking cough that would not quit. I felt like a 19th century tragic heroine with consumption. Or some such disease. But I am feeling better today. Still coughing, but out and about. The importance of your body really comes through when you're sick. self can so often feel like it's just made up of your mind. Like, I exist up here, somewhere between my eyes, and everything below that is just... a vehicle for my thoughts to be expressed, perhaps. They talk about this a bit in the Radiolab episode "Emergence". We feel that there must be something or someone sitting in our head and controlling our thoughts and actions. But there isn't! And our brain is just an organ when you come right down to it, even though it feels like this living thinking thing. Back to being sick-- it's weird too that this virus or whatever, gets inside of you and makes you not only feel a certain way, but act a certain way. I had to keep coughing this weekend, I could not stop. I also had to blow my nose and drink tea and all that, but coughing is so interesting, you cannot help it. I hadn't coughed like that in a really long time, and it was not voluntary, it was that some little illness got in there and made me do it! And my conscious mind couldn't help me there, because I kept thinking "I am so sick of coughing. I want to stop coughing." But next thing I knew, I had to cough again. So even though my mind feels all powerful, the body is pretty powerful too. But it is tough to not feel like a big brain that just happens to have a body attached to it. ]]> tag:blogs.qc.cuny.edu,2007:/blogs/0907N_1599/011//609.3740 2007-09-30T19:23:15Z 2007-09-30T20:32:10Z

You feel like you’ve been riding this train forever. The doors ding and close, then open, then ding and close again. Now the train is moving. You look out the window across from you, avoiding eye contact with that guy...

Jenna Hymes You feel like you’ve been riding this train forever. The doors ding and close, then open, then ding and close again. Now the train is moving. You look out the window across from you, avoiding eye contact with that guy with the wild, curly hair and sunglasses on even though you’re in a tunnel, you could swear he's staring at you, though it's impossible to tell. You watch the darkness outside the window, finding it hard to imagine that any human has ever set foot in that tunnel, that this is all man made. How did they ever construct the subway, ever rip miles out of the Earth and throw it away and put trains down here? You remember then that they’re doing it again on Second Avenue. New York City always makes you wonder at human ability. You can’t even believe that anyone could make a skyscraper or these miles of sidewalks or this tunnel, again this tunnel, racing past you, you let your eyes go out of focus and the occasional light in the tunnel blazes past like hyperspace. In Touch magazine. The woman next to her is leaning to read over the girl’s shoulder. Everyone on the subway is reduced to the clothes they are wearing, the books they are reading, the conversation they are having at that second. You open your eyes and see that the woman leaning against the pole is older than you had thought, her hair is graying around the temples. The teenager across the aisle wears flip flops, not Converse. You had thought there was no one leaning against the door across from you, but there is a couple, the girl grabbing on to her boyfriend’s shoulders to steady herself, and a man, his back to you, facing the door. How could you have looked and not seen anything? The train stops, your body sways as it screeches to a halt. You don’t need to listen to the announcement of what station is next, you know it by heart, you hear it but don’t hear it “Transfer is available to the 4, 5, 6, Shuttle to Times Square, Connection is available to Metro North.” People move out of the car all around you, you feel them leaving, other people come on. How could there be so many strangers in this city, let alone this world and all of them are thinking like you, have had childhoods and parents and hopes, and right now maybe they are looking at you and thinking about how you are a stranger and feeling disbelief that you are a real separate person who has had a long life before they stepped foot in this subway car and saw you, but of course you have and of course you did and how could anyone think you don’t exist like they do because you are the realest of them all. You turn to the woman next to you. She holds her tiny ipod in her hand, rolling through songs. You try to catch which one she’s listening to, wondering what song could have such a throbbing bass that comes through even when straining out of her ear bud headphones. The woman glances over at you then, perhaps having felt your gaze on her. She puts a hand over her ipod, did she think you were going to take it from her? She shifts a little away from you, towards the guy on the other side of her, what could she be thinking? What is she seeing in your face? You turn and look ahead then, embarassed, though not sure why you should care what this stranger thinks. You will almost assuredly never see her again. Across the aisle a man in a black t-shirt is reading the Bible. You cannot see it is the Bible, but you guess it is, from the way his head is bent in concentration, the leather cover on the little book. You wonder what people read in the Bible, how it keeps them entertained on the train, how they can focus on religion when there is so much distraction all around. You get up without thinking when it is your stop, no need to listen to an announcement or look at a map. You think about how you almost took the N train instead, and how when you first got on this train you worried that it would be slow and wished you had taken the N and what if this train got stuck because it’s so crowded and how could you breathe, stuck in a tunnel with so many people all around? You get up to leave the train, negotiating the tiny space and the people around you. They move back, you move forward, you mumble “excuse me. “ In front of you is a blond woman, hair down to the middle of her back. You had not noticed her before and now you only see her back, but you imagine her face, a pointed nose perhaps, surprisingly dark eyebrows. You never do see her face, as she walks away from you, down a different set of stairs in the station, but you never think “Oh my God, that woman doesn't have a face." Instead you create a face for her. Just as you created a face and thoughts for all those people on the train you didn’t see or didn’t look at and whose thoughts you will never hear. ]]> tag:blogs.qc.cuny.edu,2007:/blogs/0907N_1599/011//609.3330 2007-09-16T18:50:43Z 2007-09-16T19:02:32Z

Wow, it's finally turned cool and autumnal! How delightful! Though my computer does tell me it's supposed to be 82 on Friday. Oh well, I'll enjoy the lack of humidity for now. I've been having some thoughts about collective consciousness,...

Jenna Hymes The Fantasticks. I didn't know anything about the show, but my dad had seen it at his college about 35 years ago, and my boyfriend knew one song, though he had heard this revival wasn't that great. The thing that I did know about the show, and the fact that was displayed all around the lobby of the theater, was that this was the longest running show EVER. It ran for 40 plus years off Broadway. So when you hear that a show ran for that long, you wonder what it's all about, and what made it so popular. And after having seen it, I have to say... I'm not sure! Some of the songs were really beautiful, and I could see that the themes of youth, disillusionment, as well as the sparse sets really struck a chord with people through the decades. But what makes something like that so popular? How much of what we like and praise is based on what other people think? And why do we care about what other people think? And what is the deal with expectations? I went into this show with certain ideas, and perhaps because of that, I didn't think it was that great. If we are all individual creatures with our own consciousness, then what is this part of us that is influenced by what other people think? I guess this relates in some ways to what we've discussed about the mystery of consciousness, and the fact that so much of literature is sort of the excitement of exploring someone else's mind. We also, as conscious beings, love finding people who think like us or enjoy the same things as we do. Why does that matter so much? Anyway, this is my combination consciousness report and theater review. What I really wanted to see was A Chorus Line. A five six seven eight!]]> tag:blogs.qc.cuny.edu,2007:/blogs/0907N_1599/011//609.3329 2007-09-16T18:29:37Z 2007-09-16T19:29:20Z

The idea of people being able to see without being aware that they are able to see was something that I found very interesting in this reading. I was born with a cataract in my right eye and had it...

Jenna Hymes aware that they are able to see was something that I found very interesting in this reading. I was born with a cataract in my right eye and had it removed when I was four years old. My sight never fully recovered in that eye, and I went on to become near sighted (or far sighted? crap! The one where you can't see far away) in both eyes. Apparently this had nothing to do with my cataract, because I'm pretty blind in my left eye too, but glasses/contacts can correct my left eye to 20/20. Unfortunately, my right eye can never get up to a perfect 20/20. Anyway! Throughout my life I have felt anxiety about my sight, for my own seeing purposes, but also because of other peoples' reactions and the visual tricks I could not see. When I was in elementary school I hated when we had to have eye tests in the nurse's office, because the nurse was always shocked by how poorly I saw out of my right eye. I could never really see 3-D with those stupid red and blue glasses, could never get one of those invisible eye posters... and then in class the other day, that yellow dot did NOT go in the box or whatever it was supposed to have done. But when I read about people who are blind being able to see without being aware, I wonder what is going on with me. Is it possible that I could have discouraged my brain from seeing these things? I'm not blind in my right eye, it's just never totally clear... and I know some people with fine vision can't see the ship or the pony in invisible eye posters either. My question is-- just as people can see something without being aware they see it... can a person train herself to not see? Maybe I could see the yellow dot, but I had felt so discouraged all these years about my sight, that my brain didn't compute it? Or does Carter tell us that I would have seen these things, even if I wasn't aware of seeing them and therefore... I really didn't see it? I am tying myself in knots here a little bit, but I think this is interesting. Can we make our senses purposefully unaware, just as they can be aware without us knowing?]]> tag:blogs.qc.cuny.edu,2007:/blogs/0907N_1599/011//609.3168 2007-09-09T19:11:20Z 2007-09-11T01:38:41Z

I leave the cave at night with the rest of them, but find my way own my own, flying, gliding through the air. I am the greatest flyer that ever lived, the other bats, the girl bats, watch me as...

Jenna Hymes I leave the cave at night with the rest of them, but find my way own my own, flying, gliding through the air. I am the greatest flyer that ever lived, the other bats, the girl bats, watch me as I dip and dive and nearly hit that tree, but of course I don't! And they wish they could be with me, but next thing they know I am out of their sight, far ahead of the rest and the wind rushes over me and I'm hungrier than I've ever been before. The trees are arms reaching out to grab me, I sense them as I speed past, I soar higher and higher, so high no bat's ever been up so far before. Suddenly I'm up too high and can't tell where I am. I don't sense Earth, only sky and I've lost all sense of direction. Shit. I descend, feel myself fall, but I'm still in control. But I'm even hungrier now and I think I've lost my way and the cave is far, too far to even fly to. Shit. I try to retrace my steps, but I've got only my senses to go on, and I can't hear any other of the girls around me, they're all gone, off with some other guys probably all feasting together and I'm all alone. I thought I wanted to be alone, but now I'm not so sure. I swoop lower, lower, lower, till my feet hit the ground. tag:blogs.qc.cuny.edu,2007:/blogs/0907N_1599/011//609.3167 2007-09-09T18:48:08Z 2007-09-09T19:01:09Z

I changed my blog layout! A small accomplishment that made me feel I was being productive and doing school work, so that's cool. So what consciousness is there to report on right now? I'm sitting in my apartment, using my...

Jenna Hymes Accepted on HBO, but the sound is muffled, and he can see me sitting here typing. It makes me feel a bit as if I were in a science experiment-- perhaps like Mary? Or maybe Matt is in the experiment, the affect of cable TV on the 29 year old mind. I am proud that I was able to tear myself away and start doing work, and that I'm not even so distracted by the fact that I can still see the TV. TV is an interesting part of consciousness, why is it so damn entertaining? I am actually something of a couch potato, but am ashamed of this fact, and often wonder how I am able to shut my brain down for an hour (or hours...) at a time, and give into this box. I guess I'm not totally shutting down, I react, I think, sometimes I watch educational programs. But somehow TV gets into our minds, sometimes I find myself feeling emotions involuntarily; I'm sad when the wife dies in a stupid movie I'm only half watching and criticizing in my head for its stupid dialogue. Anyway, those are my thoughts right now. Don't judge me for watching TV! I'm smart, really. And Matt is too. ]]> tag:blogs.qc.cuny.edu,2007:/blogs/0907N_1599/011//609.2936 2007-09-03T18:51:57Z 2007-09-03T19:24:27Z

So far Thinks... has been an enjoyable read. The parts where they basically just describe thought experiments are a little on the nose, but that's OK. It's a pretty good device David Lodge uses to have the one character be...

Jenna Hymes Thinks... has been an enjoyable read. The parts where they basically just describe thought experiments are a little on the nose, but that's OK. It's a pretty good device David Lodge uses to have the one character be the Cognitive Scientist, and the other the Writer, who needs to be educated on all this philosophy of cognitive science. This helps the reader gain an entrance into this world, while still being able to enjoy the novel. Something I find interesting is that Helen often refers to literature as something that makes people real, that it creates worlds that we inhabit by reading, and that this can be either a good or bad thing. She writes of Edward II, "All I know about him is from Marlowe's play, which may not be reliable, but makes him seem like a real person who once lived and breathed, not just a name in a history book" (88). However, when she is reading her students' short stories, she writes, "... it's just that there are too many of them, too many to take in all at once. Every time I open another folder there's another imagined world to be inhabited..." (82). Literature can be a burden, just as consciousness can. To read is to inhabit someone else's consciousness, and also the consciousness of the characters. I think this is really interesting-- sometimes that can be great, an escape, a way to connect with history, with other real or imagined people. Sometimes it can be a burden-- to have to inhabit, not just your own world, but someone else's world, to take on a character's struggles, his neuroses, to learn to navigate a new world. Yesterday I was discussing the TV show Six Feet Under with some friends, and how they had watched whole seasons in one day on DVD, and how that could be really fun, in a "I get to find out what happens next" kind of way, but at the end, it was just really exhausting and sort of overwhelming and (when they watched the final season in one day) a little dissapointing. Granted, TV and movies are different from books, but it's a similar phenomenon. People like to be able to escape into someone else's world, even if it is fictional. But at the same time, this can become emotionally draining. Why do we feel a need to escape or own consciousness and delve into others'? ]]> tag:blogs.qc.cuny.edu,2007:/blogs/0907N_1599/011//609.2897 2007-09-01T22:17:53Z 2007-09-01T22:41:43Z

This is what I wrote in class for question "What Is Consciousness?". I'm not sure what it says that my first thoughts when answering this question were based in ideas I found to be really deep when I was about...

Jenna Hymes This is what I wrote in class for question "What Is Consciousness?". I'm not sure what it says that my first thoughts when answering this question were based in ideas I found to be really deep when I was about ten. I think maybe that makes this a good place to start from. It's interesting to think of the relationship you had with your own mind and the world around you when you were a child. Do we get closer to understanding it as we can study and investigate not only our own minds, but the minds of others? Or were we more likely to understand our consciousness when we were young and ... not simpler, but maybe more in touch with the world inside our heads because we were less able to understand the larger world? Also, I find "consciousness" to be sort of a difficult word to remember how to spell, even when typing it over and over. What do I think consciousness is? I don't know. Somehow I have this idea that I have it wrong, that I'm too in my head. Am I conscious? Overly conscious? I remember my older brother telling me that he sometimes worried he'd wake up and everything would be a dream, this whole world, and we were just these blobs (now this sounds sort of like The Matrix, but he told me this in like 1993), but that really struck me when I was younger. I would think about it, falling asleep, my bedroom door cracked open to let in the hall light - I am just a blob, and all of this is a dream. I really could detach myself from reality (perhaps half awake) and worry that this was all in my head. I don't know that I worry that now, though I do think so much of the world is still all in our heads, and if we step back even a little, everything looks so funny.]]>