Floating In Deep Blue

Inspired by 

I Only Wear Blue by Dr. Dog.

"When you can’t be yourself

There’s just too much to be

Let’s get on with it,

We haven’t got too much time.

And I don’t want to stay here,

Where the sun don’t ever shine.

So say the word, and open up the blinds."

           

All these years we’ve lectured

Each other

About what’s right

And what’s wrong.

Lectured ourselves

About futures,

About cashing it in,

About being the best we can possibly be.

But now that talk means nothing.

Now we’re growing up, 

growing old,

and Time is picking up its pace.

We haven’t got a second

To spend on morals and plans.

We’ve got to live faster than the

Arms on that clock can spin.

Leaden arms circling around,

Marking the days so elegantly.

So painfully.

They sit in the corner,

Two fractions

Of a part.

Hindered by lectures,

Lessons and guidelines.

They’re two fractions

Of a masterpiece.

Puzzle pieces that

Hardly reveal the

Entire picture.

But they try their best

To fill in the gaps.

To be enough for

Themselves.

To be enough

For each other.

She gets anxious

As the days pass,

Because she knows

Time is shortening.

She can feel the tension.

What happens

If we don’t make it?

What happens

If we are wrong,

And have done wrong,

And have been wronged?

Who can save us from

The reality of that end,

Which lurks somewhere

Not too far in the distance?

What happens
If we play by those rules,

If we get sucked into the tide?

If we let time win?

Everything that can

Tear them apart,

Will tear them apart.

They will be torn apart.

Time wears on.

They just sit

And think and stare

At each other,

At the clock,

At the distance.

They just sit and

Reflect on all they’ve

Ever known.

It’s all they’ve ever

Been taught to do.

What happens?

We will be torn apart.

Life is Elsewhere

Because my creativity is low right now, here is an excerpt from Life is Elsewhere by Milan Kundera.
It's an...interesting...novel translated from French/Czech. The chapters are short--some I really enjoy, others I would cut if I were editing it. Kundera morphs prose and poetry in a smooth and elegant way that, at times, leaves the reader in immense wonder and awe.

"
At around that time he began to write a long poem. It was a story poem about a man who suddenly realized that he was old; that he was "where fate no longer builds its rail stations"; that he was abandoned an forgotten; that around him

They're whitewashing the walls they're removing

the moveables

They're changing everything in his room

So he rushes out of his house and goes back to where he 

experienced the most intense moments of his life:

Rear of the house fourth floor rear door at left in

the corner

With a name on the card unreadable in the

darkness

"Moments have passed since twenty years ago

please take me in!"

An old woman opens the door, disturbed out of the careless apathy she has been immersed in during the long years of solitude... she feels that all is well in this room, and that appearances don't matter, she says:

"Twenty years And yet you've come back

As the last important thing I'll ever meet

I have no chance of seeing anything

If I try to peer over your shoulder into

the future."

Yes, all is well in this room; nothing matters any longer, neither wrinkles nor shabby clothes nor yellow teeth nor sparse hair nor pale lips nor a sagging belly.

Certainty Certainty I no longer move and I'm 

ready

Certainty Compared to you beauty is nothing

Compared to you youth is nothing

And he wearily crosses the room, "wipes fingerprints of strangers off the table with his glove," and relizes that she had lovers, crowds of lovers who 

Squandered all the glow of her skin

Even in the dark she is no longer beautiful

A worthless coin worn out by fingers

And an old song clings to his soul, a forgotten song, my God what is that song?  

Photo Credit

Notecard Nonsense

Thinking about the past, because it's easier.

The future is too big. Undefined. Perplexing.

skewed sense of perception

on one too many levels.

Maybe one day I'll wonder where the time went. 

Until then I'll just sit here and wonder how it can best be spent 

 Too hard on herself.                   

even though she claims to know the truth, 

she still thinks perfection is possible.  

Its not just background noise.

Wishes she had lived in the 1930s 

so that she could have grown up with her great grandmother,

her last words: “That girl has no hips to hold that baby.”

If only her grandmother could see what she's

become these days.

Tries her best every day,

Even when she’s strained.

And they hold her high up for that.

So high, she’s scared to fall.

 

Still remembers the day he told her dandelions are weeds. But to her they're still beautiful little flowers...

 

 

Photo Credit

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Dreams are for the undetermined.

Wishing is for fairy tale characters

Hoping is for the weak.

Those who wake up willing to engage

in their experiences and to take risks,

They will achieve the empty dreams

wishes and hopes of others.  

New Year

Webs of starlight stretched out for miles across the sky.

The best stargazing I’ve ever witnessed.

As I was driving home,

I asked for a shooting star,

And whether it was New Year’s luck or something else,

I don’t know,

But as I stood in my driveway,

I saw it dart across the sky.

Magic straight from space.

Magic at three a.m.

In nowheresville.

No-where-I’d-rather-be-sville,

At least in that moment it was.

Moments of quiet reflection-

Of laughter and modest pride

Of simplicity and

Delicate dreams we pray burst into existence.

Moments that sparkle and bubble over

The tops of champagne glasses.

Proseco glasses. Asti Spumanti glasses.

So here we are in 2012,

With the whole year stretched out in front of us.

A blank canvas

Just asking for a masterpiece.

Asking us to remember,

Who we are and what we want.

Asking us to forget,

About limitations of the past.

Asking us to make this

A year for the books. 

Photo Credit

Time Like Tides

We watched the tides changing in front of us,

Like the lines of time on our face.

The Ferris wheel revolved,

Fluorescent lights blinking consistently,

Like the bouncy tunes blaring from the black speakers

In 4/4 time, or something faster.

The smell of fried dough reminded us that

We were at the pier, and not

In a candy-coated memory.

You asked me where did the years go?

All those summer soaked days,

Buying ice cream cones dipped in sprinkles

Of pink, green and orange?

Where did those hours go?

Those hours we spent swinging our kids

Between us

Lifting them off the sand?

They squealed with delight, our

Little flying angels.

Each of those hours now impressed on me,

Like tiny hand prints left in sticky cement.

You asked me so seriously,

As if I had an answer. As if I would know.

Your eyelashes curved, smooth and black,

And I thought I saw one tear,

But it could have been dust,

As we stood there amongst the carnies

And young teenage couples

Clouded with hormones and curfew.

I couldn’t answer.

I don't know where the time went and

I don't know how much we have left.

So I just stared at you, cloaked in silence.

The years kept moving around us.




Somewhat inspired by:

Still Fighting It - Ben Folds
All I Need - Matchbox Twenty 

Timing

When I drive home, I always like the song on the radio so that it ends just as I'm turning into my driveway. This OCD-tendency has caused me to do some ridiculous things. Speed up, slow down, drive around the block, run red lights (no, not that). It's turned into a game, of sorts. I've timed many of my favorite songs by hitting play in my drive-way and then making a note of which S-turn or driveway I'm near when the song finishes, but this pre-planning takes out the game aspect of my tradition.

And isn't timing everything? 

Get caught at one red light, 

the bridge runs over, and you're driving 60 in a 30 

just to make it  home before that last chord is struck. 

Years ago, my parents were thinking of buying a new house and moving to a new school district. After some searching, it just wasn't the right time. And how different my life would be had it been the right time to move. I wouldn't be in the same school, wouldn't know the same people, wouldn't have the same college plans.

And isn't timing everything? 

You watch the avocado sit on the counter for days, waiting for it to ripen. 

But you wait one day too many and you're faced with a spoiled fruit.

So much for guacamole. 

Some people are masters at timing. They know when to say the right thing, when to duck out, when to bid higher, and when to fold. Whether it's luck or just a particularly developed sense of perception, these people make it to the top. Those who wait too long to take the shot hit the rim every time. Those who sit on a deal and ponder it risk their chances of striking it rich.

And isn't timing everything?

You shop around for airline tickets but decide to put it off till tomorrow.

But by morning, the price has nearly doubled.

Should have clicked purchase a little sooner.

Unfortunately, a small gray rabbit had some poor timing tonight. He ran out unexpectedly, and I think I nicked him with my tire. I was too nervous to go back and check. (I also had this slight fear that he was running from a coyote, so no way was I getting out of my car in the dark.) Said a little prayer--hopefully Peter Cottontail made it. As I was nearing home, I slowed to nearly 25 mph so that I could hear the ending of Dosed by the Red Hot Chili Peppers before putting it in park.

And isn't timing everything?

But perfect timing doesn't have to be naturally perfect. 

In fact, we ought to bend the rules and make opportune moments for ourselves,

Run life on our own watches, so that every decision can be made at just the right time.

Words On A Page

 "If you are lucky enough to find a way of life you love, 

you have to find the courage to live it." 
-John Irving

Today, my way of life consisted of sleeping until noon. This evening, my way of life consisted of the smell of meat cooking on the stove (an instant reminder of why I am not a vegetarian), of the immense calming effect being in the kitchen has over me (an instant reminder that I need to cook more), of kneading pizza dough, of eating with family. 

I spent the middle part of my day writing.


It's been a while since I've had the house to myself long enough to write and read uninterrupted, for hours. So with my room smelling like coffee and incense, I went to town. 


I always start off writing cross-legged, Indian style, before that became politically incorrect. (Not sure why that's important for anyone to know, but this is a blog about my writing, so it seems worth it to include something about my writing postures.) I then switch to writing on my stomach. This only lasts fifteen minutes or until I have a burst of an idea, which requires me to sit up so I can write faster.


The John Irving quote above made me think a bit about what way of life I might love. That ended up being too much to think about. I love sleeping until noon, but I know that won't get me far. Most writers I've met start much earlier than that, and most structured professions require, well, structure. But so long as I get my occasional all-day-in-bed, I don't think I'll consider sleep patterns much when I decide what kind of life I want to live. 


Deciding that, like I said, is far too big a fish to fry, at least for now. 


I may have filled up pages today in an attempt to establish goals or guidelines for 2012, but I know better than to think that I can write the script to my own life. Tomorrow I might wake up and find my whole philosophy has flopped. Today's entries will be, then, just words on a page. But I do enjoy writing. Sometimes it makes me crazy, but at other times it's all I need. So, maybe I'll be a novelist. Start a book. Or, more impressively, finish one. Maybe I'll write my way into oblivion all day, every day, until I make a living--or at the very least a life style. 

But like Irving says, whatever I do will take courage. When you care about someone or something--writing in this case--it can be scary to jump into that dream. But failure only inhibits us if we let our fear of failure stop us from trying. Writing can be a difficult career, requiring stamina, patience and resilience. But courageous authors know that words on a page, if strung together properly, have power. Words can make us laugh, or can bring tears to our eyes. They can connect us to the past and set the standard for the future. Letters, novels, obituaries, songs and scriptures are works of art. They hold vast knowledge, and so can never be reduced so much to be considered mere words on a page.

On the Age of Princesses and Pirate Ships

It was like listening to herself babble away in the backseat,

About nothing, and everything.

“Mommy made me wear these to, what is that thing called when

Someone dies? Yeah, a funeral, that’s it.”

I must have said something to that effect ten years ago.

It was like watching herself discover pop music for the first time,

As they listened to Taylor Swift.

“On a bandview in somedale.” “On a balcony in summer air.”

I like this song. God her songs are sad.

“Do you like this song just because it mentions the seven dwarves?”

I didn’t even notice it mentioned the seven dwarves “Yes.”

It was like reliving the innocent days,

As they talked over a cappuccino and a hot chocolate,

About how boys are gross,

Video games and kissing and all that, gross. Yeah…you. just. wait.

She gets home and half expects to see her
eight year old self in the mirror

because she’s been living in a pre-adolescent memory all afternoon.

She thinks back to the movie theater, the blue-raspberry slushie,

To the kids section of the book store,

To the song playing on the radio.

There’s a reason the song goes,

Don’t forget to look before you fall.

Not before you leap, but before you fall.

We’re all bound to. We all jump,

and we all fall. Blame it on gravity,

blame it on fate, or blame it on nothing

and embrace the impact as best you can.
Love the fall, because sometimes it will be all you've got.

Along with some nostalgia and a new-found appreciation

For the wooden toys her mother gave her (her fingers went numb

Trying to fit those silly plastic dolls in their silly rubber clothes.),

That was the take away.

Look before you fall.

She’s practically a grown-up now,

with responsibilities, with worries, with honest desires, with attainable dreams.

She knows that the Elf on the Shelf isn’t magical,

But my God, how she wishes it was.

She knows that childhood lenses shatter somewhere around adolescence,

            And she wishes she could save the young,

            Or at least prepare them for what lies ahead.

She can’t remember the day, month, or even exact year,

            When she made a devastating realization.

The world wasn’t on her side.

            No one could save her from what she’d do to herself.

Her childhood had evaporated.

            Christmas brought sadness, not presents,

            And it’d be that way for a while.

She’s in the middle of childhood naïveté

            And the vast bitterness of adulthood. 

            Neither quite here nor there.

She swears she won’t let the world get to her,

            But fears she’s beaten the world at that race.

But maybe it’s not so bad to see things for what they are--

            To recognize sadness and humor, grief and irony

            To feel disappointment is to appreciate love

            and all the rest of it just a bit more.

Besides, in one way or another, she’s still got parts of that sparkling youth.

She thinks she can do anything.

She thinks the world’s her canvas,

Because up until this point, it has been.

She’s tried and failed and healed and tried again,

And nothing’s ever stopped her.

She prays that it will always be this way,

That she can act with no regrets, forever.

That she can hit the target every shot she takes, forever.

She prays, but she still knows better.

She dreams the same way Children do.

The only difference is that she recognizes

The foolish parts.

She writes them off.

I’ll bounce back.

Or else deal with it when I’m really an adult.

But Children aren’t sophisticated enough to know

that someday the world won't be at their fingertips.

Someday they'll be hit hard, and it'll feel like

a ton of bricks, the weight of the world.

Someday they'll see more clearly, 

and someday they'll be scared of more than

just monsters under the bed.

They can't grasp the concept of growth and change,

And thank God for that.  

 And at her age,

all you have to do is reach out

and touch the world. 

At her age, it's all possible. 

It's all right there.

Photo Credit

Weather Paradox

Fell asleep with the window wide open last night. It was too much not to listen to the rain.
The sky this morning was a shocking combination of dark, looming clouds, mixed in with pure blue fingers. It was as if it couldn't decide what to be, so it chose both.

For me, storms are sort of paradoxical. The worse they are, the more threatening the appear (by sound or sight), the more I like them. They're more exciting, more thrilling. If there's one thing I can't stand, its indecisive weather. You know what I mean, those gray, muddy days, when the air chills you, yet the thermometer says you don't need a jacket. It's hard to know what to do with weather like that.

It's lightening up now, if you're interested in a Connecticut weather report. A whole blanket of pale blue with white clouds whispering it's going to be a fine day, don't worry.

While I go out and discover something more thrilling to write about than weather, (apologies fort this, but I had to get something out.) have a listen to Dr. Dog. I have been listening to them pretty much nonstop the past three days. It's not even that they're that good. They have a few chilling lyrics, and a decent sound, and so I added all their albums to Spotify and hit replay.

Here are just a few of my favorites: Ain't It Strange (Album We All Belong); I've Just Got to Tell You (Album Takers and Leavers) ; My Friend (From the ambitiously named album Fate)

Small Town Adventures

I'm a fan of Christmas lights. I think holiday displays, when done tastefully, are gorgeous.
My town, however, has some really questionable setups.
A 10 foot fluorescent snow man, for instance, occupies one lawn. To add salt to that wound, he's holding a huge sign that says North Pole This Way.
Slightly tacky, but not as bad as the house down the street from that. That lawn is decorated with angels made of cotton balls and pink flamingos...as if this were Florida or something! Flamingos?

I guess we all have our own standards for style and sensibility. One house down the street has several red candy canes marking their path. Unobtrusive, quaint, the perfect decorations. I don't get vertigo driving by their house at night.

I was making my way to the post office, bank & gas station (oh, what an outing). I was rolling down a very large hill, enjoying the miracle of gravity as I watched the speedometer peek, when I saw a black Range Rover, with New York plates, of course, pulled over. Out of curiosity, I slowed down. They were pointing in anticipation across the street. A couple of chickens. They were pointing at the chickens in the field. If you really need to pull over to look at some poultry, if you find the simplicity of farm life interesting, you should think about getting out of that concrete jungle a bit more. I braked for nothing. Nothing out of the usual, that is.

I did see some very pretty pheasants however, wandering about in another field. They might be worth a slow pass, but I have seen them roaming around since October. We had a huge storm a few months ago, and the pheasant farm's pens collapsed. All the birds escaped, and we see them from time to time. I wonder why those farmers don't make more of an effort to capture the beautiful birds.

A lame adventure, I'll admit. I often get restless in this town. I often ache to leave. But this week I've been content with the calm. I've been accepting of the solitude. Sleepy Hollow may not be as bad as I make it out to be. Let's see how long this lasts..!

Every Time A Bell Rings...

...an angel gets his wings. 

Inspiration from It's a Wonderful Life.

Baby, it's cold outside. I don't feel like moving from this deep sleep. 
Baby, it's cold outside. I need you close to me. 


She lights a candle and puts on that slow record,
the one that lulls her into sweet dreams. The moment pulls along,
like the long drag of a cigarette; like honey dripping off a spoon. 
She cracks the window and sits on the sill; she tucks her legs up to her chest. 
It's snowing outside. The moon's casting shadows across her bedroom floor.
That lonely bedroom. That lonely moon. 
Lasso it. She wishes she could lasso the moon. 
She wishes she could find someone willing
to make dreams like that come true--
wishes she could find someone worth wishing for. 
The snow sparkles on her sill like shattered panes of glass.
If only she could pull the moon down from its high palace. Then she'd have someone
to spend the night with--someone to whisper her dreams to
in the dark, black night. 

Where do those dreams go, into the darkness?

Into the night sky?

Out into the storm, to get mixed in with the snowflakes

and built into an igloo in some child's front lawn? 

I hope so. I hope they make their way in a world as

cold as this one. I hope they make it long enough

to see the ground thaw and the spring bloom. 

I hope they make it.

She wants moonbeams to shoot out of her skin. 

She wants to dance until the sun rises and makes the hillside pink. 

She wants to live in a perpetual dream, in which the record never

stops spinning and her feet never tire and her dance partner never tires.

She wants to look at her flower and watch it multiply into a garden. She wants to be 

foolish enough to believe, fully, that the real world can mesh with her dreams.

She wants beauty. She wants to be made of moonbeams.

Dream a little dream for me, 

for  all's fair in love,

isn't that what they say?

That's why she lights up

like a firefly,

that'd look so pretty in a jar on a bedstand or

on a printed postcard--

That's why she shys away

like a secret--
when you're around.

For, all's fair in love.

Her taken heart jumps just thinking

of walking with you.

All's fair in love. All's fair in love. All's fair in love

and war. Well, I don't know about war.

Baby, it's cold outside. Won't you climb in next to me?
Won't you catch that moon, ring that bell, sing that tune?
And take these fallen petals and tuck them away, for
they'll be worth something, someday. 
Let me have your vacant ear, 
let me whisper my childish dream,
though I know you'll never hear,
Baby, it's cold out, hold me close, hold me near.

 

Saturday Songs

Christmas Edition!
Here're some of my top favorites during the Christmas season.
Hope you have a fantastic holiday spent with family. Christmas cookies, candy canes and stockings full of treats. Maybe some of you are lucky enough to have a white Christmas!!
Best wishes, 
TB

Baby It's Cold Outside: Zooey Deschanel & Leon Redbone from Elf.

Probably my favorite Christmas-Season song. Possibly one of my favorite songs period.

Other great versions: Louis & Ella,  Bing Crosby & Doris Day and Nora Jones & Willie Nelson

I just keep playing different versions and wishing I could sing

as well as any of these ladies. 

Some sad, soul music. 

Love Charles Brown. Love this song. 

One of my absolute favorites.

Classic hits from the 40s & 50s never fail

to put me in a good, holiday mood.

Other things I keep playing over and over before the 26th arrives:

Taylor Swift - Last Christmas  

Mariah Carey - All I Want For Christmas Is You 

Otis Redding - Merry Christmas Baby

She & Him - Christmas Waltz 

2012 Election

This is an official blog entry for the YourLocalSecurity.com Blogging Scholarship. If selected, I'll receive $1000 towards my college expenses in 2012. This scholarship is sponsored by YourLocalSecurity.com

As Obama's presidency comes to a close, citizens across the nation, and around the world, will be carefully observing the 2012 electoral race. Many of the topics that we focused on during the last race will continue to come up, hot topics like health care, gay rights and abortion. We might see that others, like the war on terror, will simmer down, especially with the recent end to the war in Iraq.

The main topic of contention in the upcoming race, however, will have to do with economic policy. With our current national debt at 15 trillion (48,500 per person, according to Brillig.com) it's hard to imagine a bigger problem. But the debt itself isn't the root of it. The poison economic culture in the United States can be seen in a variety of different aspects of American life. The rising rates of obesity, the amount of waste we generate, the social and educational gaps that are apparent across towns and states, all these are products of an unstable economy.

History has shown that money affects culture more than we know. The fluctuating cost of gasoline causes families to reevaluate not just the cars they drive, but the routes they take, the schools they attend and much more. As the price of fresh foods spikes, so do the sales of cheaper meals from fast food restaurants. Poor diets, forced by low-incomes, lead to heart disease, diabetes and other health risks. When companies see drops in dollar signs, an obvious reaction can be to layoff employees, which presses even more stress on families and businesses nationwide. If we want a nation of healthy, happy individuals, we need to fix the economic standing of our entire country.

And so, we need a president who is going to lay out a plan. America needs organization. It needs a dynamic proposition that has one central target (economics), but a multitude of effects (health, environment, crime, family, business). The candidate who brings up convincing and clever solutions to strengthen our brittle economy will win. The individual who looks after the entire nation, and who does not divide us up by class nor region, will have the most success. The United States needs a president who does not see the colors red and blue, but rather someone who recognizes the interconnectedness of our nation. The best candidate will be the one who lays a groundwork for the future by proposing a plan that creates jobs, that invests in green technologies, that supports education, that brings back to life the prospects of an American dream, a dream we can achieve by getting off the couch, by getting our hands dirty, by working our own futures and by extension the future of our entire country. Our next president will realize the power of collaboration and cooperation,

Around Town

A little stark, barren and grey. 

Local congregational church with the nativity scene out front.

Just add snow, and you've got 

quintessential New England right there.

Woke up to blue skies. Warm blue skies.
Walked up to the church like I used to,
back in fifth grade,
up those two big hills,
on my way to school.
How long ago was it now,
little girls in pig tails
and blue-striped socks,
just walking to school?

Town hall's being ripped down
now, by a big bulldozer.
Gymnastics classes,
Girl Scout meetings (before I dropped out)
and Christmas parties so many
years ago now, I can't remember
the faces in the audience
at my elementary school talent show.
Poems for two. Young grasshoppers--
too young for shame,
for embarrassment.

Outside the library there's a mailbox
decorated for the holidays.
Bright red with white stripes,
the words North Pole spray painted on.
How long ago now
did I believe in such a place
of magic,
a place you could send your dreams to,
a place they'd be safe,
destined to come true? 

When did the courtyard become a mess of brambles?
Shouldn't someone take care of those weeds
outside the Kindergarten classroom?
Outside the windows of the secret passage
that connected the school to the town library.
We had to be quiet as we walked
single file
up that hall. Story time, a treasured tradition.

There's a break between songs on my ipod
and I hear the sounds of recess
coming up from the playground.
The sounds of joy,
the sounds of memories.
I'd only wear dresses on days when it rained,
because I liked the monkey bars too much.
I liked hanging upside down,
and it's not proper to wear a dress
when viewing the world from that angle.

Past the school, up another hill
and I'm in a meadow.
Several sheep penned into my right.
I've always loved those sheep,
so fluffy, so calm, so consistent--
they're always there
when I need to look at the most.
Don't know who owns them,
so I pretend its me
as I look out at the hills
as I kick a pebble down the road,
and wonder.

Christmas Mindset

When I was a child, setting up for Christmas was always such an ordeal. It seemed to take a lifetime to pull our ornaments, lights and stockings down from the attic. I'd look at each delicate bulb and decoration and put it around the house with care. My heart would flutter just thinking about the morning of the 25th. Pancakes for breakfast and a tall glass of orange juice-- not to mention dozens of gifts scattered around the living room floor.

This year, we've been rather lackadaisical in our celebrating. Between school and work and worrying about school and work, we've sort of fallen into our own worlds. It's been a challenge keeping daily life in order, so throw in a massive holiday of joy and consumerism and the red lights start flashing (and not the blinking kind on the tree). Although my path is being laid out and I'm enjoying senior year, ready for a much awaited and earned senior spring, I still feel like I'm rapidly treading to stay above water.

Where's my Christmas mindset? Where's my joy? I don't know, but I'm on a mission to find it. I haven't even had the energy to bake dozens of cookies and listen to carols in my kitchen. Maybe later tonight I'll whip out the sugar and eggs and beat some joy into a batch of gingerbread men. All I know is that right now, there are two things that sound pleasing: taking a nap (I woke up an hour ago) or three shots of espresso. Maybe I'll run out for a holiday treat at Starbucks. Or maybe I'll just fall asleep by my half-decorated Christmas tree.

Wish me luck on my mission to find spirit and joy. It's gotta be out there somewhere; I'm just too tired to see it.

Saturday Songs

I was gone this Saturday,
and I'm far too tired to write anything significant right now.

So I'll make up for my missed Saturday
by leaving you with this great song by Iron & Wine--!

I recently burned it to a CD intended for night driving or grey-weather driving. The whole mix is sweet and thoughtful like this song. (Other favorites from this mix: Jackie Wants a Black Eye, Girl In The War, Your Ex-Lover is Dead)

So have a listen, and come back for some writing tomorrow. Should be a good day if my thoughts hold out and my sunburn doesn't distract me too much (I forgot how important sunscreen is, and persisted to lay in the incredibly warm sun for 6 hours on Saturday...paying for that neglect now as I douse myself in aloe. Awesome.)

Where the prayers run like weeds along the road
I saw strangers stealing kisses,

Giving only their clothes, only their clothes

-Walking Far from Home by Iron & Wine

Chips Falling & Chocolate Cake

Whether or not the carefree mantra I adopted yesterday
affected today,
I cannot say, or prove, or even try to.
But I'm glad I was a relaxed as I was.
It made the good news all the more enjoyable,
not a sigh of relief, but one of simple joy.

My entire confidence theory is just that,
a theory.
A thing I came up with in 10th grade
to try to pull myself out of a small rut.
To undistract myself,
and reravel myself
around the spool of my dreams.
And as far as I'm concerned,
it works for me. I'll keep it as a philosophy.
Confidence Kills.

So one chip down. In the right slot, as far as I'm concerned!
We all rushed out to dinner,
to clink glasses
and eat my favorite gluten-free chocolate cake.
Great night. Pleasantly stuffed.

Waking up in 5 hours to go to Florida.
I'll be spending the weekend doing the following:
3. trying to digest the fact that I just got into college...scary/awesome,
2. going to see Harry Potter-ville at Universal...just awesome
and one of the most exciting I can think of,
1. seeing my very best friend Michelle for the first time in three years...spectacular/unfathomable.


Big stuff. Need sleep.
Be back Monday!

Ciao,
TB

Que Sera

Yesterday I posted about waiting and the feelings of futility and frustration that take over one as she waits by the mailbox. Or by her inbox.

Today, I'm optimistic. Enthusiastic. Hopeful. And all sorts of emotions with strong, positive associations.

Today, I have two options. (Well, we'll limit it to two) I can sit here in a pit of fear, with knots in my stomach, anxiously awaiting answers about what will be. It's risky to put yourself on the edge, to hit submit, to build yourself up in front of a person or an institution with no idea how they'll respond. I could pace the floor, mug the mailman, go insane.

But I won't. And here's why.

We have this theory in my house. Maybe it's not a theory, but rather a portion of our belief system. We like to say that whatever is meant to be, will be. Some think this is false comfort, that there's no such thing as fate. We don't agree.

When I was in middle school, I used to drive past this big, beautiful high school just up the road. It had a great reputation, academics, sports and the lot. I wanted that rigor. I wanted to go there. When it came time for high school, however, I decided to go away. My year in Farmington taught me a lot, and was worth the journey, but I knew I didn't belong there. I ended up transferring to that same school I'd thought about years earlier. The past three years have given me all I've wanted, and now I believe I was meant to end up in Lakeville. At Hotchkiss. But I also believe I needed that time away to learn just how much I could withstand before breaking. (Turns out, I can handle a lot... but that's not the point here.) It all worked out on its own. I barely planned for this multi-staged educational saga, and yet it played out just as it was supposed to.

Some may say this has nothing to do with fate or things "being what they're meant to be." And that's OK. See it for what you will. But with these pieces of my past, it's difficult for me to worry and fret about the future. Maybe it's naive to trust the way of things as much as I do. Maybe I should stress a little bit more and harass the mailman for my envelope, harass some computer programmer to hack the system a day early. But would it change the results in the short term? In the long term?
It wouldn't. So I won't.

Ultimately, we'll all get the results we're meant to get. I believe that. Now, this doesn't mean we can sit around and just wait for the universe to do its thing. It doesn't mean we can stop trying. We still have to apply for our coveted positions. We still have to present ourselves and make our wants clear. But we have to relax once our work is through. We deserve that much.

So, today I'll take the second option. I'll go out for coffee with a friend. I'll burn Christmas candles. I'll organize my sock drawer and read A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving. I'll probably get really anxious, understandably, around 3:00, so maybe I'll go for a run then.  I'll do my best not to think about things to come. I'll let it all unfold as its supposed to. Timing is everything. Most of the things I'm aiming for right now are out of my reach; the results cannot, to an extent, be determined by anything I can do in the next day, week, or month. I find comfort in the belief that whatever happens will be good, will be right. Whatever will be, will be. Que sera, sera.

I have too much to lose, she said, if I cross that line.

Like what? I said. 

She could not think of anything that day so she said she'd get back to me. 

Since then I've been thinking what I would lose if I cross my line.

I haven't come up with anything either. 

There's always another line somewhere. 

 

 

 

Quote credit: StoryPeople 

Photo credit: Random Photo Website 

 

home sweet home

Nothing like a night by the fire, eating chips & guacamole, watching TV, and staring down my puppy to kick off the holiday break.

Done with my last set of high school finals...not that big of a deal, I suppose, but it was relieving to get out of there. Now for an evening, or three weeks rather, of warmth and relaxation.

Hope my life will be this wonderful one day, too.

 

 

Menthol and Mental Health

I've basically kept the entire cough drop industry alive this week. The cough drop industry, and the Tylenol industry. It's hard to get sleep during exams, but I've had to treat myself to 8+ hours lest I die of sickness and exhaustion.

English exam was somewhat of a mindfuck, pardon my French. I filled four blue books in two hours and used up three pencils and half a pen to do so. I have no idea if what I wrote is valuable, or just plain gibberish, but I'm not in a particularly wordy mood right now, so please excuse my lame post.

The combination of having a cold and taking exams has caused me to lose all sense of style, in addition to mental awareness. I've been walking around campus in my oversized army jacket like some kind of caffeine-junkie-hobo looking for a fix of espresso. It's not a proud look, but it's comfy, so whatever. Back to boots and scarves (and one cup of coffee a day as opposed to today's...7...8?) as soon as I get out of this place for vacation...two days? tomorrow? I can't even remember. I think its tomorrow, so long as I finish this Latin paper by the time I go to sleep. 

I've been somewhat of a Grinch this week, so I'm going to try to get into the Christmas spirit by stirring a candy cane into my coffee and turning on some holiday music. Just took a sip of the peppermint coffee. I'm officially recommending it. Way cheaper to buy a candy cane than a Starbucks signature drink (and I live in the boondocks, so there's no Starbucks around anyway).

This is slowly tapering into a stream of consciousness, which won't end up being pretty, I can guarantee. So have a good night--- wish on a star, decorate a tree, sing a carol and all that good December stuff.

Ciao,
TB