fragments for the new year

on the shortest day, i rose to greet the dawn, drove east to meet the sun. i had not planned it, but i rose in the pitch dark before morning and drove with nothing in the rearview but black. anything is possible when you're in motion. for the first time, i'm pulled over for speeding but escape with a warning. i'm not sure how to take this sign. which side of luck am i on?

on the day after the shortest day, i woke to the sound of a pig grinding her teeth and pawing at the gate. the world was supposed to have ended but we knew it wouldnt and we passed through unchanged (though we hoped that we and it were all better and new).

on the pizza place patio, i watch a white bristle hair terrier sidestep its owners, who try to corner it back into the fenced yard behind the house. i laugh at the show, their dance, and forget after the shouting stops. an hour later, i'm leaving little rock and in the center of the four lane 430 is a white terrier, dead.

on the day after the day after the shortest day, i have been home less than 24 hours and already, everything has settled exactly as it was. i'm falling into the rut where the house is and i see no way out.

on christmas eve, i'm crying in bed for hours, wondering why i bothered to make it this far. i've already stagnated and my greatest fear comes true. i lay heavy on the curses and make plans never to see my friends again. everything i've ever done is useless.

christmas is the usual pile of books and wrapping paper and everything you'd expect. chocolate coffee. stockings full of soap. fruit and cheese plate. the appropriate fir needle coating over almost everything. why do my cats prefer the tree's water? eventually i force myself out of the house for wine and friends and spin a yarn so long it nearly swallows me. this is the only night i will see them before they shove off for nashville, new york, japan. the small set of hours disappears in an instant and i'm shocked to find the outside world turning white, soft snow floating in the air. sometimes the earth will glitter and the bed will be warm and not too big for you and your cats.

on the day after christmas, i wake up puking. this seems unfair since i really didn't overdo it and played it safe with fruit, cheese, and only a little wine. they will always trip me: every time i find some good, it goes. any time i think i'm finding footing, it slips.

on the day after the day after christmas, it's time to go again. my mama and i trade off for the drive to her parents' in south georgia, and we don't even have to talk with the audio book playing.

these days are a pleasant stretch in the limbo of family. we busy ourselves with the business of being agreeable and intervening when the grandparents try to do anything beyond their chairs. we challenge the cousins in scores of smart phone games; we watch most of 3/8 of the harry potter films; we just barely drink to excess but generally we contain ourselves.

on new year's eve we discover there is no bonfire planned. the female cousins rally our forces to gather every scrap of torn wrapping paper and decently dry pine logs, and we feel proud of the growing burn pile till we get luke's truck stuck in a mud patch where grass becomes field. it's my fault for mentioning the time we ran into this tall grass unsuspecting, and sank from house slippers to pajamas. the fire is not the finest, but our effort is the thing, and i'm glad to drink cider topped with the ash of christmas present turning past. 

on the first day, we are in transit. i can't remember a new year that i didn't greet from the highway, rushing away from and towards the old and new, praying to every dead thing. 

on the first night, i come and curl around myself three times, receiving and giving back, giving back. 

on the day after the first day, i scour and purge, determined to make a temporary space comfortable for perhaps the first time ever. i shock myself by staying up all night here, not unusual but for the words and the recollection of hours lost typing. there is comfort and the dark is more than half done. 

lament for lost autumn

for a chilly moment in the Mills dorm bathroom, i'm blown back to the fresh weeks of fall in the golden blue ridge mountains: bright, full, expectant.

california has made us small, our dreams lost ever since our open hands closed around degrees into tiny fists, into a world for forgetting. the price of the status. the cost of responsibility, the rewards that never come. what did we trade for those days of dreaming? a hot november afternoon, the sun and the geese on thr lake, sober as saints, counting bugs on our muddy legs and laughing deep for the first time in weeks.

tonight will be dancing, women, and wine; we will try to remember how to love, not forget.

however

however happiness is never. the time it comes is the same that it goes.

the restless feeling makes me run to the bars, to the people, to the substance something. 
there is nothing there. that is not where i needed to be.

instead i'm trying this old tack: jam jar gin and tonics, a rollie on the porch out back. 

this isn't it. 

it isn't anywhere.

the only thing is the cat in the drawer.

the only thing is never, more.

i pretend this isn't right, that there's another place for me.

it's nowhere. 
it's nothing. 

cant even complete these sentences. all i hear is wrong.

say, honey i am not sorry

every time you look, you get sick to your stomach, feel nauseous and dizzy, the cavern cracked in your chest, gouged. you need to lock up all the offenses in a box and get it out of sight, burn it if necessary.

don't forget: last night you felt nothing. thirty minutes on the phone, and nothing. the drop in your gut at the predictable typical "hello?" multi-tasking at the party, the ugly silence. how flippant to your low note, how ungrateful and spoiled for a charmed life.

you drink, and dream of women: cale's birthday a circus of pierced nipples, rooms full of bathtubs, and balancing acts on floating balloons. waking up is not real life, but you have a better memory of what it could be. you just want a 19th-century romance with a woman in a field.

GOALS:
--acrobalance
--herb garden
--sublet/house-sit cabin
--animate with morgan


You are Eeyore. 


listening to: joanna newsom - kingfisher

​olisten, don't worry, it's fine. i've said this before,
but i mean it this time:
i can't do this anymore.


you will not wonder what could have been. you will continue to believe i could have tried harder, when you never tried at all.
you never even said what happened.
you never even explained that the pledge was done. you broke it and you pretended you hadnt.
i can't begin to say my disappointment.

​​ i will make this because i am the only one who will. i will do my damnedest because it's all that i can do. these things are fleeting, this is what they are. i will make every letter a suicide note, a ship of leaves set to sail down a trickling gutter stream. i am the moss at the bottom of the street.

WHAT FUCKING EMAIL DO YOU EVEN KEEP REFERENCING IN WHICH YOU DECLARE YOUR LOVE OR SMOE SHIT

i was afraid to let go and give my love freely. when i did, it was given back.
​it's pretty HIGHLARIOUS that i predicted everything in this poem, by lumping you in with the rest before it was even true.
you should understand that i'm disappointed and hurt that you left me for someone new. or rather, placed me on the backburner (yes i've been there before.)
but i'm really hurt and really angry and disgusted that you didn't tell me first, that instead of checking in, you checked the fuck out. really did you care for me so little? after pulling out all my love and trust, after you told me over and over that it was okay and you were here and full of love, after we pledged ourselves to each other. why didn't you tell me that plans had changed? why didn't you tell me there was at least the possibility?
and as far as not "understanding upset or hurt" or whatever garbage, i don't fucking believe you for a second and i really wish you'd drop this holier than thou shit and get back in the dirt with the rest of us. saying that crap (and actually believing it?!) just makes you seem all the more selfish, naive, and oblivious. which i guess is what you really are, and congratulations on finding someone who buys into that.
what does "sorta" mean?
how angry should i be?
do you know how i pined? do you know what i risked?
it kills me how defensive you were. how you float away to your intellectual land where nothing matters and there's no point to anything. do you really believe that? how did we ever love if that's true? how can you throw this all away?
do you know how it feels to have your heart jumping out of you, your chest always an aching cavern, open to everything? how is it that i can feel this much?
it's constant pain. i know you don't believe.
of course i could never make it with someone who doesn't believe in anything. of course he sees my sadness rules me.

you didn't miss me. you don't need me. i should've known.... i think i did which is where the test came in. i saw this coming before you did. i saw it all. i was never your style, i could never be your girl.
just don't pretend this was something that happened to you. you are making the choice every step that you take. fate led you to the water but you didn't have to drink.
i am the desert, the place where men sink.

how could you be so naive, so selfish, so ENTITLED????
why did i believe that you respected me
why did i believe when you said about getting rejected, being hurt, the one that was left
why didn't i notice that long line of girls stretched out before me all along
why didn't i call to them
how did i not see how much you worship yourself, your disdain for human relations, your carelessness

fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you
i thought you knew me better. i thought i could believe that you'd grown. but you are still the same immature boy who loves the lie and the pit.
i'm too embarrassed to tell my friends what happened between us. i was so fucking excited.
you tried to get in touch in the weakest ways, so fucking polite. one text a week and a couple one-line emails. no calls, no letters; it was clear you didn't need me, miss me, didn't feel like i feel.
you wanted to silence to give you the go.
i asked what do you want, and you say you want to talk it out. what i hear is you want to make yourself feel better before you move on and leave me to my silence. i will not give you that.
you are a fucking coward. do not blame me that we never settled on a label or a name; you never tried to have the conversation. it was easy on you, you could slip out at any time. you did, i knew you would.
i feel so stupid for letting myself fall. i saw this coming from the start. but i do put my heart before my head, whatever you think. i believed in our power, the magic of us. i thought we could overcome our fears and failures.
of course i love you, that's why i am so broken. what did you think? i warned you what would happen.

ten moons. write it about how i feel, not what he did. he will not understand the blaming language. you have to make him understand through confessions and truth.

filling and refilling the bucket with water. filling up and pouring out. a branch cat​​ches my arm and leaves a cool drop of morning dew, the last one left at high noon hiding in the dark bush. a cobweb catches my hair, surrounds and tangles, a new nest.
the bucket will never be clean. the water will come out clear and pure and will muddy instantly in the stained white plastic.

crumb + crime

some lines tapped out drunk on my phone and high in my room, in a
matter of minutes over a handful of days--

(i'm sorry, you asked.)


carrying you
the broken doubloon
pockets of deception
full and heavy with treasures
cherished or forgotten

funny how we came together as it fell apart
broken from the start, but now scattered
at least a fourth gone forever
and the other smooth slivers tried to lose
but somehow i never do manage to

how much was i holding in?
how long will it take to wash away
near nine years of constant chemicals?
no one warned me:
waves of unchecked estrogens, enzymes wreak havoc on every piece
of my system and knock me off what little stability i rocky rode,
cysts crunch tight ovaries twisting, wrecked
weeks of white knuckles, eight days of thick black blood
birthmarks bleeding and browner than ever
so sore, so much, so tired, so sad
so so done
get me gone

shedding it all
getting rid
the sticky slickness of newly opened fruit
it pains and pours
cant keep anymore
i feell down

couldnt contain it and split my sense
on the pavement spilt my whisky and my mess
but not a drop for you
and fingers that beckon but do not ask
split sick open wide
spilt self all over
cant contain--
i didnt want to
i disjt mean to
he did not ask to take the fruit

they usually dont


and where did i lose you?
between the unealked streets of our interchange
without negotiating the borders of this new land
under a haze of confusion in the cloud of uncertain substance
so how could i find you?
why shouldnt you float
in and out
to and fro
up and down
i coukdnt ever hope to stay
a mess of indecision
a cobweb tangle heartsore

that heart was whole
in my pocket all along
it missed the chance to sing our song

and now my fruit is rancid, rotten
under wilted odor of noxious lovers
who sucked on my spirits and promptly forgot them
greedy plundered all sweet offers

tasting and taking the higher they climbed
entwined in the dance called the rape of the vine

they took as they tasted the best of my wine
they took me down dancing the rape of the vine


why did i assume it was all in the mix?
that the music would speak where the silence kicks?
that they'd stay to sleep when the fruit was picked?
why i’d rather not ask than take the risk
when at every end i’m trapped and tricked

how hungry did you have to get
to try a night with me?
look past the sagging sacks and
maneuver the tangles to get the fruit
this is no courtly quest
there was no love story


and so pulled out the clot and held in my hands
nine years of clear caught love, spent seed
everything i tried to keep
a ball of blood and mucus down the drain
sent off without ceremony
now what do i do with all this feel?
without a stopper or a net
and now, not even any eyes
dumb and blind and come and cry

and what we saw on the deep dark highway
were roads of stars through layers of heavy trees
all that hanging life and sweetness
and there, ahead, still and silent in the middle of the road
the fawn, the wandering grazer, small shy and calm
not the deer in headlights
not a thing but trust
we slow to let her finish, turn and cross back towards us in the dark
not running
not away

the beauty leaves a bitter taste
i want to scream, to get her gone
don't look at us, don't believe
you can't stay here girl
you won't have time to learn

then
two dead doe
and there it is:
every sister, mother
splayed in center
the white lines
straight through
legs broken
necks cracked
i try, but i cant take it back


now the cat in my lap and the wine in my hand
hurting and working without a plan
i won’t tell you how it really ends
you’ll do your best to understand
but wonder why it’s back again


mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm,mmmmmm
^this is lucha's contribution
can't say i don't agree
you asked
i'm sorry

sinking as a window pane

a trial

it's a night of beer and coffee on the couch of weary lonesome
and the dirty cups are stacking faster than we're pouring new ones
with the ghostly winds ahowlin through the trees, a fearsome rain storm
and the chimes clang crookedly throughout, an otherwordly chant noise


4am with nothing left
half a beer, my shallow self
i do forget to eat
but i don't forget to drink
how can we know where we stand
when the birds don't sing?


a pitterpatter pitterpat sings in the dark alone
the lonely redwood branches chant the heart of every song
i fall to catch the only thing that i know how to trust
the life that struggles in the dirt, the worm that's all of us




i'm throwing in this bit from an old song i wrote, stealing from yeats.

and this is all i know:
things come together
before things fall apart
things come together

sinking. singing. the chant of it that leaves me out. the pace of it that proceeds, as i sit , idle on the couch. the smell, the breath. nothing left. nothing to offer to wind or rain, nothing to gain. just take me, teach me, let me ride. i'll turn to storm clouds, pitch and glide. i'll become the blaze you want me to; there's no tomorrow but me and you.

and jesus christ my heart stopped when I saw it was me who left the carriage house door open

something about how the branches scraping the glass ends up sounding like the birds that i've wanted.
ugh this is terrible tom, please excuse me. but you asked me, and it's practice! practice is good. let's keep working. i wanna improve. let's go there.

in 2010, i graduated from college and learned how to use a manual can opener.

in 2011, i will start reading my dad's book, stop smoking, drink less, write more, read more, FINISH MY FILM, organize my papers, start doing yoga, learn about nutrition, become a witch, and move out of my parents' house.

whining and pining is wrong

this morning i scheduled my first job interview since my last one a month ago at the humane society. just a minute ago, i called back and canceled it.
i'm still depressed about the humane society not calling me back, but i have decided that this is the week to get over it. i almost applied to starbucks a couple days ago and realized that i need to GET REAL.
part of me wants to catch up on here and write about everything that's been going on, but in some ways it doesn't really seem worth remembering. for instance, i embarrassed the life out of myself on friday night, and now i wonder why i ever leave the house. i need some new hobbies. pbrs and music tagging aren't cutting it. but did they ever?
yesterday my parents found cosmo in their bed gnawing on a baby turtle. the top front of its shell was bleeding, and i cupped the turt in my hands while mom dabbed at the wounds with betadine. then we made a house out of a big plastic storage container and a feast of tomatoes, grapes, collards, mushrooms, and the rest of the schnuck's produce aisle. although seemingly healthy and doing fine, turt won't eat and seems pretty stressed. the vet says just to let em back into the wild, i.e. the backyard, but now it looks like there's more blood and i'm afraid.
also morgan is here for fall break. hurray for fall break! finally fall.
now i'm going to the pho hoa binh buffet YAYAYAY

listening to: the magnetic fields - busby berkeley dreams

can you see the means without the end in the random frantic action

violent dream. beat up (or maybe just verbally abused?) brandon's girlfriend, then went to someone's house where i got shot, then went off and proceeded to slice up my own tongue.
last night i just sat at home after my horrible day and moped by myself. i ended up hanging out with my parents, who were watching wonderfalls and drinking dad's beer of the month club beer. more correctly, my dad drank the whole huge 9.3% bottle by himself, except for the half glass i snatched for myself. i got jealous and started drinking white russians. we proceeded to get more ridiculous until we were all talking to the tv and dad could hardly follow the show. brock appeared suddenly while we were standing in the backyard pointing mom's ipad at the invisible stars. it almost feels like true fall...
blah blah blah. in the end, i was up till 6am yet again. and cutting my own hair, which looks awful. i need something

listening to: amanda palmer - astronaut

broken glass as far as we could see

worst beans and rice ever. what is wrong with me??? actually i will just blame these possibly frigerator-burned beans and butterless instant rices.
getting ready to go out with ada. but where to? probably one of the midtown dives we've been frequenting this summer... probably the lamplighter.
i put hot sauce on this beans and rice but it is still kinda inedible. time for a bunch of corn on the cob, i guess.

listening to: hop along - coney island

things look better in the morning light

i really hate that i can't sleep right now. i just took a benadryl to help me out... why can't i ever sleep when i really need to?
last night after our jib shoot i picked up py from the train station a bit after 10. we hung out with john tom and co. on his last night in town until about 3, then stayed up talking and drinking in my yard until 9am or something stupid like that. we slept until 3:20 which is insane because i missed like 3092572 phone calls-- i NEVER sleep through phone calls so i guess i was really passed out. seeing py was amazingmazingmazing, and i really hope he'll be back in a month like he says. his gf is going to school in nashville now, so maybe i'll get to see him regularly for a while. what a great energy he brings to life... miss that boy.
i got some disappointing news from my dad today... looks like the public services division of the city of memphis government is being forced to make a fuck ton of budget cuts because of something that i don't understand that has to do with the memphis city schools and i don't even know. so basically a bunch of part-timers at the library are probably gonna lose their jobs, meaning that i am probably not gonna get hired by frayser and i have to start looking for something else. i can't even say how disappointed i am... goodbye, beautiful dream job. hello, ugly world.
i have been really bad about accomplishing goals this summer. i pretty much gotta get real. mostly i need to work on my time management skillz and actually doing what i say i'm gonna do. part of me wants to make a list of things on here to make this official, but i don't think i have the energy right now. for starters, let's just say i need an awesome veg nutrition/cookbook and a grocery list.
oh yeah you heard about the WIKI right?????

listening to: larkin grimm - little weeper

incalculable indiscreetness and sorrow

currently suffering from constant disappointments. how can i possibly turn this around?

i seem to have lost any fluency i once had in human conversation.
also, words in general.
it's just a COMMUNICATION BREAKDOWN. it's always the same.

the girl from my film project mediated a q+a conversation between me and the boy i dreamt was my friend. i was floundering, so frustrated with her impudence, killing.

where do i keep going? the weekends feel like the polar opposite of the weekdays, and that's how it's been all along. except that the weekends aren't really good anymore.

i can't think of anyone i want to talk to right now, but i'm desperate for something. i'm terrified of where my existing relationships are headed and incapable of forming new ones that could be as important and beautiful.

just spilled water all over myself. only 10 minutes ago i was cleaning up the wine i spilled when i tripped on the stairs. not even tipsy.

i'm not present here anymore, but then again, i'm not sure i ever was. but then again, i'm not sure i've ever been. i'm starting to become terrified of going home.

am i even human? how can you be sure?

these lines near killed me today:

when i saw the blossoms broke after the rain
limp and sodden, when you wrote me again
made me think of spiders i washed down the drain
spiders' ghosts, thrown up and back again

blessing all the birds that died so i could live
be a woman
be a woman

all i can do is do.

i know you and i know you need someone to hold you all the time

Statement as of 12:08 am EST on January 30, 2010
A record daily snowfall of 11.0 inches was set at the Asheville regional Airport yesterday... January 29. This breaks the old record of 6.0 inches which was set in 1930.

so i'm fairly certain that this is the only snow-covered birthday i've ever had... i am sorta bummed to be stuck on campus with no wine and cheese or delicious dinner. luckily, the queer suite is throwing a small party for another girl's birthday! with wine and cheese and grapes and cake! her birthday is technically monday, but we can celebrate our aquarianness. and somehow i volunteered myself to be in charge of music, so people better dance to what i play!!
i just went back and read some different birthday posts from over the years of this blog, which was a little strange. what a life!
since i can't really do anything too exciting today, i'm just going to relax. right now that means taking a bath and possibly reading sense and sensibility although the light in the bathroom is terrible on my eyes. i sort of just want to lie down.

listening to: the blow - gravity (pauline's response to amy)

a chronicle of misery: the week before finals

dr. bradshaw and his wife lesley have two sons (see diagram), who will soon be home for the holidays. while preparing for their arrival, lesley fell down the stairs. i believe dr. bradshaw used the word "gruesome" to describe the event. in my head, there were christmas ornaments flying, tinsel trailing down the stairs, and blood everywhere. clearly i've never met her, and i've only seen things from the end of the old man. he appeared at the office only briefly on tuesday, hair unkempt and voice ragged. and he had the nerve to ask me how i am, how i'm feeling about my abroad trip! he won't let anyone help him, so i have been feeling utterly useless all week.
on monday night, eva was complaining of a sore throat, worrisome because it seems that she only just kicked the flu and its lingering symptoms. then at cowpie she went and COUGHED ON MY FOOD and it was mexican monday and i couldn't not eat it! mere moments (hours) later, my own throat started to feel a bit sore. morgan asked her biology professor for me, and HE said that someone coughing on your food can't give you a cold. but i beg to differ! i've gotten steadily more congested and disgusting-feeling as the week has gone on.
what's the best way to get better? SLEEP! comes the rousing reply from the chorus of everybody in the world. guess what my life is utterly lacking? monday night, i forget all your hazy details. my throat was sore, i started downing ungodly amounts of tea. i had had a panic moment in that afternoon's banjo class when i learned the set list for our concert, only two days away. instead of doing any of my *important* homework, i played banjo all night. why did i chomp off my fingernails and render myself useless for clawhammer?!?! oh yes, because one must destroy one's body while composing a 7-pager in 4 hours. thank you, body, for donating yourself to the cause once again. but why oh why won't you just do what you're supposed to do on these stupid strings? part of the problem was certainly the temperature; my room is a veritable ice box. the point is that i sat in morgan's room and strummed for hours until katherine and brett rang morgan's phone for our conference call. did we make any decisions? i don't know. but i felt pretty shitty afterwards. finally around 3am i lay my body down.... and tossed and turned and couldn't catch a wink until at least 6:30. also i forgot to ask morgan to wake me up and i had no alarm clock without a phone, so i slept straight till 10. my history teacher seemed understanding in her email. dr. b was absent, so grammar was a 15 minute q+a sesh with TA jenn, whom i have decided that i like a lot.
tuesday night is always a misery night because it is the night my study abroad group meets. this time, naomi from international programs came to talk to us about not drinking too much or doing drugs at all or leaving the group. i got all confused about money conversion stuff and what to pack and whether i made the right decision by deciding to go on this stupid trip. back in the land of doors, ben and i sat down to work on our astronomy lab reports when renee and eva appeared at the door and suddenly a mighty sound was heard throughout the land of doors: FIRE ALARM. beautiful. we threw on shoes and coats over our pajamas and tramped out into the rain storming night. every dorland resident huddled in the smoking hut not smoking for once. the fire truck arrived and RD kat said the locked mystery room in the basement was emitting smoke. possibly breakers or some such thing. we didn't want to wait around in the cold anymore, so we went to ben's room and ate his ancient candy and sat on his roommate's bed and poked at stuff. an hour later, the doors of dorland were still closed to us, so we trudged across the bridge to a worser place: sunderland. in fact, the worst place: sunderland BASEMENT. there, we were greeted by a quite nude ilinca who fed us water in huge kitchen jars and saltines with nutella and peanut butter. she even gave me a hello kitty thermos full of mint tea leftover from dinner... still sort of warm five hours later! we watched the episode of buffy where she tries out for the cheerleading squad but uh oh all the cheerleaders are losing various body parts! eva didn't know what was going on the whole time and either narrated to us what was happening, asked for clarification about what was happening, or said aloud what her brain told her. we finally made it back into dorland around 12:30, about 3 hours after we were displaced. there, i played banjo, had possible heart-to-heart with morgan, played banjo, felt sick, called brett, spoke without thinking, felt sad, felt sick, and got into bed at maybe 2ish. received text messages from tom, missed him terribly. and then, it happened again: i couldn't sleep. morgan says i probably slept a little without realizing it, but i know i was awake when the sun came up. had some weird dreams that i have forgotten now... i should get back into the habit of writing these things down, maybe. but there were moments when i couldn't tell if i was dreaming or if i was just inventing visions for myself as i lay there sleepless. anyway, i'm pretty sure i was awake or at least half-awake when my alarm went off, so i just stayed in bed all morning.
wednesday was another waste. i tried to work on my lab report, but i had already made up my mind to skip that class. instead of lunch or class, i went to the health center to get a sick note. this was sort of crazy because the health center has been temporarily relocated to some crazy cottage out past eco-dorm that i had to walk up this weird little woods path to find. here's the stupid part: i wore the new boots my mom ordered me from l.l. bean. in my sickness stupor, i didn't think about how disgustingly muddy it was gonna be on this walk or the fact that, wonder of wonders, the boots might not fit... which of course, they didn't, and now they are all muddy even though i tried to wash them off when i got home. i am gonna return them anyway. fuck some shoes. anyway, it doesn't say anything about mud on the return policy. the rest of the day was stupid but fine: corrected paper corrections at work, heard about a carbon monoxide leak in gladfelter, ate a very tiny but tasty dinner at cowpie, played my stupid banjo concert at which i couldn't even hear myself playing, called my parents and complained, and got in bed at about 11 without doing a lick of homework. this time, i KNOW i got some sleep, but i did not by any means have a good night's sleep. i kept waking up coughing or not being able to breathe through my nose. i don't think i had any dreams, i don't think i slept long enough at any moment.
my alarm went off at 8:30 this morning. i went straight to morgan's room to ask for her sage advice. thank god, she told me to stay home and rest. she even gave me her hot pot so i would have a steady supply of peppermint tea. i haven't left my room all day, not for anything. i have watched the world go light and dark through my window. i slept a lot, until 2:30 when i decided that if i napped anymore, i wouldn't be able to sleep tonight. i have been listening to music and poking at the internet since then. i need to figure out how long i have to turn in all the assignments i missed... i don't feel like doing any work at all, but next week, as i may have mentioned, is MISERY EXAM WEEK and i have lots lots lots to do. but, tonight might not be the night. morgan did bring me a bagel this morning, but other than that, i haven't eaten all day... except for gallons of tea and 1 (one) garlic pill. that's the real problem with sick days. so anyway, it's late now, and i better run to cowpie before it's too late. tonight they're having carmelized onion and squash pasta plus quinoa and black bean soup! i am excited for soup yumyum.
apologies if i have totally butchered the english language in this post. i blame congested fuzzy headedness.

listening to: the mountain goats - jaipur

high in the clean blue air

i've gotten used to the sound of geese approaching, although i always look up to see them pass overhead.
right now, i am hearing a ridiculous cacophony of geese, which sounds close but isn't getting any closer. i think a massive flock must have stopped at our pond! i want to go and find them, but the studious part of me is saying no, stay in your little room, drink your little cup of jasmine tea, and read these mary wollstonecraft essays. still, i'm craning my neck to look out the window, thinking i might get a glimpse of a wing. i know they're close, but all i see is still trees.

listening to: honk honking

should i seek out someone i could keep?

i wish i had weapons.
i feel like smashing something, especially the thing that keeps BEEPBEEPBEEPing every couple of minutes. dorms essentially mean patterns, repetitive sounds, repeated behaviors, i want to smash it all. tonight is violent, not nice. maybe just me.
a dog barks like clock work, one time three times, maybe after cars go by.
i feel like scavenging, but i'm already feeling sick, and i know that will make it worse.
a pile of eleven fingernails collected next to my tea cup. i was doing so well, but i broke. my hands have reverted to their former selves and insist on doing meanness. do nailless pinches hurt worse? some say. say some: i want to know it all.
i came home intending to stay, knowing this was impossible. i think it's time to go.
all i wanted was a haircut.

listening to: the magnetic fields - i thought you were my boyfriend

guilty dream

brett and i go to a little diner at a stop on our roadtrip, although all they serve is meat and fish... i order blowfish, which comes out looking like a miniature yellow blowfish, staring up at me. i don’t remember actually eating it, but i think i did, and of course felt really guilty about it later. brett reassures me in a truckstop bathroom.

i’m at some sort of bar and an older man offers to buy me a beer. i’m wondering what they have here, when he sorta suggets “Bud?” sorta pleadingly, so i get a PBR. he smiles and says, “that’s my kinda girl.”
there’s some bizarre scene with isaac hayes playing guitar on stage and saying something about, if he likes what he’s playing, of course we’ll like it. i think it’s kinda cool, but it’s not really my kind of music, so i don’t see how he is so confident.

i discover and befriend belan a young man who sleeps on a couch in a large alley/courtyard between some buildings. from head on, it looks like walls on three sides, but once you’re inside there are some crevices that lead to other places. i don’t remember much about my intial relationship with the boy except that i loved hin, cared about him.
i got my whole family to come out and meet him and in solidarity, we each slept on a couch in his alley. each member of my family represented a different color in the conversation we had -- like it was somehow in text even though we were speaking. they wanted to help. i switched couches with belan because he wasn’t comfortable and we talk secretly while my family sleeps.
later, still at night, my mom and sister come with me to a nearby alley, skinner, with a fence on one side. there’s a little dog caught in the fence and we help it free, but mom says, “it’s lost an ear.” then we see there are several other little dogs, and maybe a pig, that are missing ears and sometimes legs. i am devestated. i want to bring these animals to a shelter, but mom says no, it’s too late, especially for the one missing two ears and a leg. suddenly one of these little dogs gets swiped towards the fence and its second ear goes missing. there appears a giant cat, at least three times the size of these tiny dogs. it is matted and ferocious and calm, slowly stalking towards the street and away from us. i hate this beast, despite feeling connected to it. something calls us away, and we never come back.
belan gets us in to a party at an apartment in a nearby building. the apartment is nice enough, but it’s sorta faking being better than it is. it’s sorta twisty and the kitchen where i’m standing is very cramped. some people come in talking about haircuts, they look like people i have seen at school. i say, “i need a haircut” to the one i think is mikaliah with fancy hair, but she sort of scoffs and doesn’t see anything. i keep looking at her face trying to figure out who she is, but it’s sort of shifting, and her friend points out that they should leave because i am staring. i’m embarrassed and i leave, realizing that these people are higher status than me and i don’t know them.
someone makes fun of me for my UK trip, saying it’s a waste of money for so little.
the party is a weird mixture of fancy types and drug lords. it’s sorta classy but sorta not. at one point i heard a grizzly pony tail man say, “you should see what i left on the stairs,” so throughout the rest of the dream, i stop to check out every staircase i see, but i just find scraps, paper with nonsense words, a yellow ball.
i realize brandon is there, and my friend xi chen is his girlfriend, which i feel very weird about and i can’t place the feeling... maybe it’s just jealousy. at one point they disappear into the back. it seems like i follow them immediately, but when i get there i feel like they’ve been gone a while. i’m sure they’re having sex, and indeed, they are rearranging their clothes. i’m really upset, i don’t remember what i’m talking about. i want to tell xi she can do better. i see brandon’s bookshelf against the wall and start going through it, finding lots of my stuff, including drawings by me, tom, and our (fictional) friend nathan. i am livid, “i asked you to return my things and you said you didn’t have any!” at which brandon sort of balks, i guess he had hoped that i wouldn’t find out, or he hadn’t realized that this stuff was even mine. i’m especially upset about nathan, and i tell them that he had also been living on a couch in belan’s alley, but he died. brandon is totally out of hte loop and had no idea that nathan died and he feels pretty bad. but he reminds me that nathan was trans and used female pronouns and goes on this tangent about how queer issues are so important to him, especially since, “i mean i do have a girlfriend” but he didn’t identify completely with men. even though this pisses me off, i feel completely awful about not remembering about nathan’s gender, and all i can say is that i just plain didn’t remember... there’s a lot that’s fuzzy about that time.
by now, belan has transformed into a woman, not in a trans way, but in a dream way. i just know that we have to get her out of that alley, i have a new sense of purpose. i am collecting donations from the people at the party and i know she’ll make it.

as usual, there are many details i've forgotten by now already... this is really only the second part of the dream. there was a whole section about me and brett on a roadtrip, and all i can remember is that sad little blowfish looking at me. i would like to say maybe more will come back to me, but since it typically doesn't, i don't really think it will. although i wish it would.

let's go out into the blackest night time

1. on thursday morning, i left dorland in a hurry, with only 3 minutes to get to history class. still, i paused to hold the door open for the person coming out of the basement, who turned out to be thomas. i had met him a few weeks ago when jayme insisted we invade his room at 3am. we touched tummies and he was nice, but it ended awkwardly with me getting all quiet and self-conscious. i don't think we had talked since that night. so, i was nervous to see him but took a chance and said hello. he was calm, easy; asked about my fall break. we talked for a moment about the funeral and death, and it was a little intense, but thomas didn't shy away from the subject or say anything fakey. at the end of the bridge, our conversation was interrupted when his curly-haired friend attacked him... something about latex gloves clogging the toilet. i walk away without saying goodbye.
2. on friday afternoon, i was slaving over a cutting board with five giant boxes of apples at my feet, rushing to keep all the plates full for the massive number of wilsonites storming the pavilion, hungry for apples. it was so insane, i couldnt even look up to see who was patronizing my table. suddenly a voice: i look up to see that the bubbly voice belongs to a curly-haired, very cheerful girl. she's asking about the figurine from the Red Rose tea boxes, and what does dr. bradshaw tend to do with them. i tell her there's millions floating around the office and yes, she can have the turkey. a little bit later, charlotte and thomas are suddenly asking if i need help slicing; clearly they are in dr. b's epic-heroic class and have gotten the lecture about helping out the poor ERAs to keep us from slicing off our fingers (too late). thomas is so eager and so adorable, i can't turn him down, but his apple-slicing skills are mediocre, and he gives up quickly.
3. later that night, around midnight, i end up in the room across the hall for a halloween party. among other oddballs in the crowd, thomas and curly-head, whose name was discovered to be gina, were there. my group had stumbled in during a compliment circle, where everyone had to give everyone else a compliment. thomas said he had enjoyed our conversations and that one time at the english offices, he thought my feet were dr. bradshaw's until he saw the pink socks. gina said she liked my hair and that hers was green once too.
4. later that night, maybe around 1:30, i went outside to cry in the tent behind dorland. two people come outside: of course, thomas and gina. i'm a bit intoxicated from the party's gin, so i'm brave and say hello. they don't notice i'm crying, thank the stars, and invite me on a walk. it's raining a little, but we walk down to the garden and all around. somehow we stay up till 4am.
5. last night, after my usual crowd has disappeared or gone to bed, i crept down to the dorland basement to see if my new friends were still awake. i piddled outside the door for a minute before getting up the courage to knock. no one heard it. i tried a few more times, pacing back and forth in between, before they finally heard me. i'm invited outside with thomas, gina, charlotte, and paul to share a splif in the tent in the rain. everyone is drunk but me, so i start to catch up with the whisky in my pocket. charlotte and paul disappear and suddenly, somehow, we are throwing pieces of ceiling tile at each other in a battle that moves slowly down the angles of the dorland basement hallway. somehow i see thomas's ass and i get to watch gina wrestle three cookies and a bag of pirate's booty out of the vending machine with a coat hanger.
6. i wonder if we will see each other this week and whether we will get to talk. these sorts of relationships are so very odd.

listening to: the blow - that boy

temper and tempest to knock at the moon

the cows are louder than ever tonight. you'd think this would feel calming, rural, rustic, but ever since i found out the truth, it has become sort of terrible. i really can't explain how painful they sound, how devastated i feel, and how haunted i will be.....
a while ago, i got back from my first meeting for my UK study abroad class. it was, as i had predicted based on the email i got last night, slightly obnoxious and elementary. we did some "sensory exercises" where we listened to a song or smelled something in a bag and then went around a circle and told what memories or emotions were stirred up by the prompts. i HATE this kind of thing, i hate stupid sense memory, i dont know who invented it, i dont understand it. i had NO memories related to the sesame street theme song or to the smell of curry powder. the first time around i said 'i dont know' and the second time i made something up. fuck that stupid shit FUCK IT i am not a baby can we talk about katharine briggs yet???? lyn had some more things planned for that game but luckily we only did two. then ian (born in england) read us a story and a poem and we talked about the concept of narrative.. again, pretty basic, simplified stuff, and i didnt really agree with all of it but it wasn't exactly a discussion. i am the only lit major in the group.. there are a lot of writing majors, a few environmental science types, and two business. everyone seems nice enough, but they all seem to know each other already, and i feel like they gave me a weird look when i walked in. lyn said i was the only person she didn't know already... i kept feeling like i had missed out on some secret meeting, have i done something wrong? at the end of the class ian unpacked his suitcases to show us what we should bring on the trip. this was really intimidating and made me worried. i hate the idea of a plane, i hate the idea of the tube, i hate myself for knowing how stupid i will be, too scared to order a drink at the pub. however, i was cheered knowing we will be visiting the homes of william wordsworth and beatrix potter, and going on long walks across the countryside. also ian says that when we're in london, he will give us each some money, and we will go to second-hand stores and buy crazy clothes to wear to the theatre. i like his attitude of traveling light, taking only things that are expendable, and getting rid of stuff as you go, if you find something better. i especially like the concept of being small that they were talking about.. not taking up too much space in order to better absorb new surroundings and trying to melt into the culture. so anyway, as a whole, i guess i'm getting excited about the trip, but i'm really terrified and i think the class might irritate the fuck out of me.. we have to make stupid time capsules for the next meeting. UGH what am i, 9 years old?
so, this weekend renee helped me dye my hair. i have been talking about it for a looong time, but somehow never really solidified what i wanted. so this plan turned into a lot of impulsive decisions, and i'm not really sure how i feel about the result.. i keep going back and forth. right now my whole head just feels like a pile of spontaneity that wasn't necessarily the 'right' decision. it went like this:

• a few week ago, i asked aimee to cut my hair. i would have preferred her to do whatever, but she wasn't comfortable with that, so she asked me to come up with something.
  
• i was itching so bad for the cut, that i just sorta gave her a bad description of a sorta-kinda thing, and she did what she thought i wanted.. it didn't come out how i pictured.. much shorter and more perfectly stylized than i had hoped.
• thought about cutting off the rest of my hair... but didn't.
• craving dark green in my hair like a mermaid or a tree. rite aid doesnt have green dye, and walgreens just has 'neon green.' renee convinces me this is what i want, and i figure it'll be okay.
• renee and i set to work, but what to do? should we cut it as well? where should the dye go? i have not thought about these things at all.
• renee and morgan agree: more short bangs. a quick chop and it's done. i think i do like this, but it's not much of a haircut.
• my ideas for dying are the same as my directions to aimee for the cut: confused and vague. renee has a couple ideas, and we just sorta set to it.
• after i wash out the bleach, i realize i shouldn't have left it in so long. the bright green would have come out darker on light brown hair.
• halfway through dyeing, i have an idea for what we should have done. but it's far too late.

so, i went to bed with dye and tinfoil on my head and woke up to... what? well, the green is not not not at all what i wanted, and i'm not sure how i feel about it. i wanted something much more subtle... so i'm debating getting some different, darker dye. but i might just let this fade out first. i feel like a spectacle again, the way i used to feel all the time at loyola. not quite as bad, i guess. i *do* love to be a cartoon, but this is maybe a little much. yesterday morgan called me a muppet, a froot loop, and a melted crayon. definitely not my intention.
i can't believe i just rambled so long about my hair. fuck me. am i this lonely? i think i am just obsessed with the documentation. anyway, fuck it all, i need to be less of a perfectionist anyway. who cares about my stupid hair or that i am talking about it.
in other news, the radical mental health collective last night was amazing... so much better than last week. i really like the smaller size, it seems like we could build a really strong support network for each other. i was really amazed by everyone's openness and, in turn, the respect they were shown by the group. yes, i think it's going to blossom into something really wonderful.
right now i have so much on my mind, i don't know what to do with myself, so i do this blog and play the banjo and make stupid jokes with my friends. the reality is that i have about a gazillion very serious emails to write and calls to make and serious serious business to attend to.
FOR INSTANCE i have a lab report and paper proposal due tomorrow yayyyyyyy good night

listening to: throwing muses - green