The Pi Song
September 6, 1980
Am I going to survive here? Will I need friends? Why am I studying chemistry? I want to know everything.
If I want to earn a decent amount of chemistry, I've got to study my brains out, because there is so much to learn. But what about music, literature, or philosophy? Aren't those all important? Maybe just as important to me anyway? Who do I have to please? I suppose pleasing me is really quite difficult, though.
I just heard a Ph.D. candidate give a seminar on her thesis work. It was inspiring to listen to her defend her work. It would be gratifying to contribute to the body of chemistry knowledge.
Grading lab reports again. " the amount of CuSO4 . 5 H2O was greatly reduced due to a random error where some of the substance fell in the sink."
Who cares what a Hermite polynomial is? Nobody knows anything. No one knows me; no one can tell me what goes on inside me or what is important to me.
The main problem is that I see no solution anywhere. If I were not here, where would I be? I'd have the same troubles at home. I just need to be happy again. As I told V. on the phone this morning, the disappearance of my depression would quiet the longing for unanswerable questions such as "What is the purpose of life?" and "Where do I fit in?" etc. W. would want me to come study theology, but I see no answers there. I know there are no answers, but at times like this I hear the questions just the same.
I just saw Handel's Messiah. I liked the choral parts. I'm going to try to join the University Choral Union, which was part of tonight's production. Sometimes it got tedious listening to them sing the same words over and over again. It was funny to hear some of the words. The contralto sings at one point, "He hid not His face from shame and spitting." Spitting? And the soprano sings, "And tho' worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God." Worms?
I got a book today called "Read, Write, Speak FRENCH" by Mendor Brunetti. I should be able to read a little bit of French when I get through the book. I might enjoy the Truffaut films more.
I'm reading Nausea by Jean-Paul Sartre. It's good.
Chemists are boring. They seem a bit egocentric. It's not just that, but they're empiricists; cold in some way.
There can be no ugly people. Can there be an ugly stone? Or what about the dirt we walk in? Is it ugly? No, it cannot be. Like the rain, which is beautiful if only out of necessity, and it is more than that. It is wet, cold, it makes me feel. "I love everything." - Cat Stevens.
Today I feel great. I'm sure I'm just deluding myself. I probably just feel good because it's Monday.
I should stay here at Michigan and get a degree so I can get a job somewhere. I may never find something that I want to do for the rest of my life. I could get a good job to support my hobbies.
January 10, 1981
How depressed I've been. Sci-fi doesn't help, the movies don't help much. I haven't written any good songs lately. I'm sure things will get better when I get more work to do. But then, what is life for? Do I go through it working, doing my little part? Do I just try to be "happy?" What is "happy?" What did our ancestors do? They spent every waking hour trying to stay alive. Now we have many waking hours that we were not programmed for. We're fighters, hunters, killers with desk jobs. Holy cow, no wonder the world's a mess.
I was thinking about entropy today. I wonder if an entropy value could be assigned to the late quartets of Beethoven, for example. We tend to admire great decreases in entropy.
For whom am I living? Am I always trying to show the world something? Perhaps I should quit school and work What do I want out of life? What am I doing?
3.14159265358979323846264338327950288419716939937510... repeat first verse...
[This is inexplicably one of my most popular songs. Though the words do not express what I was feeling at the time, the music suggests that I was not having the time of my life at the University. I wrote this song as an experiment to see if I could get this long number stuck in my head like a bad commercial. It worked. I still know it today.]
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Copyright © 2000 Bill Crozier