Getting By

Acetaphetamine, caffeine, and Hershey kisses will surely be the only way I make it through this week. The heat isn't on in my room, so my fingertips are little ice blocks and I sleep in layers. The work's piling on in an exponential way. Christmas can't come soon enough. Why I'm up when the big light outside (that'd be the sun) hasn't risen yet is a mystery. I'm convinced some weird switch in my brain caused this mishap.

Bohemian

Decided today that I want to live a bohemian lifestyle--
I'm moving to Milan to make a living as a writer.
I'll sit around all day and eat fresh fruit and write poems in wine on cigarette papers.
No sun will rise nor set without my witness. I'll drive to the sea
frequently to swim freely. As the sea swells, so life to will be.

OK, this is probably just a phase.
My future as a corporate lawyer looks pretty promising. I do enjoy a good argument. and pencil skirts and stilettos. Screw Milan.

This Day in November

It used to be my least favorite day of the year...the day before school starts up again after the Thanksgiving hiatus. For the past three years, I felt sicker than sick. Worse than the last day of summer vacation, or March vacation, even Christmas vacation. I loathe the next two weeks. They're anything but jolly, and tonight marks the beginning.

I'm not sure why this day, specifically, made me so angry and upset. Could be the impending midterms, but I'm one of those strange kids who actually likes studying for exams. Maybe it was the realization that mashed potatoes couldn't solve all my problems, nor would they be readily available once I got back to school. Maybe it dates back to my days in Farmington, when I didn't want to return to my roommate, my prison sentence at an all-girls academy. But why did that distress transfer? Wasn't I happy to be here, at Hotchkiss?

On this very night last year, I wrote a whole piece trying to talk myself down from the ledge. I was really on edge then. Junior year stress ate away at me like nothing I've ever experienced. I was  convinced that none of this was going anywhere. I droned on and on about how I wanted a real life, and how school somehow wasn't real life, (which I suppose I still don't believe it is).

Reading back through this piece is quite depressing. My whole schedule sits typed out. My whole existence put into a list of items, separated by semi-colons. I wanted so much more than a list of courses and grades, and yet I surrendered to timetables and sleepless nights. I was back to lists and count-downs, something I hadn't made since Farmington. I scheduled out every minute of every day, and it was only then that I could swallow easily and manage my stress. I vividly remember sitting in my room last year, my head face-planted into my desk, probably on a stack of note cards, just wondering how I would find the energy to move. I wanted to run, duck, hide, cry. Looking back, I probably did cry. Went to bed at a friend's house and woke up at 5:30 to go to the gym. Sprinted out my [depression, stress, disgust for the end of Thanksgiving break?] before the sun rose, and got on with my  least favorite day of the year.

Parts of me are sad looking back at this. I shouldn't have tortured myself like I did. I should have watched more sit-coms. I should have eaten more chocolate. I should have done something to sedate that miserable person inside. But that misery is in the past. I may still be a bit obsessive compulsive, a bit neurotic, but I'm not dreading tomorrow as I once did. My room's clean, my tea's hot, my college apps are in, and there's not much left on my plate. I can focus on whatever I want from this point forward. The next two weeks are important; they're still a sprint I have to partake in. But the despondency's gone, which should make this race a bit easier to take.

Saturday Songs

My best advice,

listen to this song by the Strokes,

then go shop local to counteract yesterday's celebration of a corporation run society. 

 

"Childhood's end can be so competitive
Oh the sky's not the limit
and you're never gonna guess what is..."

Cherry on Top

Went through this phase of despondency once...or twice. Thrice? Well, don't we all? I questioned just about everything. It was tragic, to a degree. Well, those days are in the past now. But I found this sample of writing from back then. I was overlooking a lake, listening quite contentedly to my Ipod. I took the first line from each song that played, and built from there. This one's from Lazlo Bane's Superman,  yes, the theme song for Scrubs.

You've crossed the finish line. Won the race, but lost your mind. 
Was it worth it after all?

I've quite decided that it doesn't matter how much you puke after the roller coaster; those milkshakes made your day,
and the exhilaration of the ride topped it off. 

The maraschino cherry. Oh no, did that spark another upheaval?

Why would you want to limit your intake of joy or excitement, 

just out of fear that you'd be queasy afterward? 

Stomach's settle. Acid reflux heals. But you rarely get the chance

to relive that 3,000 foot drop, 

that feeling of suspension as your internal organs slosh around,

your mouth opening into a frightening scream,

your hair getting messy, carelessly.

If you thought about the possibilities before jumping on that coaster,
you may have limited yourself seriously.
If we all hold onto regrets,
and use them to judge our
future decisions,
well then none of us will ever live to the fullest.

If we become calculation machines,
designed for a lifestyle of risk management,
well then,
amusement parks will go out of business.
No one will drink milk shakes.
And what kind of world would that be?

What I'm trying to say here is that even if this all made me sick, 

I will always be glad I got on line. 

It was worth the wait, 

worth the terror,

the anxiety and the nerves.

When I order a milkshake, 

don't spare me the stomach ache

I want the whole deal,

cherry and all.

Thanks

Realizing the vast importance of
warm food
warm clothes
and a table to sit around
on days like Today.
A table of family--
of friends.
A lifestyle to enjoy--
Simple things that qualify as home. 

Angels and Bears

She walked back alone that night—unused too strolling alone, in the dark—she began to think of her bear dream. Terror had run through her fingertips as the image of a 500 pound black bear tumbled into her mind. She wondered, quite seriously, if things in our lives, the things that make us smile or cringe or laugh or break down--fresh fruit gone bad in the fridge--babies being lifted onto tall shoulders--were placed there fore a reason. Did fate exist? What pain was that in her chest? He pushed her to the ground, out of the bear's path, into a new kind of nightmare. What kind of magic was  at work there, toiling that messy ball of yarn into a massive knot that sank to the pits of her stomach? 

She slowed her pace from a brisk walk to a walk to a drag to a staccato arrangement of semi-steps. At points, she stood frighteningly still. The dream took over. She was fierce enough to ask for what she wanted. To demand it. To act on it. Why couldn’t that virulence succeed in daily life? Why did she drag her legs so sunkenly behind her body, walking back, alone? She couldn't die without knowing what it was like.

Everything in this world could be taken. Won. Earned. Deserved. This was true. She had hoped that upon waking, the shambles she’d created would be miraculously fixed. That some angel, with big bushy wings and tufts of golden hair, who spoke in a mixed tongue of charms and melodies, would slip through her window at night and take over her helpless body.

Saturday Songs (on Steroids)

The Kooks have been on my top played list for the past several years. I've looked for tickets, but was disappointed to find that the majority of their shows are in other countries. Well, lucky for me...and every other fan...they are doing a US tour this Fall. I got tickets to the House of Blues for a decent price!!

Headed to Boston tonight--making a grand (read: well-earned) exit from school and headed there in  a few hours. To say that I'm stoked would be an understatement.

From their first album Inside In / Inside Out

Waking Dream.

"I'm not an actor on your personal screen,
I'm a practical person.

You might be surfing in the wake of a dream
I'm not fast, but I'm certain. "
-Senator and the New Republic, Call My Mechanic




I think the whole world is filled with signs, but if there's no laughter, I know they're not for me. 
-StoryPeople.com

Her existence is in question. 

The ridiculousness of all this. 

Oy. For another day. Another time. 

Time's not your friend. Time won't stand on its hands. It won't bolt back to the house, like your muddy dog ready for dinner and a bath. Its spent. Every minute of it. Money given to the ice cream man. Never to be seen again. So who are you this time? Are you the girl from swampland adventures? From late night walks around town? The girl laughing out loud, writing songs about lemonade & gossiping? 

Are you the girl trapped in a memory--a dream shattered--shards of glass sparkling with feigned beauty in the sun. That damned setting sun. 

Are you the girl who marks time with letters, holding the pieces. Acting like glue. You have more to contain now than that pink house could ever hold. God forbid you let the moments go. God forbid you let go.

Waxy.

Wax Tailor kind of day.
I'm sure I've posted them on here before.
They mix clips from old movies, shows and songs, and mash them into fantastical musical creations.
Strange kind of sound. Waxy indeed. But it's keepin me sane, so I'll stick with it. 
Feels like radio meditation. Or a mental ward. Why I would want to be in either, I cannot know.
Back to work.

Hypnotizing. The only thing I can listen to while trying to hash out a research paper due before vacation starts. 

"I've got the key in hand. Now, all I've got to find is the lock." 

-Que Sera

Bland

Rice and beans for dinner.

Listening to Italian Jazz on Spotify (Edith Piaf).

Studying the life of Christ in chronological order.

Avoiding a stomach bug. I do not want to be sick.

Things are pretty bland right now. Clearly.

Making sense of it all before my test tomorrow. 

Better get to work. 


On my list of things to study is the Temptation mentioned in the Bible.
If you want to know how to deal with temptations in your life, check out this helpful site
to learn how to ignore the snarling self within you. 
I, on the other hand, enjoy my indulgences,
and would rather be left my own devices . . .

Ditches

slowly she's getting used to that ditch
the one on the side of the road
where tires go
when they blow out --
scrap metal from car wrecks
scrapped up emotions,
from wrecks of another sort.

she don't mind it so much
as long as no one looks inside.
but she's hoping to get a ladder
or a rope of some kind
a hand reaching in to pull her out
drag her back to shore
she's sure she's not meant to rot
among these ditches.
she's got bigger plans than that.

Ayn Rand on Love

A  description of what it means to love, 

and what our duties are to those whom we love.

I can't say I fully agree with the woman.

She's smart, but

she's got some pretty twisted perspectives.

Too competitive, blunt, and cold,

even by my tastes.

(Not that I consider myself cold....)

And a classic photo to melt Rand's frost

Why I Look Up

To see a dense, petrifying fog roll in from the West;
To see the moon, almost full, peering its way through this blanket of grey mist;
To experience perfect timing, as the sky cleared completely,
in a tiny patch,
as a  bullet of a star
struck across the sky
and faded--
exploded beauty--
an unexpected wish--
on an exceptionally warm November night.

Burden of Proof

She wants proof that the weight she carries will be worth it in the end. She believes it will. She confidently tells herself she's taken the right motions, swung and hit every time. Time will tell, will provide that proof. 

Been thinking a lot lately about social pressures, weights, things we deal with on a daily basis that never really reveal themselves until some huge news steps into play. How do we deal when we feel silenced? How does it feel to carry a heavier load than your body is equipped for? I don't know. But I do know that this picture I found of Mount Everest tells, pretty accurately, what I'm thinking.

The peaks are there, in plain sight. The sun's peaking its head out from behind the dark crags of the summit. It's a little distant, but surely there's something to be said for making it to the top.

From National Geographic- Himalayas

This is a giant block of whatever is most difficult for you to carry & trust me on this, you'll carry it more times than you can count until you decide that's exactly what you want to do most & then it won't weigh a thing anymore.

-From StoryPeople.com

This is a giant block of whatever is most difficult for you to carry & trust me on this, you'll carry it more times than you can count until you decide that's exactly what you want to do most & then it won't weigh a thing anymore.

-From StoryPeople.com

Morbid Sunday

 The haziness of Sunday morning.
When you wake up in the middle of a dream
and realize that it's only 7 am,
but you're never going to fall back asleep.
So you start work. Regretfully.

Brewing coffee.
Getting on with the day.
Some musings I found in a stack of note cards.

**

She's got her bricks laid,
all set to build up an impenetrable wall.
She scrutinizes each foot step,
determined not to slip, or fall.

If she protects her interests,
and keeps that guard solid and tight,
it will all pay off one day
She'll feel the warmth, see the light.

**

Letting fear drip from her finger tips
out of tiny pin pricks
Holes not big enough to deflate her ambitions
dreams and desires.
Just big enough to let ot the bad stuff,
to create a proper balance, a proper pressure.
She can't keep it all in,
or surely she'd burst.
She needs the little vents to release that
horrid air,
so that she can breathe more easily.
so that she can sustain.

Saturday Songs

An amazing song by the White Stripes performed by

in sign language.

If you go to youtube, lots of songs have been done

in ASL for those who cannot hear.

On a different note,

I was surfing around TedTalks yesterday in search of something interesting.

(Never hard to find on that site.)
I landed on the new motto,

less is more

after watching

Graham Hill talk about editing your life.

I'm not sure that I fully agree with his "multi-functional" house.

Digitizing seems kind of weird to me. I'm old fashioned in that regard.

< = >

But other than that, it makes sense. When we free ourselves from the burdens of

junk, stuff, boxes, clothes, whatever,

we're lighter. We're freer.

We lose 5-10 pounds after winter ends;

dogs shed their thick coats.

Taking this mantra on in other ways may prove

beneficial. For, when we stop focusing on our

things

we can start focusing on ourselves

our friends

our lives.

numb fingers

 She plays these keys like others play the piano. They are her instrument. They are her soul. Her keys patter late into the night. Listening to slow jazz music. Que Sera. Incense burns. Thoughts wander to the sun. Will it rise? How will the coffee smell this morning? Strong? Most likely.

She pours her soul onto these keys. She can’t play a piano. Can’t sing her heart out. Breaks glasses when she does. So she spells out the emotions. She puts them into print. Twelve point font on a white page. Therapy. Or something less expensive. She can write haikus-- stories-- note cards-- explaining the feeling. Giving meaning.



The keys move faster. Her fingers quicken. She's making progress here as she makes her way down the page. Learning something about fear. About faith. About progress. About movement. About stopping when the sentence is over. About stopping before its over. About making cuts. Trims. Necessary adjustments that seemed fitting. Seamed fitting.

What a fool one has to be,
To think that things wouldn't change.
To think that she is smarter
Than she seems.
To think that the real world

Would merge with her dreams.

To think that things were just

as they seemed.

Her hands can’t hold on. It’s too cold. She’s got no gloves on, and her nails are turning white. So she sticks them in her pockets and walks home. alone. Gives a smile and a cold shoulder to the shadows of her past. She has the strength. She knows some things just don't last.

What You Taught Me

"Sounds made harmonies with premeditation; 

the spaces between them were as significant as the sounds."

-Virgina Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway

Wish for nothing larger
Than your own small heart
Or greater than a star;
Tame wild disappointment
With caress unmoved and cold
Make of it a parka
For your soul.

Discover the reason why
So tiny human midget
Exists at all
So scared unwise
But expect nothing. Live frugally
On surprise. 

 - Alice Walker

 

I find a fatal flaw
in the logic love
and go out of my head.

You, love, are a sinking stone
that will never elope.
Get use to the lonesome
-The Shins

Faded Dreams

He searched for the things that made him happy
in the backs of closets
and underneath garden stones,
brushing away the pillbugs and worms,
trying to find clarity.


He stood up and wiped his hands,
about to call it quits.
He saw her leaning against the car,
cup of coffee in one hand, keys in the other.
Wanted to help, she said,
but he knew from that stable lean against the bumper,
those slyly smiling shimmery lips,
that it didn't matter where they drove that day.

His happiness was bucked up next to him,
belting out Tiny Dancer,
not knowing she had the effect she did,
but hoping all along that that was the case.

Spooks on Spooks

Yesterday school let out due to the immense amount of power outages in our area. Impromptu vacation? Or massive inconvenience? The roads around here look like the results of an apocalypse. We have a fridge full of food that we can't eat because it hasn't been cold in days. We have 18 inches of snow covering our yard, and it was just Halloween.

I justified mass amounts of chocolate yesterday due to the absurd conditions outside. (Not that chocolate of any volume needs to be justified!)

Just surviving today, I suppose. Enjoy these hysterical ecards. Hope your weather's better than ours.

 Or maybe we should save it...due to the immense

power outages.