On the last day of 2013 I started the day with chocolate and coffee, a homage to my womanhood, my singlehood, and my very young adulthood. Then I took a shower, a long shower with lots of soap, rinse-rather-repeat, and the wielding of a razor to symbolize the washing away of the past and the freshness of the future. Then I began to clean my room and pack for a trip I will be taking very soon-- symbolizing the reorganization of my life this new year. And then I ate a salad to represent my commitment to healthy living, but I drenched it with salad dressing because I'm not that committed. I was getting off the phone with a friend, pandora playing in the background, thinking about what we were going to do tonight to celebrate when the next song came on: Semisonic's "Closing Time".
It is hard to not see symbolism in everything right around the new year. Sometimes it just feels like life is screaming at you and today I am actually listening. "Closing Time" seems like an appropriate year-end song.
You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here really just means Move on in this new year, don't stay in the same place.
I don't know what all the lyrics mean but the message is there. Or maybe it's not but today, on December 31, 2013 I can say there is.
Tomorrow I'll think about resolutions. Today I'll think about moving on. The last year has been actually excellent. I think about where I was last December and where I am this December and I am proud of myself for the distance I have come.
I'm still processing what it all means, but until then, I'm going to enjoy licking the salad dressing off my plate, representing my priority not to waste time, life, love, or calories.
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Monday, December 16, 2013
Dead Birds Suck
Today was almost a great day. I went to breakfast with my mom, went Christmas shopping, watched TV, hung out at home.
And my mom is making fried chicken which has got to be one of her most underrated dishes.
But, all this great stuff aside, it was kind of shitty in that I watched a bird die today.
I was watching TV when I heard THE thump. We have all heard THE thump. The bird thump. And you run outside expecting to see one of two things: Dead bird or shocked but alive bird. The thing you don't expect is a dying bird. I got to see a bird die today.
I cried like I haven't cried in ages. I cried a lot. Which sucked because I went to MAC today and they did a really pretty full face make up on me. It's gone now. I cried a lot so that my whole face was wet. It was ugly. I can't really explain why I cried so hard. Other than like small cute fluffy dead bird obvious reasons.
I am also waiting to hear about grades which is stressful. My mom also broke a bowl that was pretty which is a bummer. I also watched Once Upon a Time which was unsurprisingly shocking and dramatic. And I have to go to work tomorrow.
All these small things concluded with the death of a fucking bird.
Eddie Izzard once said about birds: "Live in the sky, die in a window". That phrase has been on loop since the bird stopped breathing.
And my mom is making fried chicken which has got to be one of her most underrated dishes.
But, all this great stuff aside, it was kind of shitty in that I watched a bird die today.
I was watching TV when I heard THE thump. We have all heard THE thump. The bird thump. And you run outside expecting to see one of two things: Dead bird or shocked but alive bird. The thing you don't expect is a dying bird. I got to see a bird die today.
I cried like I haven't cried in ages. I cried a lot. Which sucked because I went to MAC today and they did a really pretty full face make up on me. It's gone now. I cried a lot so that my whole face was wet. It was ugly. I can't really explain why I cried so hard. Other than like small cute fluffy dead bird obvious reasons.
I am also waiting to hear about grades which is stressful. My mom also broke a bowl that was pretty which is a bummer. I also watched Once Upon a Time which was unsurprisingly shocking and dramatic. And I have to go to work tomorrow.
All these small things concluded with the death of a fucking bird.
Eddie Izzard once said about birds: "Live in the sky, die in a window". That phrase has been on loop since the bird stopped breathing.
Thursday, November 28, 2013
I Have No Answers For You: The Life of a Senior in College
Happy Thanksgiving y'all. I hope everyone had a yummy holiday. I hope you piled your plate high with mash potatoes, poured on too much gravy, ate two servings of pie, and had a few too many glasses of champagne. I know did.
In honor of the season of thankfulness, I would like to say "your welcome" to my family for the excellent stuffing and Brussels sprouts I made. Also, the table I set. Setting a table for 22 is no easy task, even if only 18 actually showed up.
On a side note, did you know that Brussel sprouts are actually Brussels sprouts. I guess "Brusselssprouts" is how I've always said them, so it's kind of ambiguous about the "extra" S. This is also not the first time I have been corrected for my language ability. For being, like, a writer there are a lot of words I either make up, misunderstand, misuse, misspell, or simply don't know.
If your family is anything like mine, and your life is anything like mine, you also got asked a lot of questions during family events. I mean, berated and interrogated come to mind but... it's family so it comes with the territory.
As a young member of my family, the older members of my family like to ask me questions at family gatherings. Usually the same questions every time. Here are some classics:
1. How's school? Yeah, well, you know. School's school, ya know. Just taking classes and, like, learning stuff.
2. What're you studying? Oh, well um, I'm studying sociology but I have, like, two minors-- Italian and international studies.
3. And what, you're like a (enter wrong year) now? Um, actually I'm a (enter right year).
4. What do you plan to do once you graduate? That's, yeah, a good question. I think.. yeah, I don't know, really. Just like. Yeah.
5. Do you have a boyfriend up at school? Yeah, no, not really. No, not at all. No.
6. How's Seattle? Like, cold and rainy. Yeah, ugh. Cold.
7. Do you think you'll stay up there once you graduate? Eehhhhhh. Noooooyeahwellnoprobablynot.
8. What do you think about what's happening all over the world, after studying sociology and international studies? Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh....
These are only few questions but they are asked often and sometimes by several different people over the course of one family event. And really, I got nothing. I don't know. I don't know anything. I really have nothing enlightening to say to you about the state of the world or the state of my life or the state of my future that will a) not take more than the 3 minutes we have to talk before being interrupted by someone b) not end with me running from the room and spending the rest of the evening curled in a panic induced fetal position.
I have no answers for you. Really, I know I'm supposed to be the bright future of the world but like my main concern tonight is that the plates are microwave safe so I can heat up my pie, followed by my concern that my wine glass remains within a 2 feet radius of my mouth at all times. That's it. That's where I'm at mentally.
So I have some avoidance tactics that I use, and you may use if your family is asking hard questions during this holiday season.
1. Sip wine. If you are talking to a relative who keeps asking broad and unanswerable questions, sip that wine. Nod and sip and smile and sip and when you are out of wine look bewildered and excuse yourself to refill.
1a. Spill wine. Only if very desperate, like relative brings up ex or moving back in with your parents after graduating. Not recommended for red wine drinkers unless you are very, very desperate. You are trying to escape, not spend the night cleaning the rug.
2. Laugh. I mean, seriously, some of my best avoidance of answering questions is to laugh. What am I doing with my life? AHAAHAAHAHAHA!! ...And then I smile and turn and join a less stressful conversation. Best if used to look nonchalant and not just bat shit crazy. You are going for sardonic, not psychotic.
3. Make shit up. When I was applying for college my mom and I decided to tell people I was interested in mortuary science. We hoped that giving them an answer for the question "What are you interested in studying?" would satisfy them, but that saying mortuary science would stave off follow-up questions. Also there was an appeal in the potential for freaking people out. So go ahead, tell people that you are going into the peace corp, that you want to be a lawyer, that you are going to join a nudist colony in Brazil, that you are applying for a Wall Street job, that you would like to be a player in the WNBA. Who cares, really. And if they've had enough to drink, not only will they not care, they might not even remember. I like to tell every person I talk to something different. That way if they try to corroborate, they won't get anywhere.
4. Change the subject. Do it quickly. You don't want them to get on a roll. The first question answer fast (or don')t but then immediately shift the topic of conversation away from you-- as far as possible-- sometimes literally, I think discussing Pluto's planethood is totally a legitimate conversation.
5. Hang out with the people in your family you know won't ask you anything. Sometimes you have to sit and watch two ten year olds turn your mother's immaculate household into a jungle gym in order to maintain peace of mind. Or hang out in the kitchen with your mom debating the number of garlic cloves needed in a improvised (yet delicious) Brussels sprouts recipe.
There may be no way to avoid all the questions but I've found some of these tactics can help you avoid an existential crisis in the middle of your parent's dining room. And sometimes the existential crisis happens, and when that occurs at least there is plenty of wine and pie around to numb the panic.
In honor of the season of thankfulness, I would like to say "your welcome" to my family for the excellent stuffing and Brussels sprouts I made. Also, the table I set. Setting a table for 22 is no easy task, even if only 18 actually showed up.
On a side note, did you know that Brussel sprouts are actually Brussels sprouts. I guess "Brusselssprouts" is how I've always said them, so it's kind of ambiguous about the "extra" S. This is also not the first time I have been corrected for my language ability. For being, like, a writer there are a lot of words I either make up, misunderstand, misuse, misspell, or simply don't know.
If your family is anything like mine, and your life is anything like mine, you also got asked a lot of questions during family events. I mean, berated and interrogated come to mind but... it's family so it comes with the territory.
As a young member of my family, the older members of my family like to ask me questions at family gatherings. Usually the same questions every time. Here are some classics:
1. How's school? Yeah, well, you know. School's school, ya know. Just taking classes and, like, learning stuff.
2. What're you studying? Oh, well um, I'm studying sociology but I have, like, two minors-- Italian and international studies.
3. And what, you're like a (enter wrong year) now? Um, actually I'm a (enter right year).
4. What do you plan to do once you graduate? That's, yeah, a good question. I think.. yeah, I don't know, really. Just like. Yeah.
5. Do you have a boyfriend up at school? Yeah, no, not really. No, not at all. No.
6. How's Seattle? Like, cold and rainy. Yeah, ugh. Cold.
7. Do you think you'll stay up there once you graduate? Eehhhhhh. Noooooyeahwellnoprobablynot.
8. What do you think about what's happening all over the world, after studying sociology and international studies? Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh....
These are only few questions but they are asked often and sometimes by several different people over the course of one family event. And really, I got nothing. I don't know. I don't know anything. I really have nothing enlightening to say to you about the state of the world or the state of my life or the state of my future that will a) not take more than the 3 minutes we have to talk before being interrupted by someone b) not end with me running from the room and spending the rest of the evening curled in a panic induced fetal position.
I have no answers for you. Really, I know I'm supposed to be the bright future of the world but like my main concern tonight is that the plates are microwave safe so I can heat up my pie, followed by my concern that my wine glass remains within a 2 feet radius of my mouth at all times. That's it. That's where I'm at mentally.
So I have some avoidance tactics that I use, and you may use if your family is asking hard questions during this holiday season.
1. Sip wine. If you are talking to a relative who keeps asking broad and unanswerable questions, sip that wine. Nod and sip and smile and sip and when you are out of wine look bewildered and excuse yourself to refill.
1a. Spill wine. Only if very desperate, like relative brings up ex or moving back in with your parents after graduating. Not recommended for red wine drinkers unless you are very, very desperate. You are trying to escape, not spend the night cleaning the rug.
2. Laugh. I mean, seriously, some of my best avoidance of answering questions is to laugh. What am I doing with my life? AHAAHAAHAHAHA!! ...And then I smile and turn and join a less stressful conversation. Best if used to look nonchalant and not just bat shit crazy. You are going for sardonic, not psychotic.
3. Make shit up. When I was applying for college my mom and I decided to tell people I was interested in mortuary science. We hoped that giving them an answer for the question "What are you interested in studying?" would satisfy them, but that saying mortuary science would stave off follow-up questions. Also there was an appeal in the potential for freaking people out. So go ahead, tell people that you are going into the peace corp, that you want to be a lawyer, that you are going to join a nudist colony in Brazil, that you are applying for a Wall Street job, that you would like to be a player in the WNBA. Who cares, really. And if they've had enough to drink, not only will they not care, they might not even remember. I like to tell every person I talk to something different. That way if they try to corroborate, they won't get anywhere.
4. Change the subject. Do it quickly. You don't want them to get on a roll. The first question answer fast (or don')t but then immediately shift the topic of conversation away from you-- as far as possible-- sometimes literally, I think discussing Pluto's planethood is totally a legitimate conversation.
5. Hang out with the people in your family you know won't ask you anything. Sometimes you have to sit and watch two ten year olds turn your mother's immaculate household into a jungle gym in order to maintain peace of mind. Or hang out in the kitchen with your mom debating the number of garlic cloves needed in a improvised (yet delicious) Brussels sprouts recipe.
There may be no way to avoid all the questions but I've found some of these tactics can help you avoid an existential crisis in the middle of your parent's dining room. And sometimes the existential crisis happens, and when that occurs at least there is plenty of wine and pie around to numb the panic.
Thursday, November 14, 2013
Take My Hand
The sun will rise just like any day,
The world will keep on spinning anyway.
I might not even notice when it happens,
When you grab on for the first time.
When I first discover my hand was meant for you.
The lines in my palm will recognize your face
And I will forget the years I spent clasping my hands in fists.
When your heart is heavy, tired, and lonely, take my hand.
When your feet are sore, shuffling in the dust, take my hand.
When your eyes are red, tears blurring your vision, take my hand.
I will walk with you until the end of days.
I will walk with you until the sun forgets to move across the sky.
I will walk with you until the moon falls out of orbit.
Until the stars burn out, until the ocean freezes, until the last wind.
As long as you have my hand in your hand.
I cannot always see you,
I cannot always hear you,
But I know you are there because I feel you.
Do not slip away.
I will always be there
As long as you hold on tight.
I have ten fingers,
Two hands,
One heart,
And they are all for you.
One soul for an infinite love.
The world will keep on spinning anyway.
I might not even notice when it happens,
When you grab on for the first time.
When I first discover my hand was meant for you.
The lines in my palm will recognize your face
And I will forget the years I spent clasping my hands in fists.
When your heart is heavy, tired, and lonely, take my hand.
When your feet are sore, shuffling in the dust, take my hand.
When your eyes are red, tears blurring your vision, take my hand.
I will walk with you until the end of days.
I will walk with you until the sun forgets to move across the sky.
I will walk with you until the moon falls out of orbit.
Until the stars burn out, until the ocean freezes, until the last wind.
As long as you have my hand in your hand.
I cannot always see you,
I cannot always hear you,
But I know you are there because I feel you.
Do not slip away.
I will always be there
As long as you hold on tight.
I have ten fingers,
Two hands,
One heart,
And they are all for you.
One soul for an infinite love.
Sunday, October 27, 2013
Wake Me Up in June
What am I DOING with my life.
Okay, that was dramatic. I've got, like, eight months until I graduate and then I will be FREE.
But eight months seems so far away right now.
And winter is coming.
So much to do and so little time. I know that is an over used phrase but I really feel the pressure. With no time to do everything I need to do before I graduate, I am surprisingly tired of waiting to graduate. I am, like, so ready to graduate. I have always moved on before I was done with something. Bored half way through a task, it would with no real explanation lose my attention, and I would move on. That's not realllyyyy how it works with college. You can't just give up on getting your degree because, honestly, you are over it.
Maybe that's the lesson I'm learning. Stick with it until the job is done! Have patience and you will be rewarded! Work hard and make it in the world.
Today I told my roommate I would be happy building houses for the rest of my life.
All the ideas about my future are swirling around in my head and all of them are so much more appealing than drudging through eight more months of college. Been there, done that. I want to do something new.
Now, I must say, that approximately three of those said eight months will be spent in Italy and you have no idea HOW EXCITING THAT IS. I seriously, seriously can't wait to be back in Rome. And a tiny little crack in my brain is letting fantasies of running away to Italy forever fill my head.
You know that feeling when you dive into water really deep and it's so beautiful and so quiet and you feel all encompassing tranquility... until you start to swim back to the surface for air and you realize you spent just two seconds too long underwater and you know you're not going to drown or anything but for those two seconds too long you think "this is just awful I can't do this, why did I do this". That's where I am at. I know I CAN finish, now I just have to hold my breath long enough to actually do it.
Fall is not my favorite season. I know it's very popular but I just don't cope well with autumn. I have these delusions of sitting in a cafe drinking spiced cider reading poetry or wearing knit sweaters and eating something pumpkin-y. Or taking long walks with a scarf and boots on or feeding the birds out of my hand while crisp red leaves crunch under foot.
In all of my fall experiences, none have ever lived up to my expectations. It's cold, it's damp, it signals the end of summer, and there is always too much to do.
You know what I did today on my nice autumn day? Read about the families of incarcerated men in San Quentin, did statistics homework, worked out, ate pasta, and had not a single pumpkin related food or drink.
I like summer. Summer always lives up to my expectations. Spring as well, its usually good and living up to itself. Winter, even occasionally lives up to my fantasies of snow and hot cocoa--plus winter means Christmas which means all sorts of wonderful things. But fall. Fall sucks.
So right now I'm in a sour mood because a) I am over school and b) I am over fall.
I have decided, as an act of self preservation, to dream my days away, until I leave for Rome. Dream of building houses, dream of sailing ships, dream of the ocean, dream of the sun, dream of traveling the world, dream of writing novels, dream of all the books I'v never had the time to finish, dream of the man I haven't met, dream of a house with white walls, dream of the nights will friends, of the nights of fun, of the mornings of good coffee and good company, of afternoon picnics, of sundresses, of gourmet cooking, of hiking, of fishing, of swimming, of moving on from here... And then, it suddenly seems bearable.
Update: HELP! My roommates are making my dress up in scarves and sweaters and boots to go march around in the autumn.
Okay, that was dramatic. I've got, like, eight months until I graduate and then I will be FREE.
But eight months seems so far away right now.
And winter is coming.
So much to do and so little time. I know that is an over used phrase but I really feel the pressure. With no time to do everything I need to do before I graduate, I am surprisingly tired of waiting to graduate. I am, like, so ready to graduate. I have always moved on before I was done with something. Bored half way through a task, it would with no real explanation lose my attention, and I would move on. That's not realllyyyy how it works with college. You can't just give up on getting your degree because, honestly, you are over it.
Maybe that's the lesson I'm learning. Stick with it until the job is done! Have patience and you will be rewarded! Work hard and make it in the world.
Today I told my roommate I would be happy building houses for the rest of my life.
All the ideas about my future are swirling around in my head and all of them are so much more appealing than drudging through eight more months of college. Been there, done that. I want to do something new.
Now, I must say, that approximately three of those said eight months will be spent in Italy and you have no idea HOW EXCITING THAT IS. I seriously, seriously can't wait to be back in Rome. And a tiny little crack in my brain is letting fantasies of running away to Italy forever fill my head.
You know that feeling when you dive into water really deep and it's so beautiful and so quiet and you feel all encompassing tranquility... until you start to swim back to the surface for air and you realize you spent just two seconds too long underwater and you know you're not going to drown or anything but for those two seconds too long you think "this is just awful I can't do this, why did I do this". That's where I am at. I know I CAN finish, now I just have to hold my breath long enough to actually do it.
Fall is not my favorite season. I know it's very popular but I just don't cope well with autumn. I have these delusions of sitting in a cafe drinking spiced cider reading poetry or wearing knit sweaters and eating something pumpkin-y. Or taking long walks with a scarf and boots on or feeding the birds out of my hand while crisp red leaves crunch under foot.
In all of my fall experiences, none have ever lived up to my expectations. It's cold, it's damp, it signals the end of summer, and there is always too much to do.
You know what I did today on my nice autumn day? Read about the families of incarcerated men in San Quentin, did statistics homework, worked out, ate pasta, and had not a single pumpkin related food or drink.
I like summer. Summer always lives up to my expectations. Spring as well, its usually good and living up to itself. Winter, even occasionally lives up to my fantasies of snow and hot cocoa--plus winter means Christmas which means all sorts of wonderful things. But fall. Fall sucks.
So right now I'm in a sour mood because a) I am over school and b) I am over fall.
I have decided, as an act of self preservation, to dream my days away, until I leave for Rome. Dream of building houses, dream of sailing ships, dream of the ocean, dream of the sun, dream of traveling the world, dream of writing novels, dream of all the books I'v never had the time to finish, dream of the man I haven't met, dream of a house with white walls, dream of the nights will friends, of the nights of fun, of the mornings of good coffee and good company, of afternoon picnics, of sundresses, of gourmet cooking, of hiking, of fishing, of swimming, of moving on from here... And then, it suddenly seems bearable.
Update: HELP! My roommates are making my dress up in scarves and sweaters and boots to go march around in the autumn.
Saturday, September 28, 2013
The Second Love Letter
My Dearest Kellbow,
You used to call me Keeyore. You used to call me Kiera-Bear. And then remember that time we tried to call Bridget "Bridrib" which turned into Ribbit which is still my nickname for her?
Remember that first night we bumped into each other. We always told that story to people who met us. And the Wall of Death.
Remember when we sang Sunday Morning by Maroon 5 like everyday.
When we spent hours in Pike Place looking for random bits of paper that we thought were romantic or mysterious or beautiful.
When we sat in my dorm room for hours talking about everything and nothing.
When we had jello shots with Karen and Jim and they nearly killed you.
When we sat in the Terry lounge talking about all the boys who broke our hearts.
When we fought and cried and tore into each other like it was the end of the world.
When we spent two weeks together inspecting each others most deep and private secrets and we survived.
Our friendship was never better than during those times.
My dear, it has been so long since we have made memories like that.
Do you remember the last time we were in a room alone together? Do you remember the last time you sat down next to me and looked at me and asked me what is up?
I can't remember the last time you told me how you were doing.
You've become like some bizarre extended relative who tells me they are going to take me out to ice cream and then never shows to pick me up.
You've always liked the romance and beauty of things. The tragic and the wasted love. The broken men and the lost women of the world.
My narrative is a simple one and maybe you've simply lost interest in the plainness of my love.
I would like to say that I have always been there but I don't know where I stand with you so I stand back, because you haven't given me a place in your life for so long.
I have written a (public) love letter only once and it was to you-- so I thought I'd try again.
Last time this is how I ended it, and I thought it seemed appropriate: "And we will both be happy again. I promise."
Love,
Keeyore
You used to call me Keeyore. You used to call me Kiera-Bear. And then remember that time we tried to call Bridget "Bridrib" which turned into Ribbit which is still my nickname for her?
Remember that first night we bumped into each other. We always told that story to people who met us. And the Wall of Death.
Remember when we sang Sunday Morning by Maroon 5 like everyday.
When we spent hours in Pike Place looking for random bits of paper that we thought were romantic or mysterious or beautiful.
When we sat in my dorm room for hours talking about everything and nothing.
When we had jello shots with Karen and Jim and they nearly killed you.
When we sat in the Terry lounge talking about all the boys who broke our hearts.
When we fought and cried and tore into each other like it was the end of the world.
When we spent two weeks together inspecting each others most deep and private secrets and we survived.
Our friendship was never better than during those times.
My dear, it has been so long since we have made memories like that.
Do you remember the last time we were in a room alone together? Do you remember the last time you sat down next to me and looked at me and asked me what is up?
I can't remember the last time you told me how you were doing.
You've become like some bizarre extended relative who tells me they are going to take me out to ice cream and then never shows to pick me up.
You've always liked the romance and beauty of things. The tragic and the wasted love. The broken men and the lost women of the world.
My narrative is a simple one and maybe you've simply lost interest in the plainness of my love.
I would like to say that I have always been there but I don't know where I stand with you so I stand back, because you haven't given me a place in your life for so long.
I have written a (public) love letter only once and it was to you-- so I thought I'd try again.
Last time this is how I ended it, and I thought it seemed appropriate: "And we will both be happy again. I promise."
Love,
Keeyore
MasterChef Junior
I have had 3 days of my senior year. So far so good. I'm still processing the implications of the first classes of the quarter. I feel like I'm holding my breath, waiting for the water to rise up over my head. As of yet I'm still able to fill my lungs.
My roommates are great, we have one old and one new and they are both joys. It feels like the perfect balance. Tonight I was listening to music and talking to my roommate Bailey who has been living with me since April and she said, "Since living with you I have learned not to stress about little things." I guess I give off that vibe even though sometimes I feel like a beacon of stress and mania. But when I can, I try to be care free.
I had a little hootenanny last night. I can not describe to you how great it felt to see everyone together, laughing and talking together. It felt like the opening scene of a movie, before anything complicated or tumultuous happens-- or maybe the end after everything has been solved.
I did a little homework (good) and a lot of recreational internet (bad) today. When you are reduced to Les Mis parody videos and fox GIFs you know you've gone too far down the internet's rabbit hole.
I did discover MasterChef Junior today though (Hulu) so thank you internet for that! I highly recommend. Stop reading this and go watch. I'll wait.
Did you enjoy that? If you watched it actually I'm happy for you. Most of you probably didn't but seriously. Go do that. This post is over now anyway.
My roommates are great, we have one old and one new and they are both joys. It feels like the perfect balance. Tonight I was listening to music and talking to my roommate Bailey who has been living with me since April and she said, "Since living with you I have learned not to stress about little things." I guess I give off that vibe even though sometimes I feel like a beacon of stress and mania. But when I can, I try to be care free.
I had a little hootenanny last night. I can not describe to you how great it felt to see everyone together, laughing and talking together. It felt like the opening scene of a movie, before anything complicated or tumultuous happens-- or maybe the end after everything has been solved.
I did a little homework (good) and a lot of recreational internet (bad) today. When you are reduced to Les Mis parody videos and fox GIFs you know you've gone too far down the internet's rabbit hole.
I did discover MasterChef Junior today though (Hulu) so thank you internet for that! I highly recommend. Stop reading this and go watch. I'll wait.
Did you enjoy that? If you watched it actually I'm happy for you. Most of you probably didn't but seriously. Go do that. This post is over now anyway.
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
Holy @*$%, Batman
Today marks my last week of summer before my last year of college. In one week from this very hour I will be winding down from my last first day of college (undergraduate-- graduate tbd). I will be getting ready to start my first assignment maybe, or reviewing my syllabus perchance.
Most likely I will be breathing into a brown paper bag, crouching under my desk in the fetal position, mascara running down my face as I come to terms with the fact that after 16 years of education, I know relatively nothing.
I'd like to say here and now I have always had the highest quality of education that was offered to me, the University of Washington included. There it is at least, for the record.
But Holy Shitballs, what do I actually *know*?!
Wait, I know this... I know all the things I wrote in this blog, and a helluvalot more that I didn't ever write in this blog.
This blog is a chronicle of all the things I have learned in my first three years of college. And this is it. The final year. The final push. And by the end of it all maybe I'll feel like I know something.
Or maybe I'll graduate this June and end up breathing into a brown paper bag, crouching under my desk in the fetal position, graduation cap slipping backwards off my disheveled head as I come to the realization that I am not in fact ready for the world.
(The cheerleaders in my head tell me that actually it's the world that is not ready for me, but it is a well known fact not to trust voices in your head.)
This year is going to be exciting. In case I haven't told you, this is what I would call a formal announcement. Two things are happening this year that I am especially excited (read neurotic) about. First, I will be studying abroad this winter quarter in Rome. Second, I will be writing a thesis this academic year as a part of the Sociology honors program.
Yes, I will be doing both consecutively. Yes, that's ambitious. Yes, I am confident I will succeed. Yes, the blood is draining out of my face. Yes, I do think I'd like to sit down--is the underneath of that desk available?
I have very high hopes about this upcoming academic year. This next week while I am still in CA enjoying some R&R will be about preparing for the next nine months. It is important to steal time to rejuvenate before big adventures and that is what this new year will be.
I've got three quarters left to do all the things I have ever wanted to do in college. I've got the next three months in Seattle, the middle three months in Rome and the last three months in Seattle. It is now officially time to take college life by the balls.
It's Seattle bucket-list time.
Because let me tell you, once I graduate I am leaving. Oh, no, don't look so sad/surprised/worried. I love Seattle. But I live in Seattle for school. When I graduate I don't have school to keep me in Seattle.
It's time to move on. I've got ants and my pants and it's making me restless.
What're all those college things you need to do one last time before you graduate? What're all those college things you never tried because you thought you had so much time and now that time is gone? What're all those crazy ideas or impulsive notions that you need to do now?
Because this school year, of all the school years I've ever had will probably be the hardest and the busiest. But I also hope that it will be the most fun.
I feel like I keep blinking and when I open my eyes I am so much older than I thought. You blink senior year of high school as you drive to school with your best friend singing along to some top forty hit. Gone. You blink while you are drunk at your first college party and the friend that you met the week earlier is slurring her words as you both pontificate on something you don't even find that interesting. Gone. You blink on the back deck of your then-boyfriend as he laughs and touches your hand. Gone. You blink while you are sitting on the floor of your apartment talking to your roommate for hours and hours about boys. Gone.
All these little moments flash in my mind like a slide projector, my mind whirring with memories. It doesn't feel like slow and steady progress. It feels like a rhythmic jerking from one small moment to the next.
But I cannot stop the forceful movement forward. I am being shoved towards the future, tripping over myself until I can find the right footing.
This year, man. It ought be good.
Most likely I will be breathing into a brown paper bag, crouching under my desk in the fetal position, mascara running down my face as I come to terms with the fact that after 16 years of education, I know relatively nothing.
I'd like to say here and now I have always had the highest quality of education that was offered to me, the University of Washington included. There it is at least, for the record.
But Holy Shitballs, what do I actually *know*?!
Wait, I know this... I know all the things I wrote in this blog, and a helluvalot more that I didn't ever write in this blog.
This blog is a chronicle of all the things I have learned in my first three years of college. And this is it. The final year. The final push. And by the end of it all maybe I'll feel like I know something.
Or maybe I'll graduate this June and end up breathing into a brown paper bag, crouching under my desk in the fetal position, graduation cap slipping backwards off my disheveled head as I come to the realization that I am not in fact ready for the world.
(The cheerleaders in my head tell me that actually it's the world that is not ready for me, but it is a well known fact not to trust voices in your head.)
This year is going to be exciting. In case I haven't told you, this is what I would call a formal announcement. Two things are happening this year that I am especially excited (read neurotic) about. First, I will be studying abroad this winter quarter in Rome. Second, I will be writing a thesis this academic year as a part of the Sociology honors program.
Yes, I will be doing both consecutively. Yes, that's ambitious. Yes, I am confident I will succeed. Yes, the blood is draining out of my face. Yes, I do think I'd like to sit down--is the underneath of that desk available?
I have very high hopes about this upcoming academic year. This next week while I am still in CA enjoying some R&R will be about preparing for the next nine months. It is important to steal time to rejuvenate before big adventures and that is what this new year will be.
I've got three quarters left to do all the things I have ever wanted to do in college. I've got the next three months in Seattle, the middle three months in Rome and the last three months in Seattle. It is now officially time to take college life by the balls.
It's Seattle bucket-list time.
Because let me tell you, once I graduate I am leaving. Oh, no, don't look so sad/surprised/worried. I love Seattle. But I live in Seattle for school. When I graduate I don't have school to keep me in Seattle.
It's time to move on. I've got ants and my pants and it's making me restless.
What're all those college things you need to do one last time before you graduate? What're all those college things you never tried because you thought you had so much time and now that time is gone? What're all those crazy ideas or impulsive notions that you need to do now?
Because this school year, of all the school years I've ever had will probably be the hardest and the busiest. But I also hope that it will be the most fun.
I feel like I keep blinking and when I open my eyes I am so much older than I thought. You blink senior year of high school as you drive to school with your best friend singing along to some top forty hit. Gone. You blink while you are drunk at your first college party and the friend that you met the week earlier is slurring her words as you both pontificate on something you don't even find that interesting. Gone. You blink on the back deck of your then-boyfriend as he laughs and touches your hand. Gone. You blink while you are sitting on the floor of your apartment talking to your roommate for hours and hours about boys. Gone.
All these little moments flash in my mind like a slide projector, my mind whirring with memories. It doesn't feel like slow and steady progress. It feels like a rhythmic jerking from one small moment to the next.
But I cannot stop the forceful movement forward. I am being shoved towards the future, tripping over myself until I can find the right footing.
This year, man. It ought be good.
Thursday, August 22, 2013
Buy Me Flowers
I work in event services. It's such a rewarding job. The things I do and the people I work with are engaging and I leave the office everyday feeling like I did something important for people. Not all entry level positions are lucky enough to be like that.
There are also more trivial reasons to love my job, like a (seemingly) bottomless candy bowl and a coworker who likes to play Earth Wind and Fire from her desktop computer a few feet away from me.
Today I discovered another trivial reason to love my job. Floral arrangements. Today an event that our office has been working on happened and afterwards the client came into our office with a BEAUTIFUL (and pricey) floral arrangement left over from the event.
I sat at the front desk blushing like I had just won the Miss America title. I was giddy like a middle schooler on her first date. I melted into a pool of giggling female stereotypes.
Getting flowers is like being tickled. You can't really do it to yourself. Occasionally I do buy flowers for myself, but there is nothing, NOTHING, like getting handed a floral arrangement unexpectedly. Even if it is for your whole office and not just you.
I think it is a CRISIS that people don't receive flowers more often. I never give people flowers but I totally should. And everyone should buy me flowers.
I know my birthday is far off, so no one can say I am fishing for presents, but just imagine if my friends bought be a bouquet of flowers for my birthday. Depending on how many of my friends remembered my birthday, I could end up with dozens of bouquets of flowers.
I could scatter them around my apartment and feel like a famous actress after opening night of her next hit show.
I could light candles, pour myself a glass of red wine, and throw the petals all over my bed, like some sort of trollop.
Flowers are like instant fantasies. Suddenly I am caught in an imaginary version of my life, involving dark haired lovers with thick rimmed glasses and even thicker accents.
Suddenly I am wearing pink lipstick and kitten heels like Audrey Hepburn, listening to jazz while drawing on very thin, arched eyebrows.
Suddenly I am living in the country, wearing a bandanna in my long blonde hair, the radio on, waiting for my strapping husband to come home for dinner.
Suddenly I've got gentlemen callers at all times of the day and night, my silk robe slipping off my shoulder as I wave them away, smiling coyly.
Now someone go buy me some flowers.
There are also more trivial reasons to love my job, like a (seemingly) bottomless candy bowl and a coworker who likes to play Earth Wind and Fire from her desktop computer a few feet away from me.
Today I discovered another trivial reason to love my job. Floral arrangements. Today an event that our office has been working on happened and afterwards the client came into our office with a BEAUTIFUL (and pricey) floral arrangement left over from the event.
I sat at the front desk blushing like I had just won the Miss America title. I was giddy like a middle schooler on her first date. I melted into a pool of giggling female stereotypes.
Getting flowers is like being tickled. You can't really do it to yourself. Occasionally I do buy flowers for myself, but there is nothing, NOTHING, like getting handed a floral arrangement unexpectedly. Even if it is for your whole office and not just you.
I think it is a CRISIS that people don't receive flowers more often. I never give people flowers but I totally should. And everyone should buy me flowers.
I know my birthday is far off, so no one can say I am fishing for presents, but just imagine if my friends bought be a bouquet of flowers for my birthday. Depending on how many of my friends remembered my birthday, I could end up with dozens of bouquets of flowers.
I could scatter them around my apartment and feel like a famous actress after opening night of her next hit show.
I could light candles, pour myself a glass of red wine, and throw the petals all over my bed, like some sort of trollop.
Flowers are like instant fantasies. Suddenly I am caught in an imaginary version of my life, involving dark haired lovers with thick rimmed glasses and even thicker accents.
Suddenly I am wearing pink lipstick and kitten heels like Audrey Hepburn, listening to jazz while drawing on very thin, arched eyebrows.
Suddenly I am living in the country, wearing a bandanna in my long blonde hair, the radio on, waiting for my strapping husband to come home for dinner.
Suddenly I've got gentlemen callers at all times of the day and night, my silk robe slipping off my shoulder as I wave them away, smiling coyly.
Now someone go buy me some flowers.
Sunday, August 11, 2013
The Butterfly
Pick a flower and it will die, sitting it a vase. It will shrivel until you wash it down the sink.
Watch waves crash along the shore for as long as it takes to understand that a wave is not a singular thing.
Bottle me up, cage me, find my essence and concentrate it. Then, if I had wings, I'd lose my flight.
Do not ask a monarch to pin itself to a cork board for observation. Breed it to forget the sun.
I am the cat who sits at the door but cannot decide to go in or go out.
Do not command a dog not to bark, a horse not to run, a man not to cry.
The wind cries, the ocean weeps, the mountain roars rage and revenge.
I can tell you my secrets but not their meaning.
If I had wings I would not be afraid of falling.
My courage was pinned to a cork board.
Watch waves crash along the shore for as long as it takes to understand that a wave is not a singular thing.
Bottle me up, cage me, find my essence and concentrate it. Then, if I had wings, I'd lose my flight.
Do not ask a monarch to pin itself to a cork board for observation. Breed it to forget the sun.
I am the cat who sits at the door but cannot decide to go in or go out.
Do not command a dog not to bark, a horse not to run, a man not to cry.
The wind cries, the ocean weeps, the mountain roars rage and revenge.
I can tell you my secrets but not their meaning.
If I had wings I would not be afraid of falling.
My courage was pinned to a cork board.
Saturday, August 3, 2013
Senior Year
I've been sick all week. It's given me a lot of time to think. And when I say think, I mean watch countless episodes of How I Met Your Mother, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and Doctor Who-- sprinkling in the occasional rom-com and nap.
I am finally starting to feel better. Still, I am spending my Saturday in my apartment eating hash browns, watching tv, and reminiscing about high school.
You don't realize how far you've come until you remember all the shit you had to put up with from age 14 to 18. Oh how times have changed.
Four years ago I was on the verge of my senior year of high school.
Now I am on the verge of my senior year of college. Well, when I say verge, I've still got seven weeks of summer so...
High school. What the heck, amiright?
If you are in high school: Right now you will think this is the best time of your life. Or you will be frustrated that it is not the best time of your life. Try to embrace the moment either way.
Because I am here, four years later, to tell you that it's not really all that great of a period of time.
And if you are my age and you are reading this and thinking I am wrong: I'm here to tell you that in fact you are wrong. You are also probably exactly the kind of person in high school that made it not ideal for me. So, thanks.
There will always be bitches and bros in high school. If you are one or were one of those bitches or bros, please stop. Because in high school the people who are like me thought you were so cool-- cooler than us by far. Congrats. But now, after high school, the people who are like me just think you are dumb and/or fat and/or arrogant and/or washed up. But we most definitely are cooler than you now.
I'm not friends with many people from high school. I'm not even facebook friends with many people from high school-- and you know that means they are low, low down on my priority list.
Who are those people who I went to high school with? I don't think I ever knew them. I spent four very vital years sitting next to people who never gave me a second glance the day after we graduated. Those people who I walked past in the halls everyday, who at our five/ten/fifteen year high school anniversary I probably won't even recognize. I have no idea who they are.
From my graduating class, who knew anything about me? Like really anything important about me?
I thought senior year of high school was going to be epic. And it was in my mind, at that time, pretty epic. But...
Look how far I've come. Maybe the people who went to high school with me can't see it. I can see it. And I know they've probably come far as well.
My senior year of college is going to be epic. Maybe in four years I will think it's nothing compared with where I will be then, but that's okay. As long as there is continued progress.
I am finally starting to feel better. Still, I am spending my Saturday in my apartment eating hash browns, watching tv, and reminiscing about high school.
You don't realize how far you've come until you remember all the shit you had to put up with from age 14 to 18. Oh how times have changed.
Four years ago I was on the verge of my senior year of high school.
Now I am on the verge of my senior year of college. Well, when I say verge, I've still got seven weeks of summer so...
High school. What the heck, amiright?
If you are in high school: Right now you will think this is the best time of your life. Or you will be frustrated that it is not the best time of your life. Try to embrace the moment either way.
Because I am here, four years later, to tell you that it's not really all that great of a period of time.
And if you are my age and you are reading this and thinking I am wrong: I'm here to tell you that in fact you are wrong. You are also probably exactly the kind of person in high school that made it not ideal for me. So, thanks.
There will always be bitches and bros in high school. If you are one or were one of those bitches or bros, please stop. Because in high school the people who are like me thought you were so cool-- cooler than us by far. Congrats. But now, after high school, the people who are like me just think you are dumb and/or fat and/or arrogant and/or washed up. But we most definitely are cooler than you now.
I'm not friends with many people from high school. I'm not even facebook friends with many people from high school-- and you know that means they are low, low down on my priority list.
Who are those people who I went to high school with? I don't think I ever knew them. I spent four very vital years sitting next to people who never gave me a second glance the day after we graduated. Those people who I walked past in the halls everyday, who at our five/ten/fifteen year high school anniversary I probably won't even recognize. I have no idea who they are.
From my graduating class, who knew anything about me? Like really anything important about me?
I thought senior year of high school was going to be epic. And it was in my mind, at that time, pretty epic. But...
Look how far I've come. Maybe the people who went to high school with me can't see it. I can see it. And I know they've probably come far as well.
My senior year of college is going to be epic. Maybe in four years I will think it's nothing compared with where I will be then, but that's okay. As long as there is continued progress.
Thursday, July 25, 2013
Thanks, Friends
I am sitting on my freshly vacuumed floor in my freshly tidied apartment. I'm hot and sweaty from a long, hot day. My cheeks are rosy from spending the last few days in the sun.
I it is so sunny in Seattle. And it is the hottest around 5pm.
The Temptations are singing Ain't too Proud to Beg from my phone speakers. There's a stranded stapler on the ground next to my thigh and my backpack is deflated at my feet. The drawstring of my yoga pants is undone and the cup from a recently consumed milkshake is sitting on my dresser, slowing forming a water ring at its base.
Whole milk. So good. So filling.
Today was almost like any other. It could have easily slipped into the blurred background of my life.
Then I went canoeing with my friend. I could talk about the serenity, the nature, the weather. I felt all that stuff but I didn't think to open my laptop until after I got home and settled in.
I have awesome friends. Awesome Seattle friends. I have awesome high school/ San Francisco/ California friends too. But I have AWESOME friends right here.
It's easy to be like, OMG, I go to school with tens of thousands of people and I see the same 20 friends in a sort of rotation. But that's not really true. Well it is true. But it's not that simple. I am close to a couple dozen people up here and that is EXACTLY okay.
They are awesome. I love them. I hang out with them, I see movies with them, I canoe with them, I party with them, I go dancing with them.
When I think about the people I get to take away (metaphorically) from my college days, I am so pumped. I have a goodly sized (but not giant or unwieldy) group who I want to keep i touch with for the rest of my life.
It's kind of intimidating. I have like... four friends I still talk to from high school. It's hard to keep up with them; those four BRILLIANT ladies. And in a year I will add another couple dozen to the list of friends not in my immediate vicinity.
Gosh.
You guys, we've got a year. Let's do it right. You make college unbelievably fulfilling!!!
I it is so sunny in Seattle. And it is the hottest around 5pm.
The Temptations are singing Ain't too Proud to Beg from my phone speakers. There's a stranded stapler on the ground next to my thigh and my backpack is deflated at my feet. The drawstring of my yoga pants is undone and the cup from a recently consumed milkshake is sitting on my dresser, slowing forming a water ring at its base.
Whole milk. So good. So filling.
Today was almost like any other. It could have easily slipped into the blurred background of my life.
Then I went canoeing with my friend. I could talk about the serenity, the nature, the weather. I felt all that stuff but I didn't think to open my laptop until after I got home and settled in.
I have awesome friends. Awesome Seattle friends. I have awesome high school/ San Francisco/ California friends too. But I have AWESOME friends right here.
It's easy to be like, OMG, I go to school with tens of thousands of people and I see the same 20 friends in a sort of rotation. But that's not really true. Well it is true. But it's not that simple. I am close to a couple dozen people up here and that is EXACTLY okay.
They are awesome. I love them. I hang out with them, I see movies with them, I canoe with them, I party with them, I go dancing with them.
When I think about the people I get to take away (metaphorically) from my college days, I am so pumped. I have a goodly sized (but not giant or unwieldy) group who I want to keep i touch with for the rest of my life.
It's kind of intimidating. I have like... four friends I still talk to from high school. It's hard to keep up with them; those four BRILLIANT ladies. And in a year I will add another couple dozen to the list of friends not in my immediate vicinity.
Gosh.
You guys, we've got a year. Let's do it right. You make college unbelievably fulfilling!!!
Thursday, July 11, 2013
Pushing Through
I'm pushing through you guys.
It's happening. I just finished applying for this thing. So far I have blown off my Italian homework that is due tomorrow.
Instead of doing yet another insane amount of Italian homework tonight I pushed through some of this negative emotion.
I woke up this morning still riled up. I had too much coffee on top of the extra bad juju. This only meant that for 3.5 hours of Italian I squirmed in my seat, head jumping from topic to topic, in and out of Italian.
I sat in the sun for my 30 min lunch break and ate an apple. There is something cathartic about eating an apple. There's a CRUNCH that always feels good. Not like eating a banana or grapes or an orange. Apples fight back. You've accomplished something by finishing an apple.
I got to work and discussed the different merits of diaper cakes. Yes. That's a thing. Google it. It's not as gross as it sounds. Then I really got working. Woof.
2.5 hours later and I was out the door to a hair appointment. The glories of a haircut have been often chronicled in this blog. I love getting haircuts. Someone shampooing your hair, massaging your head and then clipping away all the excesses of your life.
I could feel my troubles being snipped and my worries being scattered on the floor.
$30 later and I felt fabulous. A new woman. I walked home, the dozen or so blocks, with a spring in my step. A short man with a sombrero even puckered his lips at me--which made me laugh out loud. I will never understand some people.
I got home and took a lot of very vain pictures of myself. Peacocking if you will.
It wasn't a great day, I'll be honest. But it ended better than it began and that's all I can ask for.
I am pushing through this. Tomorrow I will get up. 3.5 hours of Italian. 2.5 hours of work. Canoeing with the roommates. Surprise adventure with my friend.
Things are looking up. I'm looking ahead. I'm keeping busy. I'm doing what I want to do, when I want to do it. I've been eating better. I've been exercising more. It's going to be okay. I'm going to be okay.
It's happening. I just finished applying for this thing. So far I have blown off my Italian homework that is due tomorrow.
Instead of doing yet another insane amount of Italian homework tonight I pushed through some of this negative emotion.
I woke up this morning still riled up. I had too much coffee on top of the extra bad juju. This only meant that for 3.5 hours of Italian I squirmed in my seat, head jumping from topic to topic, in and out of Italian.
I sat in the sun for my 30 min lunch break and ate an apple. There is something cathartic about eating an apple. There's a CRUNCH that always feels good. Not like eating a banana or grapes or an orange. Apples fight back. You've accomplished something by finishing an apple.
I got to work and discussed the different merits of diaper cakes. Yes. That's a thing. Google it. It's not as gross as it sounds. Then I really got working. Woof.
2.5 hours later and I was out the door to a hair appointment. The glories of a haircut have been often chronicled in this blog. I love getting haircuts. Someone shampooing your hair, massaging your head and then clipping away all the excesses of your life.
I could feel my troubles being snipped and my worries being scattered on the floor.
$30 later and I felt fabulous. A new woman. I walked home, the dozen or so blocks, with a spring in my step. A short man with a sombrero even puckered his lips at me--which made me laugh out loud. I will never understand some people.
I got home and took a lot of very vain pictures of myself. Peacocking if you will.
It wasn't a great day, I'll be honest. But it ended better than it began and that's all I can ask for.
I am pushing through this. Tomorrow I will get up. 3.5 hours of Italian. 2.5 hours of work. Canoeing with the roommates. Surprise adventure with my friend.
Things are looking up. I'm looking ahead. I'm keeping busy. I'm doing what I want to do, when I want to do it. I've been eating better. I've been exercising more. It's going to be okay. I'm going to be okay.
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
Green Day Day
Most people have different music for different occasions. You can't listen to the same music all the time. Some days are Michael Buble days and some days are Ozomatli days. Today is a Green Day Day.
I started the day thinking it was a Fitz and the Trantrums day. It wasn't. When I went to the gym I thought it was a Pitbull day. Still not right.
Then. THEN. FUCKING THEN. I realized. It was a fucking Green Day Day.
It's never a good day when it is a Green Day Day. Since the sixth grade, and my parents can attest to this, Green Day Days have been historically angsty and moody.
Today I thought was a good day and up beat day. Secretly, it was an angsty and moody day.
Let me tell you, I don't hate a lot of things. Most things are great. Most things are neutral to positive things. But there are a couple things that rank high on my hate list.
These things cause Green Day Days:
1. Lies
2. Cowardice
3. Germs
4. Public bathrooms
5. Paying for parking
6. Paying for water
7. Chris Isaac
There are a few other things that make the list but my rage has blinded me. And in any case only one thing bothers me today.
Let's talk about cowardice. Hey, I'm a coward. I'm afraid to eat things off of my own kitchen counter (germs). I'm afraid of sitting on public toilet seats. I get it. Some things scare the shit out of me. Dying of a food borne illness is way up there.
And people, some people are scary. I was scared shitless of my choir teacher in high school. I was a total coward when it came to talking to Mr. Toland. And I've had other teachers and bosses that I was wary of.
So, yeah, I can be a coward. I'll admit that right before I say:
I hate cowards.
If you want something, take it. Or at least ask for it. If you want to say something, say it. Or at least clear your throat. If you want someone, tell them. Or at least show it.
If you do not, then two things happen:
1. I deem you a coward
2. I move on
--
I tell my roommate, when she gets rejected by a guy, He's allowed to not like you. It sounds harsh. But it's true.
Several months ago my friend was dating this guy and she told me that she didn't know if she really liked you and I said, You're allowed to not like him. That is absolutely true.
And this GUY-- he's allowed to not like me. I accept that. All he needed to do was say, "Hey, I don't like you." Boom. So easy.
Instead I got radio silence. And through the silence I heard a whisper of a word: Coward.
Look, I'm single. And I'm having trouble accepting that, enough as that is. I was talking to my roommate about this and her response was, Well who is out there that you want?
Good question. It stumped me, because she's right. I can scroll through my phone and I can click through my facebook, and no offense but. Uh. Or, rather, eh.
But then here was my response: I am single involuntarily. If guys were throwing themselves at me, I could say YES or NO. Because I'm allowed to pick.
If it weren't me, I would think it was FUCKING HILARIOUS how often I DON'T get asked out. And every time I say that to someone they're like "NO WAY!". WELL, FUCK YOU. You know how NOT comforting it is to hear, "But you are sooooo funny/pretty/hot/nice/eligible"?? It's absolutely USELESS.
It's great that I'm funny, but clearly NOT ENOUGH. It's great that I'm pretty, but CLEARLY NOT ENOUGH.
Not enough to trump whatever cowardice is in men who meet me.
I don't care how much of a coward you are, admit it, you would ask out Emma Watson in a heart beat. Because she's AMAZING. And you could be shy or inadequate or whatever but you will ask the shit out of her.
I might be amazing. Maybe. I could buy that. But what am I supposed to think when I get no one, for miles around, who even has the slightest inkling of asking me out?
If you are out there in the world and you like someone FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE PLEASE TELL THEM. On behalf of all the people who never get asked out, please ask them out. Because you like them and they are allowed to like you or not like you but you take away that choice when you ignore them.
So here we are. Angsty, moody, single, and looking. Open hearts are often lonely hearts, especially when they are empty.
I started the day thinking it was a Fitz and the Trantrums day. It wasn't. When I went to the gym I thought it was a Pitbull day. Still not right.
Then. THEN. FUCKING THEN. I realized. It was a fucking Green Day Day.
It's never a good day when it is a Green Day Day. Since the sixth grade, and my parents can attest to this, Green Day Days have been historically angsty and moody.
Today I thought was a good day and up beat day. Secretly, it was an angsty and moody day.
Let me tell you, I don't hate a lot of things. Most things are great. Most things are neutral to positive things. But there are a couple things that rank high on my hate list.
These things cause Green Day Days:
1. Lies
2. Cowardice
3. Germs
4. Public bathrooms
5. Paying for parking
6. Paying for water
7. Chris Isaac
There are a few other things that make the list but my rage has blinded me. And in any case only one thing bothers me today.
Let's talk about cowardice. Hey, I'm a coward. I'm afraid to eat things off of my own kitchen counter (germs). I'm afraid of sitting on public toilet seats. I get it. Some things scare the shit out of me. Dying of a food borne illness is way up there.
And people, some people are scary. I was scared shitless of my choir teacher in high school. I was a total coward when it came to talking to Mr. Toland. And I've had other teachers and bosses that I was wary of.
So, yeah, I can be a coward. I'll admit that right before I say:
I hate cowards.
If you want something, take it. Or at least ask for it. If you want to say something, say it. Or at least clear your throat. If you want someone, tell them. Or at least show it.
If you do not, then two things happen:
1. I deem you a coward
2. I move on
--
I tell my roommate, when she gets rejected by a guy, He's allowed to not like you. It sounds harsh. But it's true.
Several months ago my friend was dating this guy and she told me that she didn't know if she really liked you and I said, You're allowed to not like him. That is absolutely true.
And this GUY-- he's allowed to not like me. I accept that. All he needed to do was say, "Hey, I don't like you." Boom. So easy.
Instead I got radio silence. And through the silence I heard a whisper of a word: Coward.
Look, I'm single. And I'm having trouble accepting that, enough as that is. I was talking to my roommate about this and her response was, Well who is out there that you want?
Good question. It stumped me, because she's right. I can scroll through my phone and I can click through my facebook, and no offense but. Uh. Or, rather, eh.
But then here was my response: I am single involuntarily. If guys were throwing themselves at me, I could say YES or NO. Because I'm allowed to pick.
If it weren't me, I would think it was FUCKING HILARIOUS how often I DON'T get asked out. And every time I say that to someone they're like "NO WAY!". WELL, FUCK YOU. You know how NOT comforting it is to hear, "But you are sooooo funny/pretty/hot/nice/eligible"?? It's absolutely USELESS.
It's great that I'm funny, but clearly NOT ENOUGH. It's great that I'm pretty, but CLEARLY NOT ENOUGH.
Not enough to trump whatever cowardice is in men who meet me.
I don't care how much of a coward you are, admit it, you would ask out Emma Watson in a heart beat. Because she's AMAZING. And you could be shy or inadequate or whatever but you will ask the shit out of her.
I might be amazing. Maybe. I could buy that. But what am I supposed to think when I get no one, for miles around, who even has the slightest inkling of asking me out?
If you are out there in the world and you like someone FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE PLEASE TELL THEM. On behalf of all the people who never get asked out, please ask them out. Because you like them and they are allowed to like you or not like you but you take away that choice when you ignore them.
So here we are. Angsty, moody, single, and looking. Open hearts are often lonely hearts, especially when they are empty.
Sunday, July 7, 2013
Chicken and Egg
I had a weird... couple of days. Let's say from around 8PM July 4th to right now at this very moment.
Let's start at 1PM July 4th. My ex-Roommate, who is still refer to as my roommate, to everyone's confusion, picked me up and drove me to her house. I had not seen her in quite some time and her birthday recently passed. To make a long story short we had a great time catching up. Then it was time for her to drop me off.
When I got up to my apartment, about 8PM, I was suddenly very alone. Both of my roommates, who are actually my roommates, were gone to their respective family's house for Independence Day. That's fine, I had resigned myself to an evening on my own. I watched TV and did homework until the fireworks started.
I had been sitting on my couch watching TV when I heard the first firework. Then I turned around to face my window. I watched fireworks from my apartment. My living room overlooks lake Washington. In the distance I can see the Space Needle and Mount Rainier. They shoot fireworks from lake Washington and I saw them all. From my couch. I didn't have to sit in traffic, I didn't have to wade through crowds, or save my spot, or deal with drunk people. I got to sit on my couch with the TV playing in the background, a glass of juice, and my whole kitchen 5 feet away.
I was overwhelmed with gratitude. When will I ever experience anything quite like that? Who gets to experience that? It is not often that I notice once in a life-time experiences. They happen more often than I recognize, I'm sure of it, but this one slapped me across the face. I was glad the firework show ended when it did, any longer and I would have probably started balling. I mean, happy, joyous, overwhelmed balling, but balling nonetheless.
It ended like all fireworks shows must, like everything in life must, and I went back to watching Torchwood. Yet another nerdy TV show I have started in the last year. Too many to count.
On Friday I went back to the daily grind. I have Italian class for 3.5 hours in the morning and work for 2.5 hours in the afternoon everyday. Everyday. And sometimes after that I work out.
I did not work out on Friday, yesterday. I wanted to work out, honestly, because to be frank I feel like a fat fuck. Or, to put it in a more appropriate way, I have had pretty fucking low self esteem lately. I know it is normal to be, like, normal. I know it's okay to gain weight, especially as you grow older. I know when I do gain weight it just fills out my already curvy body. I know you can't tell or don't care or don't think it's a bad thing. I know all this. I can actually look outside of myself well enough to comprehend. But I feel fat. No I don't feel FAT like obese or overweight. I feel fat as in, could be skinnier. I feel fat as in, have been skinnier.
Instead of working out I met a girl who might move in to my apartment in September when one of my roommates studies abroad. She's nice, but then again they all have been. I am the queen of roommates. Bridget, Madeline, Katy, Alexandra, Laura, Julia, Alex, Emily, Bailey, Hannah. Some have been better (Bridget) than others (Laura). They know this. I know this. It doesn't matter if I'm A+ compatible with a roommate. Because after TEN roommates, I know, whatever differences you have. It won't last. I have lived in five places in the last three years. One dorm hall, another dorm hall, an apartment in Rome, an apartment in Seattle, and home. I don't leave. They do.
This girl I met, she was nice. One of the nicer ones, if we are frank. Not that nice means good or compatible. But having a nice roommate is, coincidentally, very nice. It's so easy.
Nice. I told people this guy I had met was nice. It was a great word for him. Nice fit him well because it could include caring, interesting, funny, smart. But it didn't have to. He was nice. He was, but I don't see him anymore. Oops, we're facebook friends so I hope he's not a reader. I'm sure he'll be very nice about it if he is.
After she left I made dinner. Oh my good lord did I make dinner. I never make dinner. And I drank wine. I never drink wine. And I watched half an Italian movie and more Torchwood, which apparently I have started doing more often. And then I drank more wine, because, heck, I had half a bottle and both my roommates were gone.
By the time my roommates both had returned I was tipsy and melancholy, several episodes deep into Torchwood. Once I was several glasses of wine deep into my evening, I really didn't realize how lonely I was. I had been lonely with out my roommates and now they were home and I was still lonely. And tipsy. And in love with yet another nerdy fictional character.
I woke up hangover-less which I thanked God for, since I get the worst white wine hangovers.
Today was a low spot. I did nothing, which is always a dangerous thing to do. I read, I slept, I did Italian, I went and bought another bottle of wine, I cooked, I ate, I went to the movies. I did nothing. And all day I have been in a funk. A big, lonely, funk.
After I got home from the movies, about an hour ago, I was hell bent on finding an answer. Why am I in such a funk.
Dual reasons. In no particular order: I am bored. I am lonely. I think they are in fact connected. One may have even cause the other. I do not know if my boredom caused my loneliness or my loneliness caused my boredom but suddenly I am trapped with twin specters haunting my life.
Boredom and loneliness. The two worst human conditions for a smart, young, energetic person. Boredom and loneliness sap me of my creativity, my ambition.
They are worse than being sad. I'm not sad. I'm actually quite content. No one has done me wrong. I'm doing well in school and work.
But boredom and loneliness are the worst kind of bullies.
Let's start at 1PM July 4th. My ex-Roommate, who is still refer to as my roommate, to everyone's confusion, picked me up and drove me to her house. I had not seen her in quite some time and her birthday recently passed. To make a long story short we had a great time catching up. Then it was time for her to drop me off.
When I got up to my apartment, about 8PM, I was suddenly very alone. Both of my roommates, who are actually my roommates, were gone to their respective family's house for Independence Day. That's fine, I had resigned myself to an evening on my own. I watched TV and did homework until the fireworks started.
I had been sitting on my couch watching TV when I heard the first firework. Then I turned around to face my window. I watched fireworks from my apartment. My living room overlooks lake Washington. In the distance I can see the Space Needle and Mount Rainier. They shoot fireworks from lake Washington and I saw them all. From my couch. I didn't have to sit in traffic, I didn't have to wade through crowds, or save my spot, or deal with drunk people. I got to sit on my couch with the TV playing in the background, a glass of juice, and my whole kitchen 5 feet away.
I was overwhelmed with gratitude. When will I ever experience anything quite like that? Who gets to experience that? It is not often that I notice once in a life-time experiences. They happen more often than I recognize, I'm sure of it, but this one slapped me across the face. I was glad the firework show ended when it did, any longer and I would have probably started balling. I mean, happy, joyous, overwhelmed balling, but balling nonetheless.
It ended like all fireworks shows must, like everything in life must, and I went back to watching Torchwood. Yet another nerdy TV show I have started in the last year. Too many to count.
On Friday I went back to the daily grind. I have Italian class for 3.5 hours in the morning and work for 2.5 hours in the afternoon everyday. Everyday. And sometimes after that I work out.
I did not work out on Friday, yesterday. I wanted to work out, honestly, because to be frank I feel like a fat fuck. Or, to put it in a more appropriate way, I have had pretty fucking low self esteem lately. I know it is normal to be, like, normal. I know it's okay to gain weight, especially as you grow older. I know when I do gain weight it just fills out my already curvy body. I know you can't tell or don't care or don't think it's a bad thing. I know all this. I can actually look outside of myself well enough to comprehend. But I feel fat. No I don't feel FAT like obese or overweight. I feel fat as in, could be skinnier. I feel fat as in, have been skinnier.
Instead of working out I met a girl who might move in to my apartment in September when one of my roommates studies abroad. She's nice, but then again they all have been. I am the queen of roommates. Bridget, Madeline, Katy, Alexandra, Laura, Julia, Alex, Emily, Bailey, Hannah. Some have been better (Bridget) than others (Laura). They know this. I know this. It doesn't matter if I'm A+ compatible with a roommate. Because after TEN roommates, I know, whatever differences you have. It won't last. I have lived in five places in the last three years. One dorm hall, another dorm hall, an apartment in Rome, an apartment in Seattle, and home. I don't leave. They do.
This girl I met, she was nice. One of the nicer ones, if we are frank. Not that nice means good or compatible. But having a nice roommate is, coincidentally, very nice. It's so easy.
Nice. I told people this guy I had met was nice. It was a great word for him. Nice fit him well because it could include caring, interesting, funny, smart. But it didn't have to. He was nice. He was, but I don't see him anymore. Oops, we're facebook friends so I hope he's not a reader. I'm sure he'll be very nice about it if he is.
After she left I made dinner. Oh my good lord did I make dinner. I never make dinner. And I drank wine. I never drink wine. And I watched half an Italian movie and more Torchwood, which apparently I have started doing more often. And then I drank more wine, because, heck, I had half a bottle and both my roommates were gone.
By the time my roommates both had returned I was tipsy and melancholy, several episodes deep into Torchwood. Once I was several glasses of wine deep into my evening, I really didn't realize how lonely I was. I had been lonely with out my roommates and now they were home and I was still lonely. And tipsy. And in love with yet another nerdy fictional character.
I woke up hangover-less which I thanked God for, since I get the worst white wine hangovers.
Today was a low spot. I did nothing, which is always a dangerous thing to do. I read, I slept, I did Italian, I went and bought another bottle of wine, I cooked, I ate, I went to the movies. I did nothing. And all day I have been in a funk. A big, lonely, funk.
After I got home from the movies, about an hour ago, I was hell bent on finding an answer. Why am I in such a funk.
Dual reasons. In no particular order: I am bored. I am lonely. I think they are in fact connected. One may have even cause the other. I do not know if my boredom caused my loneliness or my loneliness caused my boredom but suddenly I am trapped with twin specters haunting my life.
Boredom and loneliness. The two worst human conditions for a smart, young, energetic person. Boredom and loneliness sap me of my creativity, my ambition.
They are worse than being sad. I'm not sad. I'm actually quite content. No one has done me wrong. I'm doing well in school and work.
But boredom and loneliness are the worst kind of bullies.
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
Update: First Four Days of June: Thoughts
My foot's been hurting. If I have a tiny little bone broken in there I'll be so mad. The weird thing is yesterday it was my right foot and today it's my left. I can only assume it spread. "It" being tiny little bone broken -itis.
I bought a dozen donuts for $6. Go American. Donuts for a week cost less than two cups of coffee. I would like to say that knowing there is a Krispy Kreme 15 minutes away and having a roommate with a car can be challenging.
I am to young to be tired of the college party scene. But I'm tired of the college party scene. I think I need to move up in the world.
I think I am also tired of the college-college scene but I am almost done with the quarter so I'm feeling good.
I think this summer I will write more. I'd like to do another novel. Have an idea. Need time to write.
I haven't worked out in over two weeks. In other news I've taken to the habit of wearing parkas around so no one needs to experience the donut filled fat fuck that I truly am.
I started watching Doctor Who and my whole life is on the brink. Also, Tumblr needs to be weaned. If I spent my time on Tumblr on writing I might actually produce something worth writing.
My new roommates are nice.
I got a good grade on my last paper.
I am getting better at Italian. I am taking summer classes in Italian.
As always the search for time and energy is futile. The search for viable future is also... let's not talk about it.
I have not had a hard time being happy, not that this is new, but it is nice to know I will wake up tomorrow and not wallow.
I met SOMEONE. Not putting eggs in one basket until it is clear he is the right eggs and I am the right basket. That sounded... let's move on.
The ex doesn't know about the someone and I am banking on him not reading this. The ex and I are on okay terms although I have pushed him away recently. Yet to decide pros and cons of this. Hoping again, he is not part of the readership. If you are, hello...
Families alright, same as usual. Mom is getting evermore famous. I am getting evermore anxious about living up to the role models-- even though they'll say it's not important and I know they are part of the readership. Maybe the only part.
Roommate sick. Can't get sick. Well have the ability, but really don't WANT to.
Trying to think of other things.... have job. want travel. eat food.
I bought a dozen donuts for $6. Go American. Donuts for a week cost less than two cups of coffee. I would like to say that knowing there is a Krispy Kreme 15 minutes away and having a roommate with a car can be challenging.
I am to young to be tired of the college party scene. But I'm tired of the college party scene. I think I need to move up in the world.
I think I am also tired of the college-college scene but I am almost done with the quarter so I'm feeling good.
I think this summer I will write more. I'd like to do another novel. Have an idea. Need time to write.
I haven't worked out in over two weeks. In other news I've taken to the habit of wearing parkas around so no one needs to experience the donut filled fat fuck that I truly am.
I started watching Doctor Who and my whole life is on the brink. Also, Tumblr needs to be weaned. If I spent my time on Tumblr on writing I might actually produce something worth writing.
My new roommates are nice.
I got a good grade on my last paper.
I am getting better at Italian. I am taking summer classes in Italian.
As always the search for time and energy is futile. The search for viable future is also... let's not talk about it.
I have not had a hard time being happy, not that this is new, but it is nice to know I will wake up tomorrow and not wallow.
I met SOMEONE. Not putting eggs in one basket until it is clear he is the right eggs and I am the right basket. That sounded... let's move on.
The ex doesn't know about the someone and I am banking on him not reading this. The ex and I are on okay terms although I have pushed him away recently. Yet to decide pros and cons of this. Hoping again, he is not part of the readership. If you are, hello...
Families alright, same as usual. Mom is getting evermore famous. I am getting evermore anxious about living up to the role models-- even though they'll say it's not important and I know they are part of the readership. Maybe the only part.
Roommate sick. Can't get sick. Well have the ability, but really don't WANT to.
Trying to think of other things.... have job. want travel. eat food.
A Summer in Your Arms
I would give a summer in your arms for all the joy of one quite day with myself. I would give sunbeams on shoulder blades and beads of sweat at brows for peace of mind when loneliness descends. Do not ask for my spring. Let April open and close with warm storms. Give me May with sun's gentle memory. June slips candied sunbeams through my window pane.
Seasons are rhythmic. The best things in life have a rhythm. Time has a rhythm, the second hand playing metronome. The sun sings chorus, the moon rhapsodizes it's verse. My feet do not tire of the life I dance. I dance alone, the waltz is mine. My motion is not yours to keep and my music is not yours to remember.
Seasons are rhythmic. The best things in life have a rhythm. Time has a rhythm, the second hand playing metronome. The sun sings chorus, the moon rhapsodizes it's verse. My feet do not tire of the life I dance. I dance alone, the waltz is mine. My motion is not yours to keep and my music is not yours to remember.
Watercolor Memories
Want to sit in sun. Want to wear dresses. Want to go to the beach. Want to write. Want to read. Want to drink red wine. Want to go swimming. Want to lie naked in the grass.
Want to be 4 years old again with the blonde kitchen table destroyed slowly by my mother’s and my craft projects, sun streaming in, all I see are blonde, sunny, pastel blurs but I know it’s my first memory. Not even sure I was 4. I know there were many days like that and maybe they’ve all run together in my mind like too wet watercolors.
I want runny summer days like egg yoke. I want slow tortoise nights, big and round and pensive. I want to be close with myself again. Shut out the voices and the noises, the vices and the niceties.
A long hum from far away, deep like the lowest note on a stand up bass. I can hear it, but it feels stronger resonating through me. It is louder inside my body. I don’t know but it grumbles the ground.
I want out of the city. Off the side walks, out of the buildings, away from the freeways, out from under the skyline.
Remember the stars? I can’t remember the stars? In the emerald city, and I’ve never seen so much grey.
Remember the watercolor memories. Everything is a watercolor memory.
Want to be 4 years old again with the blonde kitchen table destroyed slowly by my mother’s and my craft projects, sun streaming in, all I see are blonde, sunny, pastel blurs but I know it’s my first memory. Not even sure I was 4. I know there were many days like that and maybe they’ve all run together in my mind like too wet watercolors.
I want runny summer days like egg yoke. I want slow tortoise nights, big and round and pensive. I want to be close with myself again. Shut out the voices and the noises, the vices and the niceties.
A long hum from far away, deep like the lowest note on a stand up bass. I can hear it, but it feels stronger resonating through me. It is louder inside my body. I don’t know but it grumbles the ground.
I want out of the city. Off the side walks, out of the buildings, away from the freeways, out from under the skyline.
Remember the stars? I can’t remember the stars? In the emerald city, and I’ve never seen so much grey.
Remember the watercolor memories. Everything is a watercolor memory.
Thursday, May 2, 2013
Infinitely
If the ocean was i n f i n i t i e s deep how far would you dive?
Swim until your arms tire.
Then sink.
Deeper
Deeper
You had the w o r l d to walk with me.
Stand. Raise yourself
Let your feet grow weary by my side.
Where are you g o i n g?
G o n e
But I have already left you
Behind
If the ocean was i n f i n i t i e s
deep.
Swim until your arms tire.
Then sink.
Deeper
Deeper
You had the w o r l d to walk with me.
Stand. Raise yourself
Let your feet grow weary by my side.
Where are you g o i n g?
G o n e
But I have already left you
Behind
If the ocean was i n f i n i t i e s
deep.
Monday, April 15, 2013
This is Why
Yesterday I had to defend my major to a very close friend of mine who called sociology an obsolete method of study. I found this curious given she studies psychology and in my mind we do the same thing on different scales.
Today I was reaffirmed with the validity what I study. It's not just intensely interesting, it's vital to interpreting, understanding, and, ultimately, changing the world we live in.
We engineer the world we live in. It's a science what societies do and it can be studied like a science. Common elements exist here, which can be combined and rearranged to cause different reactions. There's math, not just in the statistics that we study, but in the combinations of phenomena that reveal certain outcomes.
Social science gets pushed under the rug. Even by social scientists. But while math and science and technology get pushed to greater limits, more and more people feel lost in the world we live in.
People know how to make bombs. That's what science and technology taught them.
Sociology teaches us why deviant behavior, like violence, exists. Sociology looks for explanations for two reasons. So that the gaping, emptied people staring at the news headlines can get answers. No just what happened and who did it and where was it but WHY. Because I guarantee after all the questions have been answered there will be one left. Why.
Sociology, psychology, we can tell you. And if and when we don't know, we will find out. It is our goal to answer the questions.
Science can teach people how to make bombs. Science can even teach people how to disable bombs. But social science can teach you how to disable the people who make bombs.
I spend so much of my own life feeling lost. WHY echoes through my head from when I wake up at 7AM until I go to bed at 12AM. Why, why, why?
That's why I study sociology. Because everyday I feel closer to the because.
Today I was reaffirmed with the validity what I study. It's not just intensely interesting, it's vital to interpreting, understanding, and, ultimately, changing the world we live in.
We engineer the world we live in. It's a science what societies do and it can be studied like a science. Common elements exist here, which can be combined and rearranged to cause different reactions. There's math, not just in the statistics that we study, but in the combinations of phenomena that reveal certain outcomes.
Social science gets pushed under the rug. Even by social scientists. But while math and science and technology get pushed to greater limits, more and more people feel lost in the world we live in.
People know how to make bombs. That's what science and technology taught them.
Sociology teaches us why deviant behavior, like violence, exists. Sociology looks for explanations for two reasons. So that the gaping, emptied people staring at the news headlines can get answers. No just what happened and who did it and where was it but WHY. Because I guarantee after all the questions have been answered there will be one left. Why.
Sociology, psychology, we can tell you. And if and when we don't know, we will find out. It is our goal to answer the questions.
Science can teach people how to make bombs. Science can even teach people how to disable bombs. But social science can teach you how to disable the people who make bombs.
I spend so much of my own life feeling lost. WHY echoes through my head from when I wake up at 7AM until I go to bed at 12AM. Why, why, why?
That's why I study sociology. Because everyday I feel closer to the because.
Monday, March 11, 2013
I Live Yet
Do you feel the heat coming off my body? The smell of fresh sweat, warm bodies, and a fire in the soul unlike any other. Can you feel my pulse? Faster when you think of me. You can trace the blue lines of my veins but you cannot map their meaning. Does it frighten you, my mortality? Not death, but destruction. Do you forget yourself, remembering me? Does it worry you that my taste is gone? Clean skin dirtied by time and work and the desire forget. In forgetting, do you remember? The sound of my oft unsteady breathing is no longer heard in the distance. You cannot hear my laugh in the crowd anymore. Do you remember, although you forget me, that I still live? I still sleep in an empty bed and I still drink coffee across from an empty chair, much as I always have, even when you remembered me. Do you feel the heat I have always had-- angry\sad\happy all at once because I am young and youth is flame. Do you worry about the ashes that are filling you in minute by minute? I see them and I run from the dying embers. I no longer find your coolness calming. If you were to blow me out, I would only revive. I revive. And in reviving I remember my mortality. Does it frighten you? Not death, but destruction.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Today, I am Velma Kelly
Earlier today I had The Cell Block Tango (Chicago) stuck in my head. Not one to get musical theater songs stuck in my head (I used to), I took note. Humming along to the orchestration in my head I thought, "Yep, it must be Valentine's Day." Humming about killing lovers, sounds about right.
Tonight I can't get a line out of my head from a different song from the same musical: "No, I'm no one's wife, but oh, I love my life and all that jazz." Again, oddly appropriate for Valentine's Day. This time my reaction was, "I'm scary single."
Which leads me to the conclusion that I am Velma Kelly, at least today anyway. (I should say here I have never killed anyone and don't plan on killing anyone. At the very least I won't kill anyone for sleeping with my sister but that's mostly because I'm an only child.)
In the musical Chicago, or at least my memory and interpretation of it is thus: There are two leading ladies, Roxie Hart and Velma Kelly. Roxie has been sucked into the world of jazz, into the underbelly of prohibition Chicago. She gets tossed around, like Dorothy in the tornado to Oz, by men who find her disposable-- her husband who thinks she'll be satisfied holed up in a tiny apartment in Chicago, an "agent" who promises to fulfill Roxie's dream of being on stage but really just wants her body (and ends up dead for it), and her lawyer who thinks her case will only gain for him everything he already has: money and fame. Roxie spends most of her time pretending not to be the victim she really is.
Velma Kelly, on the other hand, spends most of her time pretending to be the victim she knows she's not. Velma Kelly knows better. She's been in "the business" for long enough that she knows what's what. Not that she doesn't feign innocence. While everyone sheepishly (or not) admits to killing their lover she always maintains that she did not kill anyone. She was framed or this is all a mistake. But of all the people in the world, Velma knows she is the last one to be seen as a victim. She pretends to save her skin, but just as she is the last person to be victimized by a man or by the legal system or by the world, she is also the last person to get hurt by it. She doesn't let things sear her like Roxie. While Roxie lets her dumb husband and her manipulative lawyer upset her, Velma Kelly keeps a cool and elegant emotional distance from the bad things in her life.
Today I am Velma Kelly. I am single. And whilst some more Roxie-ish humans may let that get them down-- whether or not they admit to it-- I am calmly and collectedly going about my business. I am too busy rocking the world to worry about the men who, try as they might (or might not), cannot hold be back.
No, I'm no one's wife, but oh, I love my life... and all that....
Tonight I can't get a line out of my head from a different song from the same musical: "No, I'm no one's wife, but oh, I love my life and all that jazz." Again, oddly appropriate for Valentine's Day. This time my reaction was, "I'm scary single."
Which leads me to the conclusion that I am Velma Kelly, at least today anyway. (I should say here I have never killed anyone and don't plan on killing anyone. At the very least I won't kill anyone for sleeping with my sister but that's mostly because I'm an only child.)
In the musical Chicago, or at least my memory and interpretation of it is thus: There are two leading ladies, Roxie Hart and Velma Kelly. Roxie has been sucked into the world of jazz, into the underbelly of prohibition Chicago. She gets tossed around, like Dorothy in the tornado to Oz, by men who find her disposable-- her husband who thinks she'll be satisfied holed up in a tiny apartment in Chicago, an "agent" who promises to fulfill Roxie's dream of being on stage but really just wants her body (and ends up dead for it), and her lawyer who thinks her case will only gain for him everything he already has: money and fame. Roxie spends most of her time pretending not to be the victim she really is.
Velma Kelly, on the other hand, spends most of her time pretending to be the victim she knows she's not. Velma Kelly knows better. She's been in "the business" for long enough that she knows what's what. Not that she doesn't feign innocence. While everyone sheepishly (or not) admits to killing their lover she always maintains that she did not kill anyone. She was framed or this is all a mistake. But of all the people in the world, Velma knows she is the last one to be seen as a victim. She pretends to save her skin, but just as she is the last person to be victimized by a man or by the legal system or by the world, she is also the last person to get hurt by it. She doesn't let things sear her like Roxie. While Roxie lets her dumb husband and her manipulative lawyer upset her, Velma Kelly keeps a cool and elegant emotional distance from the bad things in her life.
Today I am Velma Kelly. I am single. And whilst some more Roxie-ish humans may let that get them down-- whether or not they admit to it-- I am calmly and collectedly going about my business. I am too busy rocking the world to worry about the men who, try as they might (or might not), cannot hold be back.
No, I'm no one's wife, but oh, I love my life... and all that....
Friday, February 1, 2013
Here is what the last 10 minutes were in my head...
Sitting in bed.
I think I'll finish writing my paper, do some reading for another class, and go to bed. Boom. God, I'm good.
Oh, Facebook. People seem to really like my latest status: "Valentine's Day in two weeks and to celebrate I'm going to hide under my bed til all the pink things go away. Unless I get asked out in which case, I WANT ALL THE PINK THINGS...."
Hmmm... No one has texted me for a while.
Oh a snap chat!
Okay, okay paper time. Pulling up the document. Add title. Boom. Excellente.
Can't concentrate with drunk bitches walking down the street outside my window screaming.
Oh good, they're gone.
They've been replaced by a mysterious tapping from the apartment next to me....
I know she's not having sex, I've been living here for 6 months, she's never had sex.
She must being doing something else, like sometimes my roommate does jumping jacks, she must be doing jumping jacks.
Writing paper, writing paper, writing paper.
It's not sex, it's too quiet to be sex. You're not telling me-- oh God.
That is the moan of a man- a man- who just finished. Oh my God, why am I subjected to that right now.
Jesus Lord, she's giggling right now.
Oh, no, don't talk, please don't talk.
Yeah, giggle and talk about the first sex you've had since I've moved in.
Just in time for Valentine's day, you sly dog.
Yeah, you guys are just having a ball laughing and... Kiera. Stop.
Wait. Blog this and then go write your God damn essay that is due tomorrow.
This is their business and just because you had to listen to it, blogging about it is probably bad form.
Can I make a facebook status about it? "Neighbor having sex. Wait never mind, he came"?
Feels weirder. You're right. Blogging it is.
Welp, here we are.
I think I'll finish writing my paper, do some reading for another class, and go to bed. Boom. God, I'm good.
Oh, Facebook. People seem to really like my latest status: "Valentine's Day in two weeks and to celebrate I'm going to hide under my bed til all the pink things go away. Unless I get asked out in which case, I WANT ALL THE PINK THINGS...."
Hmmm... No one has texted me for a while.
Oh a snap chat!
Okay, okay paper time. Pulling up the document. Add title. Boom. Excellente.
Can't concentrate with drunk bitches walking down the street outside my window screaming.
Oh good, they're gone.
They've been replaced by a mysterious tapping from the apartment next to me....
I know she's not having sex, I've been living here for 6 months, she's never had sex.
She must being doing something else, like sometimes my roommate does jumping jacks, she must be doing jumping jacks.
Writing paper, writing paper, writing paper.
It's not sex, it's too quiet to be sex. You're not telling me-- oh God.
That is the moan of a man- a man- who just finished. Oh my God, why am I subjected to that right now.
Jesus Lord, she's giggling right now.
Oh, no, don't talk, please don't talk.
Yeah, giggle and talk about the first sex you've had since I've moved in.
Just in time for Valentine's day, you sly dog.
Yeah, you guys are just having a ball laughing and... Kiera. Stop.
Wait. Blog this and then go write your God damn essay that is due tomorrow.
This is their business and just because you had to listen to it, blogging about it is probably bad form.
Can I make a facebook status about it? "Neighbor having sex. Wait never mind, he came"?
Feels weirder. You're right. Blogging it is.
Welp, here we are.
Friday, January 18, 2013
The Madness: It Never Stops
I'm in a study group with two freshman boys, and a junior. We meet once a week and talk about the things going on in the class we take together. In case they are reading, I should say men. I'm in a study group with three men. But more on that later.
I am lying in bed write now bone. tired.
I did a lot today, enough that I am definitely fulfilling my resolution to make everyday story-worthy. Which is why, even though I am so dog gone tired, I am writing.
That's what I do. I live. I write. One should not happen without the other.
I. I just spent forty minutes doing the dishes. We have a dishwasher but this is how our kitchen works. We take a dish out, we use it, we put in in the sink, we leave for anywhere for hours to days, then we come back, rinse the dish, put it in the dishwasher, the dishwasher magically re-dirties the dish, we empty the dishwasher and then we wash all the dished. Or. We eat, we wash the one dish. Usually I perform the latter. But I have been so god damn busy lately that, believe it or not, the first has actually been more efficient for me.
II. My back is killing me. You know it actually feels unnatural to walk around without a backpack. It is the second week of the quarter people, I should not feel that way.
III. It was so foggy tonight while I was walking home that I couldn't see anything beyond 20 feet. I took advantage of this by playing music out my phone and dancing and spinning anytime I looked around and didn't see anyone because the fog hid me. It was fun. I need to do stuff like that, be silly. Especially when I am so stressed and busy. I need to take five minutes everyday (at least) to be weird.
IV. I walked to ballard, something I never do even though it is literally a minute away. I still haven't been to Dick's. I think I'm going to have to explore more. It's just so dang cold. That might be what spring and summer quarter will be for. Winter quarter will be for being FUCKING BUSY.
V. Bout to turn 21. I feel like that's enough said.
VI. I am going to Rat City Rollergirls on Saturday. I bought my tickets. So excite.
VII. I am reading the book Nickel and Dimed. I have complex emotions that mostly consist of me being disappointed.
VIII. I got an interview for a job! I haven't done it yet, but the prospect is promising. Like I need something else to do.
IX. Got called lil mamma this week. It was weird, but also a highlight. I know why, too. I mean I know *why* more than like, because he was hitting on me. I know *why* the universe is sending him to me. Universe, I reject that, try again.
X. I'm going to be in a drag show, possibly just by myself because me friends are pussies. I am serious when I say that I feel like I am living life bravely and watching my friends flounder to commit is really frustrating. I mean, it has always been a frustration watching my friends fall off the band wagon while I am driving it. Even in high school. Commit, commit. If not to my ideas, then to your own. I want to do things. I want to go to roller derby and be in a drag show and start a writing organization and go out to a fancy dinner. When I share ideas with my friends its like talking to cows chewing cud. Like, HELLO. ARE YOU THERE? AGREE OR DISAGREE BUT DO SOMETHING. I live life on hot and cold, big, bold colors, loudly. I can't stand the blank stares of non-commitment. The grey expressions that say, lemme get back to you. For once I would like to present an idea to the world and have the world say FUCK YEAH, and then ACTUALLY DO IT. Maybe I just have stupid ideas, but in that case, man up and give me yours.
XI. On a related note I am trying to live my life saying "YES". YES I will give you my number, YES I will do props for Cyrano, YES I will drop everything and go out to dinner. Those are actual things that happened this week. And that's not all of them. I think it's important to know how to say NO. My mom has always struggled with that and I think because I have seen her struggle I have learned how to say NO. But until recently I forgot that saying YES is often braver and more rewarding. Which may be why I am busy but is also why I am more fulfilled. I have been really good at giving that kind of weak and whiny "nooooo..." trailing off into the abyss. Now I say YES. Not yeah, or okay. YES.
XI. I started this venture, blogging, when I was a freshman and I was so into revelations and witty observations. I still want to do that, but I think it's getting harder to do. I have less snark left in me maybe. Or have written down all the sassy things I have to say. More likely, my writing style has changed. I worry that it has become more muted. I see these three guys, men, freshmen, in my study group and I actually don't remember what it is to be there. To compare things to high school or to misunderstand the research required for a term paper. I know I was there. I had a first research project. Now that I mention it, remembering what it was to be in high school is hard. Imagining having 7 classes gives me heart palpitations. The are things I read in high school or freshman year of college that I wonder what I would think if I read them now. I read some very interesting and complex literature, for example, that I doubt if I truly understood the full extent of when I read it then.
XII. In years to come I will laugh or maybe fuss over this period, the things I didn't understand, or thought I understood but was wrong. I thought I had kinda plateaued since I came to college but I really haven't I really really haven't. I understand so much, I have a much bigger sense of compassion, I am braver.
Everyday must have a story. Today I had 12. Probably more if I had more time to think about it. Not bad.
I am lying in bed write now bone. tired.
I did a lot today, enough that I am definitely fulfilling my resolution to make everyday story-worthy. Which is why, even though I am so dog gone tired, I am writing.
That's what I do. I live. I write. One should not happen without the other.
I. I just spent forty minutes doing the dishes. We have a dishwasher but this is how our kitchen works. We take a dish out, we use it, we put in in the sink, we leave for anywhere for hours to days, then we come back, rinse the dish, put it in the dishwasher, the dishwasher magically re-dirties the dish, we empty the dishwasher and then we wash all the dished. Or. We eat, we wash the one dish. Usually I perform the latter. But I have been so god damn busy lately that, believe it or not, the first has actually been more efficient for me.
II. My back is killing me. You know it actually feels unnatural to walk around without a backpack. It is the second week of the quarter people, I should not feel that way.
III. It was so foggy tonight while I was walking home that I couldn't see anything beyond 20 feet. I took advantage of this by playing music out my phone and dancing and spinning anytime I looked around and didn't see anyone because the fog hid me. It was fun. I need to do stuff like that, be silly. Especially when I am so stressed and busy. I need to take five minutes everyday (at least) to be weird.
IV. I walked to ballard, something I never do even though it is literally a minute away. I still haven't been to Dick's. I think I'm going to have to explore more. It's just so dang cold. That might be what spring and summer quarter will be for. Winter quarter will be for being FUCKING BUSY.
V. Bout to turn 21. I feel like that's enough said.
VI. I am going to Rat City Rollergirls on Saturday. I bought my tickets. So excite.
VII. I am reading the book Nickel and Dimed. I have complex emotions that mostly consist of me being disappointed.
VIII. I got an interview for a job! I haven't done it yet, but the prospect is promising. Like I need something else to do.
IX. Got called lil mamma this week. It was weird, but also a highlight. I know why, too. I mean I know *why* more than like, because he was hitting on me. I know *why* the universe is sending him to me. Universe, I reject that, try again.
X. I'm going to be in a drag show, possibly just by myself because me friends are pussies. I am serious when I say that I feel like I am living life bravely and watching my friends flounder to commit is really frustrating. I mean, it has always been a frustration watching my friends fall off the band wagon while I am driving it. Even in high school. Commit, commit. If not to my ideas, then to your own. I want to do things. I want to go to roller derby and be in a drag show and start a writing organization and go out to a fancy dinner. When I share ideas with my friends its like talking to cows chewing cud. Like, HELLO. ARE YOU THERE? AGREE OR DISAGREE BUT DO SOMETHING. I live life on hot and cold, big, bold colors, loudly. I can't stand the blank stares of non-commitment. The grey expressions that say, lemme get back to you. For once I would like to present an idea to the world and have the world say FUCK YEAH, and then ACTUALLY DO IT. Maybe I just have stupid ideas, but in that case, man up and give me yours.
XI. On a related note I am trying to live my life saying "YES". YES I will give you my number, YES I will do props for Cyrano, YES I will drop everything and go out to dinner. Those are actual things that happened this week. And that's not all of them. I think it's important to know how to say NO. My mom has always struggled with that and I think because I have seen her struggle I have learned how to say NO. But until recently I forgot that saying YES is often braver and more rewarding. Which may be why I am busy but is also why I am more fulfilled. I have been really good at giving that kind of weak and whiny "nooooo..." trailing off into the abyss. Now I say YES. Not yeah, or okay. YES.
XI. I started this venture, blogging, when I was a freshman and I was so into revelations and witty observations. I still want to do that, but I think it's getting harder to do. I have less snark left in me maybe. Or have written down all the sassy things I have to say. More likely, my writing style has changed. I worry that it has become more muted. I see these three guys, men, freshmen, in my study group and I actually don't remember what it is to be there. To compare things to high school or to misunderstand the research required for a term paper. I know I was there. I had a first research project. Now that I mention it, remembering what it was to be in high school is hard. Imagining having 7 classes gives me heart palpitations. The are things I read in high school or freshman year of college that I wonder what I would think if I read them now. I read some very interesting and complex literature, for example, that I doubt if I truly understood the full extent of when I read it then.
XII. In years to come I will laugh or maybe fuss over this period, the things I didn't understand, or thought I understood but was wrong. I thought I had kinda plateaued since I came to college but I really haven't I really really haven't. I understand so much, I have a much bigger sense of compassion, I am braver.
Everyday must have a story. Today I had 12. Probably more if I had more time to think about it. Not bad.
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Best Break Up Songs
Caveat 1: Just because I am single, does not mean this list exists for some melodramatic reason.
Caveat 2: This is probably better for the females out there. May not be applicable to all.
Caveat 3: Adelle and Taylor do not make this list. No apologies.
Caveat 4: This is by no means a complete list. Ten is just an easy number.
1. When you are feeling heartbroken: The Script, "Break Even"
2. When you are the one to break up with someone: Kelly Clarkson, "Walk Away"
3. When you are especially nostalgic: Dave Matthews Band, "Sleep to Dream Her"
4. When you are feeling good about yourself/ the break up: Mary J. Blige, "Just Fine"
5. When you are feeling shitty but pretend you aren't: P!nk, "So What"
6. When you are going to make the most of being single: Icona Pop, "I Love It"
7. When you are about to give up on love altogether: Paul Simon, "Crazy Love"
8. When you are feeling spiteful: Justin Timberlake, "Cry Me a River" and/or "What Goes Around Comes Around"
9. When you are better than your ex: Cee Lo Green, "Fuck You"
10. When you are moving on with your life: Ok Go, "Lately It's So Quiet"
There you go. For almost any mood a song or ten that you can use when you are feeling blue. Or maybe you could make a CD for him/her and break up with him/her that way.... "Honey, I need you to listen to this CD and realize that what we had was special. Now it's time to walk away."
Caveat 2: This is probably better for the females out there. May not be applicable to all.
Caveat 3: Adelle and Taylor do not make this list. No apologies.
Caveat 4: This is by no means a complete list. Ten is just an easy number.
1. When you are feeling heartbroken: The Script, "Break Even"
2. When you are the one to break up with someone: Kelly Clarkson, "Walk Away"
3. When you are especially nostalgic: Dave Matthews Band, "Sleep to Dream Her"
4. When you are feeling good about yourself/ the break up: Mary J. Blige, "Just Fine"
5. When you are feeling shitty but pretend you aren't: P!nk, "So What"
6. When you are going to make the most of being single: Icona Pop, "I Love It"
7. When you are about to give up on love altogether: Paul Simon, "Crazy Love"
8. When you are feeling spiteful: Justin Timberlake, "Cry Me a River" and/or "What Goes Around Comes Around"
9. When you are better than your ex: Cee Lo Green, "Fuck You"
10. When you are moving on with your life: Ok Go, "Lately It's So Quiet"
There you go. For almost any mood a song or ten that you can use when you are feeling blue. Or maybe you could make a CD for him/her and break up with him/her that way.... "Honey, I need you to listen to this CD and realize that what we had was special. Now it's time to walk away."
Thursday, January 3, 2013
I'm Still Learning
The new year is always a time of reflection and of course resolution.
So here's what I have.
What I learned in 2012 about the world, in no particular order:
1. When people say, "We're all adults here," they really mean "Let's pretend we don't know better.
2. Good things usually creep up on you in the same way they usually fizzle away. Nothing worthwhile comes and goes quickly or easily.
3. All humans are cookie cutters. We bake at different temperatures, in different ovens, but we end up in generally the same shape.
What I learned in 2012 about myself, in no particular order:
1. I want to go everywhere, see everyone, meet everyone. As my friend once said, I am in love with places I've never been and people I've never met.
2. If I don't write everyday I start to lose my mind. It makes me think about things and about people and about what I mean to the world. And what I should mean to the world into the future.
3. I am present. I am not past and I am not future. I am here. I am now.
What I hope to learn about the world and myself in 2013, in no particular order:
1. What the world means to me. Not what the world is, but what it is in conjunction with myself. How it effects me, and more importantly, how I effect it.
2. How to apply skills to the world. How to capitalize on my intelligence and my natural ambition.
3. How to live with myself and with other people. How to be compatible with all sorts of people.
And of course, the relatively cliche resolutions:
1. Go to yoga more often. I mean really, like once a week at least.
2. Watch less TV. Get off your lazy ass.
3. Socialize more. Make friends. Party. Talk to people.
4. Eat better? I mean, I guess. Less sweets at the very least.
5. Be more sexy. Seriously, I can do it.
6. Read more books. I'm a nerd, that's what we do.
7. Get. Off. Social. Media. Facebook, twitter, the whole lot.
8. Blog more. I know that is pretty vague, and I always say that, but I'm working on it.
9. Write more. See above.
10. Find a man in Seattle. I know it's a shallow resolution, but hey, it's a desire.
11. Do something everyday that would make a good story.
12. Floss more.....
13. Try not to be so emotionally attached to fictional characters. Or so emotionally attached to most things, for that matter.
There. Thirteen resolutions for 2013.
Boom.
2013 should be great.
So here's what I have.
What I learned in 2012 about the world, in no particular order:
1. When people say, "We're all adults here," they really mean "Let's pretend we don't know better.
2. Good things usually creep up on you in the same way they usually fizzle away. Nothing worthwhile comes and goes quickly or easily.
3. All humans are cookie cutters. We bake at different temperatures, in different ovens, but we end up in generally the same shape.
What I learned in 2012 about myself, in no particular order:
1. I want to go everywhere, see everyone, meet everyone. As my friend once said, I am in love with places I've never been and people I've never met.
2. If I don't write everyday I start to lose my mind. It makes me think about things and about people and about what I mean to the world. And what I should mean to the world into the future.
3. I am present. I am not past and I am not future. I am here. I am now.
What I hope to learn about the world and myself in 2013, in no particular order:
1. What the world means to me. Not what the world is, but what it is in conjunction with myself. How it effects me, and more importantly, how I effect it.
2. How to apply skills to the world. How to capitalize on my intelligence and my natural ambition.
3. How to live with myself and with other people. How to be compatible with all sorts of people.
And of course, the relatively cliche resolutions:
1. Go to yoga more often. I mean really, like once a week at least.
2. Watch less TV. Get off your lazy ass.
3. Socialize more. Make friends. Party. Talk to people.
4. Eat better? I mean, I guess. Less sweets at the very least.
5. Be more sexy. Seriously, I can do it.
6. Read more books. I'm a nerd, that's what we do.
7. Get. Off. Social. Media. Facebook, twitter, the whole lot.
8. Blog more. I know that is pretty vague, and I always say that, but I'm working on it.
9. Write more. See above.
10. Find a man in Seattle. I know it's a shallow resolution, but hey, it's a desire.
11. Do something everyday that would make a good story.
12. Floss more.....
13. Try not to be so emotionally attached to fictional characters. Or so emotionally attached to most things, for that matter.
There. Thirteen resolutions for 2013.
Boom.
2013 should be great.
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